Chapter 38
Callum
The dragon contract dissolves into ash. Lyanna sags against me. Her body trembles with exhaustion, magical reserves depleted from purifying Faelan’s attack. I tighten my grip, keeping her upright while my eyes scan the throne room for remaining threats.
One court down. But the fae tribunal still holds power here.
Around us, the strike team maintains defensive positions.
Ben signals all clear through the comm, his movements crisp despite the blood still dripping from his arm.
He hasn’t let anyone treat it. Derek documents the evidence display with quiet efficiency, recording everything for future reference.
Rhonan and Evren flank the dragon delegation, their presence a reminder that multiple realms witnessed what just happened.
Prince Korren turns toward the fae tribunal members with a gaze that carries centuries of dragon authority. The challenge in his eyes is unmistakable.
“Fae courts—your turn.”
The words hang in the air. Dragon law has spoken. Now the fae must answer.
Lyanna straightens beside me, drawing on reserves I didn’t know she had left. The heavy outer robe pooled at her feet back when I released the clasp, but she still wears the underlayers—still carries the visible weight of what this court tried to force on her.
I feel the shift in her body—the moment she stops being the woman I’m holding and becomes Lady Silverthorne, daughter of a noble house, trained for exactly this kind of political warfare.
“I can do this,” she murmurs.
Every protective instinct I possess screams to handle this myself. To shield her, carry her out of here, let someone else fight this battle. But this is her arena. Her people. Her right.
I release her waist but keep her hand in mine, our fingers intertwined as she steps forward to face the tribunal.
“As daughter of House Silverthorne,” she begins, voice steady despite the tremor I can feel through her palm, “I invoke the Undue Influence Clause of the Inter-Realm Accord, Section 142.”
The five tribunal members shift uncomfortably. Three of them—Lady Morwyn, Lord Kaelith, Councilor Aldric—can’t meet her eyes. Their complicity glows in the evidence display still hovering above us, corruption signatures damning them with every pulse of sickly light.
“Lord Kaelith.” Lyanna’s voice cuts through the murmurs with surgical precision. “Five private consultations with Faelan’s associates over the past six months. After each meeting, your decisions on marriage tribunal cases shifted precisely thirteen degrees toward enforcement rigidity.”
She gestures, and the evidence expands—voting patterns, decision trees, the mathematical erosion of his previously moderate stance. The analysis hangs in the air like an accusation written in light.
Lord Kaelith’s face drains of color.
“Lady Morwyn.” Lyanna turns, and I watch her transform into something I’ve never fully seen before—not just the healer I love, but the diplomat she was trained to be.
“Seven gifts received over three months, each bearing the same corruption signature as the contamination that nearly killed half our pack.”
A silver charm bracelet materializes in the air, rotating slowly as magical light illuminates each trinket. Lady Morwyn’s fingers twitch involuntarily toward her own wrist, where an identical bracelet sits hidden beneath her sleeve.
“Your traditionalist views were genuine,” Lyanna acknowledges, keeping her voice neutral. “But they were weaponized through calculated manipulation.”
Pride floods through me—and respect. Deep respect for who she is when she’s not hiding behind duty or tradition.
“Councilor Aldric.” She faces the third corrupted member directly. His jaw clenches tight enough that I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. “Your grudge against House Silverthorne was deliberately inflamed through thirteen separate encounters with Faelan’s associates.”
The evidence materializes, showing identical methodology across different targets. Same signature. Same techniques. Different vulnerabilities exploited.
“Three compromised members,” Lyanna declares, voice carrying absolute conviction. “Three out of five—a controlling majority. The unprecedented three-day processing of my marriage contract violated all procedural standards requiring fourteen days minimum for validation.”
She’s magnificent. There’s no other word for it.
The exhaustion is still there—I can see it in the slight tremor of her hands, the careful way she plants her feet.
The battle with Faelan drained her reserves almost completely.
But she’s channeling every scrap of remaining energy into this presentation, her healer’s precision transformed into legal weaponry.
“The corruption methodology was identical across all three targets,” she continues, the evidence shifts to show a comparison chart.
“Same magical signature. Same psychological manipulation techniques. Same timeline of escalating influence. This wasn’t coincidence or opportunism.
This was a coordinated campaign to corrupt the Marriage Tribunal from within. ”
Lord Kaelith makes a strangled sound. Lady Morwyn weeps silently, her hands covering her face. Councilor Aldric sits rigid, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles jumping.
“I present this evidence not to condemn these individuals,” Lyanna says, and her voice softens slightly.
“They too were victims of Faelan’s manipulation.
But that does not change the legal reality.
Their votes were compromised. Their decisions were tainted.
And any ruling they made under that influence cannot stand. ”
The two uncorrupted tribunal members exchange glances. The older one—a silver-haired fae woman with eyes like chips of ice—nods slowly.
“The evidence is compelling,” she admits. “But the process must be observed. We will deliberate.”
The five tribunal members bend their heads together in a tight circle, tension visible in their rigid postures.
