The war was over. Severin was dead. Aelya imprisoned.
But peace, Sera quickly learned, demanded its own kind of cruelty.
The surviving nobles gathered in the war chamber, cloaks pressed, lips tight.
“We thank you," one said stiffly. “Shadowvale stands again."
“But..." another added, “to keep it standing, Silverflame must return to the Alliance."
“And Alpha Noah," a third said, avoiding Noah's gaze, “must submit."
Sera stood at the head of the room, dressed not in silk, but a plain gray cloak. Her hair unbound. Her shoulders square.
“No."
The chamber froze.
Sera stepped forward. “The Alliance demanded blood. They demanded silence. And we gave it—for years."
Her voice rang clear.
“Noah and I will not return to chains wrapped in gold."
A murmur of protest.
Noah rose beside her. “
