Chapter Forty-Nine #2
A low murmur ran through the hall. A few Alphas stiffened. One scoffed under his breath like he’d tasted something sour.
I didn’t look at them.
“They will not be cursed as lesser and not treated as broken,” I continued, the words turning sharp. “No whipping, no torture and no branding. They will not be stripped of their title or inheritance. And most importantly, there will be no exile by law or tradition.”
I felt, more than saw, Savage’s attention sharpen. Like I’d hit something inside him that he didn’t want anyone else to notice.
“My second Edict…” I paused breath catching.
It had taken me days to formulate the correct words to provide my family immunity without hinting at Ma’s declining condition.
“Is protection for my mother and sister: their persons and circumstances are not subject to Court law, judgment, or claim, for any past act or future condition. This does not extend to me, of course. As queen, I must be held to the same standard as the king.”
The murmurs grew louder. Outrage sparked like flint.
The Tidebreak Alpha leaned forward. “Future condition?” he barked.
I held my ground, fingers tightening around the king’s sigil. “Yes. No Court may touch my family, for any reason, ever.”
“That’s an outrage,” Reina of Mistvale hissed.
I barely held my tongue, not after Alma’s betrayal. The reminder still cut deep.
Steeling my spine, I repeated, “My family will not be seized, tried, or hunted under Court law. Not for what has been done, and not for what might be done in desperation.”
Neris’s expression didn’t change. Her eyes stayed on mine, unwavering.
“My third Edict,” I announced, and my voice broke for the first time from the sheer enormity of it, “is that each Wolvryn Court must tithe warriors, grain, and iron to those who choose to remain in Hollowcrest for one cycle of the moon-year for the next three years or until we can stand on our own, whichever comes first.”
Silence dropped like snow. Even the Alphas who had been itching to argue stilled because this one was not about symbolism. It was about cost.
I tasted blood, realized I’d bitten the inside of my cheek, and didn’t care.
“Hollowcrest will not starve anymore. We will not be tortured, beaten and left to die while the rest of the realm calls us outcasts. If we are part of Lunaris enough to be bound by its laws, then Lunaris will be bound to us in return.”
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Neris turned her head slightly. “Does Frostcrag accept these Edicts?”
All eyes cut to Savage. He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
One word. Final.
It should have eased something inside me. Instead, it made my pulse kick harder because I heard Everest in it. It was the same quiet certainty. The same way of cutting through chaos like it was nothing but wind.
The Conclave erupted.
Arguments snapped across the table. Obsidianhelm’s Alpha snarled something about precedent. Nightreef’s Nixon leaned back with narrowed eyes. Stormhallow’s voice turned sharp, asking who would enforce the tithe and what penalties would apply if a Court refused.
Savage held up one hand, and the room quieted instantly. “I will handle enforcement.” His voice was as cold as the stone beneath our feet. “If any Court refuses Selraya’s law, Frostcrag will remind them why the realm continues to breathe. At my will.”
Some Alphas bristled and some looked away, but no one challenged him.
Neris lifted her chin. “The Edicts are spoken and accepted, and the Moon Crown has been earned.”
Relief stabbed through me so sharp it nearly made me sway. Then the murmurs started again. Earned. Not granted.
Neris’s gaze drifted to the empty chair. “But this Conclave cannot seal it,” she continued calmly, “until all Courts are represented.”
All the air siphoned from my lungs.
A restless shudder ran through the Alphas.
“The Thornwild Alpha has not yet arrived. Per law, if an Alpha does not appear to witness, his second must stand in his place.”
Trystan would never appear… he was dead, at the bottom of the Silverveil Sea if the gods were good.
“Send for Thornwild’s second,” the high priestess instructed.
Savage inclined his head at a masked guard standing so quietly in the periphery I hadn’t even noticed him. The runner was dispatched at once, boots pounding away down the hall.
As the waiting began, the Conclave’s tension found a new target. The raids. The attacks we’d seen signs of during the hunt.
The Tidebreak Alpha slammed his fist on the table. “My coast has been tested three times in a week. My nets were burned and boats stolen. I lost two guards to the savages.”
Ironcliff’s Alpha leaned forward next. “My northern ridge had smoke on the horizon two nights ago, and the watchfires answered nothing.”
