Tristan
The transition from the laundry to the West Wing was not a quiet affair. By noon, the rumor mill had ground the pack’s stability into dust. I stood in the center of the grand corridor, watching two terrified Omegas carry a small wooden trunk into the guest chambers directly across from my own.
"Tristan, this is madness." Brian appeared at my shoulder, his voice low and urgent. "You aren't just protecting her; you’re putting a crown on her head before the ceremony has even been announced. The Council is in an uproar. Silas has been at your father’s door for an hour."
"Let them roar," I said, my gaze fixed on the door where Rena had just disappeared. "I’m exercising my right as Heir to appoint a personal ward. The law allows it."
"The law was written for distant cousins and orpha
