CHAPTER 96
1682 Words
The council chamber felt colder than usual, the air heavy with judgment. Kai sat at the head of the long table, the weight of his title pressing down harder than his own heartbeat. He hadn’t slept. The shadows under his eyes gave him away, but no one dared mention it.
Kion stood near the center of the room, his voice already cutting through the silence.
“This can’t continue,” he said sharply. “Every hour she remains alive, whispers spread. The pack questions your strength, Alpha. They question your control.”
Kai didn’t look up. His fingers rested against the armrest of his chair, tense but still. “She’s being held under guard,” he said quietly. “She isn’t a threat to anyone.”
Kion’s tone hardened. “That’s not the point. The idea of her is the threat. She divided the pack. Made you—” he paused, his voice sharpening with the faintest trace of mockery, “—vulnerable.”
Across the table, Lucien shifted in his seat. “She didn’t divide anyone,” he said. “People are talking because they don’t know the truth. Execution isn’t leadership—it’s fear.”
Kion’s eyes narrowed. “You would defend her?”
“I’m defending reason,” Lucien replied evenly. “If she dies, and it turns out she’s innocent, we’ll have done exactly what our enemies want—destroyed ourselves from within.”
The room went quiet. Every council member watched Kai, waiting for his response.
He still didn’t look up. He could feel their eyes on him, but his mind was far from the table. It kept dragging him back to her—Elise in chains, her voice breaking when she said she loved him. He’d seen the reports, the supposed proof, but every word had felt like glass in his throat.
He’d told himself it was for the good of the pack. That he couldn’t let emotion cloud his rule. But even now, sitting on this throne of judgment, he couldn’t shake the sound of her laughter near the river, the way she used to whisper his name like it was both prayer and curse.
Becky, seated gracefully at the far end of the table, chose that moment to speak. “Perhaps,” she began softly, “there’s a middle ground.”
Kai finally lifted his eyes. “Middle ground?”
Her expression was calm, sympathetic even. But her words were a slow, deliberate knife. “Exile. Permanent exile beyond the borders of Archview. She will live—but far enough that her presence no longer… confuses the pack.”
Lucien frowned. “That’s barely different from a death sentence. You know no wolf survives long outside the borders.”
Becky’s smile didn’t waver. “Then at least her blood won’t stain our hands.”
The elders murmured in agreement, their discomfort soothed by the illusion of compromise. Kion, however, leaned forward, not satisfied. “You’re being naive,” he said, his tone slicing through the quiet. “Exile is weakness. Every leader from the High Council to the Lycan Alpha himself knows what happens when betrayal is left half-punished. It festers.”
Becky turned toward him, her voice steady. “Then perhaps you should invoke the High Council clause yourself, Kion. You seem so eager for blood.”
The mention of the High Council and Lycan Alpha clause changed the air instantly. Even Lucien stiffened. The clause meant one thing—formal execution sanctioned by the highest wolf authority. Once invoked, no Alpha could revoke it without public humiliation.
Becky continued softly, her tone deceptively reasonable. “Of course, if Archview wishes to prove its strength and loyalty, it might be wiser to follow tradition. The law is clear: treason of this magnitude demands death, not mercy.”
Kai’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.
He looked at her, trying to read her expression. Becky met his gaze calmly, her eyes filled with just enough concern to seem genuine. “You know I’ve always supported your rule, Kai. But you risk appearing… compromised. If she lives, they’ll believe your heart still belongs to her. That you’re still under her spell.”
Her words were venom disguised as reason. Each one hit him harder than the last.
Kai’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t about appearances.”
“But it is,” Becky countered gently. “You may not care how it looks, but your enemies do. The Lycan territories are watching. The Council is watching. You can’t lead if they see hesitation.”
Lucien’s voice was sharp. “You’re manipulating him.”
“I’m speaking the truth,” Becky replied smoothly. “Something some of us here seem to have forgotten.”
Kion nodded in approval. “Finally, someone understands the gravity of this.”
The debate spiraled. The elders exchanged whispers, weighing politics against decency, power against pity. And through it all, Kai sat still, silent, his mind fighting itself.
