Chapter 23
Lyanna
Iwake to the weight of Callum’s arm across my waist; an anchor I never knew I needed. His breathing is deep and even against my neck, our bodies fitted together as though designed for this exact arrangement.
For this perfect moment, I allow myself to imagine waking like this every morning. His scent wrapped around me like another blanket, the steady rhythm of his heart against my back. Simple, domestic perfection.
I shift slightly, and his arm tightens automatically, pulling me closer. Even in sleep, he’s protective. But it doesn’t feel confining as I once feared it might. It feels ... safe. A word I’ve rarely applied to my own existence.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. His lips brush against the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
“Morning,” I whisper back, turning in his arms to face him.
The wards cast shadows across his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, softening the usual vigilance in his expression. In this light, in this moment, he looks peaceful. It makes my chest ache with a sweetness that borders on pain.
Callum’s fingers trace a pattern along my shoulder, following the curve down to my elbow. “What are you thinking?” he asks, amber eyes studying my face.
“That I could get used to this,” I admit, allowing myself honesty in this protected space. “Coffee in bed. Waking up together.”
He laughs, the sound rough with sleep but genuine.
“Subtle.” He slides out of bed, gloriously unconcerned with his nakedness, and moves to the small kitchenette in the corner of his quarters.
The mate bond between us pulses with contentment as he prepares coffee, the familiar ritual feeling strangely intimate in this context.
“Two sugars, right?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.
“You remembered.”
“I remember everything about you.”
The simple statement sends warmth through me that has nothing to do with the blankets. When he returns with two steaming mugs, I sit up, letting the sheet pool around my waist.
His eyes darken at the sight, hunger still simmering beneath the surface. He sits on the edge of the bed, handing me a mug. Our fingers brush, and even that small contact sends sparks across my skin.
“This is nice,” I say, sipping the perfectly made coffee.
“Nice,” he echoes, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “That’s one word for it.”
We’re tangled together in the morning light, coffee growing cold, his hands roaming my body like we have nowhere else to be. His teeth graze my nipple, and I arch into him, savoring every unhurried touch.
An urgent knock at the door shatters our sanctuary.
Callum and I exchange an alarmed look before he slides from the bed in one fluid motion, pulling on pants with a warrior’s efficiency.
“Just a minute,” he calls, his voice immediately shifting from intimate to professional.
When Callum cracks the door, Derek stands there with a grin he can’t quite suppress. “You’re going to want to see this.”
I scramble for my clothes, heart pounding. Callum cracks the door wider, and Derek’s eyes flick briefly to me as I approach, hastily dressed.
“Found the tribunal-grade evidence,” he says, already pulling up files on his tablet. “Proof strong enough to present to the Marriage Tribunal.”
The words send hope surging through my chest even as dread tightens around it. We’ve suspected Faelan’s involvement, but tribunal-quality proof ...
“Show me,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel.
Derek produces a tablet displaying enhanced magical signature analysis. “I brought in a tribunal-certified magical forensics expert—someone who can testify under oath. Look at these comparative readings.”
He pulls up some side-by-side signatures: the portal corruption that killed Caelynn and the contamination magic from our pack attack. The wavelength patterns are identical—not just similar, but a perfect match down to the micro-oscillations.
“This isn’t circumstantial anymore,” Derek explains, scrolling through the detailed forensics report. “The expert has documented seventeen points of signature correspondence. That’s tribunal standard for absolute proof—anything over twelve points is considered undeniable magical fingerprinting.”
I take the tablet, my healer training immediately recognizing the precision of the analysis. Every resonance spike, every harmonic pattern, every signature fluctuation matches perfectly between the two attacks.
“And here’s the crucial piece,” Derek continues, pulling up a timeline document.
“I tracked Faelan’s movements between our contamination attack and Caelynn’s death.
He had the means, the opportunity, and—“ He gestures to another file. ”—we can prove motive.
Caelynn’s death created the marriage vacancy that forced this political situation. ”
Callum moves beside me, his warmth a silent anchor as the full implications settle into my bones. We knew it was murder. We knew it was Faelan. But now we can prove it in a way the tribunal can’t dismiss.
“This is enough?” I ask, needing confirmation.
“For the murder, yes,” Derek says. “But we still need to connect Faelan to the marriage pressure itself—prove he’s the one manipulating your father and pushing the tribunal timeline. That’s the missing piece.”
I nod, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat.
Callum’s hand finds the small of my back, steadying me without words.
“Full team meeting in ten,” Derek says, already backing toward the door. “We need to move fast.”
“We’ll be right there,” Callum answers for us both.
As the door closes, I look up at Callum, grief and determination warring within me.
“Let’s end this,” I whisper.
He nods, already reaching for his shirt.
The strategy table displays the evidence Derek gathered—crystalline data points mapping Faelan’s signature across both attacks.
“Walk us through it,” Dane says, his Alpha presence focused on Derek.
Derek pulls up the comparative analysis. “Seventeen points of correspondence between the contamination attack and Caelynn’s murder. Same magical fingerprint. The tribunal-certified expert confirmed it’s impossible to duplicate.”
My throat tightens as I watch the evidence confirm every suspicion with clinical precision. The grief I’ve carried since the summons arrived hardens into something colder, more focused.
“Timed perfectly,” Callum says, his voice low and tight with controlled anger. “Weaken the pack, then murder your sister to create the vacancy.”
Dane nods, already shifting to tactical mode. “This proves the murder, but not enough to challenge the marriage contract.”
“Exactly,” Nyxiana confirms. “The Marriage Tribunal operates independently. We need concrete evidence connecting Faelan to the marriage pressure itself—proof he’s manipulating your father and corrupting the tribunal process.”
Nova reads my expression. “Without that connection, the tribunal will acknowledge the murder but still enforce the marriage obligation.”
“My father would never push this hard under normal circumstances,” I say. “Even with political pressure, this acceleration isn’t like him.”
Callum’s presence steadies me.
“We need multiple investigative tracks,” Dane decides, mapping strategy on a digital board. “First, tribunal corruption evidence—precedents where Faelan or associates have manipulated marriage proceedings before.”
Nova nods. “Second, evidence of magical influence on Lord Theron—signatures of manipulation in his communications.”
“Third,” Ben adds, “tracing the money and political pressure through Faelan’s known associates.”
Kari leans forward. “I can analyze communication patterns between Faelan’s network and tribunal officials. Even supernatural beings leave data trails.”
Rhonan rubs his thumb along his dagger hilt. “Now that we have proof—I should approach Evren. His position in the delegation gives him access to information we can’t get elsewhere.”
“That’s risky,” Serena counters, her heterochromatic eyes concerned. “If he’s caught helping us, the delegation could cut him off completely.”
The weight of the deadline presses against us, but I refuse to say it aloud again. We all know what’s at stake.
Dane makes the decision. “Rhonan, sound out Evren carefully. Don’t compromise his position, see if he’s willing to help.”
Rhonan nods. “I’ll go talk to him now.”
Dane meets each of our eyes. “Everyone else—keep working your assignments. We have the murder proof. Now we build the tribunal case.”
Callum’s hand finds my lower back, his touch grounding me.
I straighten my spine, determination crystallizing. My sister was murdered to create this political opening. There’s no question of surrendering to such manipulation now.
“Let’s make every minute count,” I say.