The evidence still glows above them—undeniable proof illuminating their faces with cold, magical light.
Their whispers are barely audible, but body language speaks volumes: three corrupted members shifting uncomfortably, the uncorrupted pair gesturing emphatically at the evidence.
The deliberation stretches longer than the dragons’ debate. Fae courts have always loved their procedures, their endless discussions, their careful considerations of precedent and politics. I watch the five tribunal members argue in hushed tones, their gestures becoming increasingly animated.
The corrupted three are trying to salvage something—I can see it in their desperate expressions, the way they keep pointing to sections of law that might offer them protection.
But the two uncorrupted members aren’t having it.
The silver-haired woman’s voice rises occasionally, sharp words like “incontrovertible” and “unconscionable” cutting through the whispered debate.
Lyanna stands perfectly still beside me, her hand finding mine. Her fingers are cold, trembling slightly. I squeeze gently, trying to transfer some of my steadiness to her.
“They’re going to rule in our favor,” I murmur. “Look at their faces.”
“Fae courts are unpredictable,” she whispers back. “I’ve seen them ignore evidence before. Tradition matters more than truth, sometimes.”
“Not this time.” I nod toward the progressive faction, clustered together and watching the deliberation with barely contained hope. “Too many witnesses. Too much evidence. Even fae politics can’t paper over what everyone just saw.”
The deliberation continues for another agonizing minute. Then two. Then three.
Finally, the silver-haired woman stands. The other four fall silent.
Lyanna sways slightly beside me. I pull her back against my side, letting my body heat warm her while we wait. Her hand squeezes mine, and I feel her fear through the pressure of her fingers. Everything rides on this moment.
The head of the tribunal’s expression is carved from stone as she faces the assembled courts, the weight of centuries of tradition battling visibly with the undeniable corruption floating before her.
“The tribunal has ...” she pauses, voice catching, “reviewed the evidence presented by Lady Lyanna Silverthorne.”
The room holds its breath.
“We find the evidence of undue influence ...” Another hesitation, weighted with the gravity of what comes next. I watch her internal struggle—duty to tradition battling the oath she swore to uphold justice. “... incontrovertible.”
A ripple moves through the assembly like a stone thrown into still water, gasps from the progressive faction spreading outward until even the most stubborn traditionalists shift uncomfortably.
“By authority of Section 142 of the Inter-Realm Accord, this tribunal declares all marriage enforcement actions void. The procedural violations alone would invalidate our decision.” Her voice strengthens as truth liberates her from political pressure.
“Lady Lyanna Silverthorne is released from all marriage obligations, effective immediately.”
Both courts have spoken. Dragon and fae law, united in recognizing truth over politics.
Lyanna sways, and I pull her against my chest as decades of pressure finally lift. Her emotions crash through me—relief so profound it’s almost painful, triumph tinged with disbelief. Beneath it all the dizzying sensation of freedom.
“It’s over,” she whispers, voice cracking. “It’s really over.”
The progressive factions erupt in applause, celebration cascading through the throne room like a breaking wave. Choice defended through law, not violence.
The sound washes over me like a wave—relief and triumph and vindication all tangled together in the thunder of clapping hands. Lyanna sags against my chest, and I hold her steady, my arms wrapped around her like I’ll never let go.
Because I won’t. Not ever again.
Across the throne room, I watch the political landscape shift in real time.
Conservative elders who spent years enforcing the old marriage laws now stand in uncomfortable silence, their worldview crumbling around them.
Progressive members embrace each other with fierce joy, centuries of fighting for reform finally bearing fruit.
Lady Morvenna catches my eye across the crowd. She inclines her head—a gesture of respect I never expected to receive from fae nobility. I return it, acknowledging the alliance that made this moment possible.
The corrupted tribunal members have scattered.
Lord Kaelith disappeared through a side door the moment the ruling was announced.
Lady Morwyn remains seated, weeping openly, making no move to flee.
Councilor Aldric stands frozen, his expression suggesting a man whose entire life has just collapsed around him.
They’ll face their own consequences eventually. Corruption of this magnitude doesn’t go unpunished, even in fae courts. But that’s a problem for another day.
Today, we won.
I step back slightly, giving Lyanna space as her father approaches.
Lord Theron crosses the invisible political boundary between courts, his hands trembling as he reaches toward Lyanna. The powerful fae lord who pressured his daughter into a forced marriage now looks like a man held together by nothing but grief and regret.
Around us, the throne room slowly empties.
Nobles filter out in clusters, voices hushed with shock and speculation.
The progressive faction lingers, exchanging embraces and quiet words of triumph.
The strike team maintains position until Derek gives the all-clear signal, and only then do they begin to stand down.
Rhonan claps Evren on the shoulder, murmuring something that makes his brother grin despite the exhaustion lining both their faces. Rafe lowers himself onto a piece of fallen marble, looking every one of his centuries for the first time since I’ve known him.
I keep my arm around Lyanna as her father approaches, ready to step back when she needs space—ready to step in if she needs protection.
This is where the real healing begins.