The atmosphere in the Great Hall had shifted from primal aggression to suffocating formality. Three massive throne-like chairs had been placed at the center of the room, occupied by the Council of Elders—three Alphas from the surrounding territories whose combined age and power could strip a King of his crown if they found him wanting.
I stood at the top of the stairs, my hands hidden in the folds of a dark velvet dress Silas had insisted I wear. It was heavy and regal, but it felt like armor.
"Breathe, Elara," Silas whispered, standing so close behind me that I could feel the vibration of his voice. "They are looking for a scent of weakness. If you can't give them a wolf's pheromones, give them a Queen's silence."
"What if they ask me to shift?" I whispered back, my throat dry. "Silas,