Then Magnus of Saltspire’s voice cut in, sharp as salt wind. “They’re growing bolder. My beta, Barton, informed me of yet another breach across our Court. They think we’re distracted.”
“We were distracted,” Stormhallow muttered, eyes gleaming. Radick. The slain king’s brother. “Our strongest hunters were chasing a bride prize through the snow. Convenient timing.”
My throat still tightened at the word. Prize.
Savage’s gaze flicked to Radick like a blade. “The south will learn,” he said, voice controlled, “that Frostcrag does not stay distracted.”
“And what of Tarrik?” he demanded. “Is he the one behind this? Is it the Blackwake?”
The name slid across the room like poison. Even the Alphas who’d been snarling fell silent for half a heartbeat.
Savage’s hand tightened on the chair at the head of the table. The gesture was small, but I saw it. I felt it.
“I will handle them.” There was something in his tone that made the torches feel colder. “When the Conclave ends, and my queen has been crowned, Frostcrag will move.”
The bickering rose again, less certain now. Plans, demands and old grudges twisted together until it sounded like wolves fighting over scraps. Through it all, Savage remained still.
King.
Mask.
Control.
But every so often his gaze cut to me, and the look was loaded, dangerous and private. It made my skin prickle. Again, the desire to grab him by his fur cloak and drag him into a corridor and demand the truth until my throat bled resurfaced.
Why did you pretend?
Why did you touch me like you couldn’t stop?
Why did you say I belonged to your king when you are the king?
But I couldn’t. Not here, not in front of the Conclave. And especially not with my claim still hanging by one missing Alpha. So instead, I clutched my hands together and gritted my teeth.
The healer finally appeared minutes later, an older Frostcrag female with steady hands and a satchel that smelled of bitter herbs.
Guiding me to a shielded corner of the hall, she tended to my wounds, painstakingly carefully as the Alphas continued to bicker and argue.
When every cut had been cleaned and bandaged, she knelt at my feet without ceremony and began to undo the wrap around my ankle.
Through it all, I could feel Savage’s watchful gaze, alternating between the healer’s patient hands and the blustering males.
Pain flared bright as lightning when the female touched my ankle. I clenched my jaw, refusing to make a sound.
The healer’s eyes narrowed. “You should not be standing on this.”
“I won’t be standing long,” I muttered.
“Take this for the pain.” She handed me a small ampule with a glistening amber liquid.
Savage’s gaze sharpened on me. Again that pull. Again that storm behind the calm. His head dipped, the faintest reassurance, and I swallowed the tonic without argument. Because despite the days of deceit, I trusted him. I trusted my guard.
The healer began to work, fingers pressing and rewrapping, binding tight enough to hold and loose enough to allow for blood flow. I breathed through my teeth, hands curling into fists.
The hall waited for Thornwild for what felt like an eternity. I needed the last seal, the law. Minutes dragged like chains after the healer left, and I returned to the throne. My throne.
Then finally the doors boomed open, and every head snapped up.
A figure staggered in, framed by torchlight and snow-blown wind like something dragged out of a grave.
Trystan.
Alive.
Nausea clawed up my throat, and for one sick heartbeat, I couldn’t process it. My mind refused it. My body went cold.
No, he was dead. I saw him fall. It couldn’t be.
He was battered, cloak torn, one side of his face swollen purple and blood dried at his mouth. His eyes were too bright, too sharp, like pain had carved him into something even meaner.
The Conclave erupted into startled exclamations. A chair scraped as the nearest Alpha half rose, disbelief on his face. “Frost take me, Trystan, what happened to you?” Reina cried out.
Trystan’s gaze swept the room. And then it landed on Savage.
On the mask.
On the fur cloak.
On the king.
And something in Trystan’s expression shifted. It was cold and calculating, a knife-sharp look.
My pulse slammed into my throat. He knows.
He saw the black Wolvryn.
He saw the silver eyes and the Alpha’s mark.
He was going to say it.
He would tear the truth into the room and invalidate everything.
All my blood. All my pain. All my Edicts. Gone.
Trystan took one more staggering step forward, lips parting.
And I felt the moment spin toward ruin.