Every instinct in him screamed to protect Elise. To find her, hold her, demand the truth from her eyes—not the council’s words. But every second of hesitation felt like betrayal to his pack. To his title. To the version of himself he was supposed to be.
Lucien’s voice cut through again. “You’re turning justice into spectacle. If she dies, this pack will lose its heart. And you, Kai—you’ll lose yourself.”
Kai finally stood. The movement silenced the room instantly.
His gaze swept over each of them. “You all speak as if this is easy,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You think I enjoy this? That I want any of it?”
No one answered.
“She was mine,” he said after a long pause. “And now you expect me to decide whether she lives or dies based on what others claim she’s done. You talk about loyalty—where was yours when we were under attack? When she stood between me and a blade meant for my heart?”
For a moment, silence. Only the crackle of the torches filled the air.
Becky’s eyes softened with a carefully crafted sadness. “That’s exactly why this must be done, Kai,” she said gently. “Because the more you remember her like that, the more dangerous she becomes. To you—and to everyone who follows you.”
He turned away, jaw clenching so tightly it hurt.
When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “The council may… deliberate further.”
He left before anyone could stop him.
The heavy doors closed behind him with a deep, echoing thud.
For a long time, no one moved.
Then Becky exhaled softly, folding her hands. “He’ll come around,” she said. “He has to.”
Lucien’s glare was cold. “You’re playing with fire.”
Becky’s smile barely curved. “Fire purifies, doesn’t it?”
That night, rumors spread faster than the wind. Servants whispered in the corridors. Guards exchanged glances when they passed one another. The words “High Council clause” echoed through Archview like a curse.
Down in the dungeon, Elise sensed it before anyone told her. The air changed—the tension thicker, the guards quieter. She could feel the shift, like the moment before a storm hits.
The same guard who brought her meals avoided her gaze. When she tried to speak, he only muttered, “Don’t ask questions.”
But she asked anyway. “What’s happening?”
He hesitated. “There’s talk,” he said finally, lowering his voice. “About a final sentence. The Council met again today.”
Her stomach dropped. “And?”
He looked at her, guilt flickering in his eyes. “It doesn’t sound good.”
Elise gripped the edge of her cot. “Tell me.”
“Some are saying… exile.” He paused, swallowing. “Others want something worse.”
Her voice broke slightly. “Worse?”
He didn’t answer. Just stepped back toward the door, voice low. “You should… pray, if you still know how.”
The door shut, leaving her in silence.
Elise sat frozen for a long time. Her mind refused to catch up with the words echoing in her head. Death sentence. Clause. Decision.
She stood abruptly, pacing the small cell. Her pulse raced so fast it made her dizzy. They couldn’t. Kai wouldn’t—
But then she remembered the last time she’d seen him. The way he’d looked at her. Like she was a stranger. Like everything between them had turned to ash.
She pressed her palms to her temples, shaking her head. “No. He wouldn’t do this,” she whispered to herself. “He wouldn’t.”
But her voice trembled.
Time stretched, cruel and quiet. The torches burned lower, shadows swallowing the corners of the cell. She sank onto the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, heart hammering against her ribs.
Her thoughts tore through her — anger, disbelief, the faintest sliver of hope. Then the whisper of that bond again — faint, weak, but there. It pulsed once, then faded.
She closed her eyes.
“Please,” she murmured under her breath. “If you can feel this… don’t let them take me from you.”
Outside, the guard walked past, muttering something to another soldier. The words slipped through the c***k in the door — just loud enough for her to hear.
“They’re preparing the order. It’s official.”
Elise’s breath caught.
Her entire body went still, every heartbeat a drum of disbelief. For a moment, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
Then her eyes opened, and the first tear slipped down her cheek.
It wasn’t the sound of chains that broke her this time—it was the sound of finality.
She looked toward the narrow slit of moonlight above her head, her voice barely a whisper.
“So that’s it, then,” she said. “He’s really going to let them kill me.”
The torch outside flickered. The silence that followed was heavier than death itself.
- Writer
