Trumpets blared across the courtyard.
The Silver‑Moon Alliance had arrived.
Flags shimmered in the snow, armor clanked down stone steps, and in the lead rode High Lord Severin—silver-eyed, snake-smiled, flanked by emissaries and spies.
Noah stood at the gate to greet them, cloak snapping in the wind.
“My Lord Silverflame," Severin drawled, dismounting. “Is it true? You've finally tamed your bride?"
Noah's jaw tightened. “She isn't a beast."
“Some say she's not even the real Aelya."
Noah said nothing.
Severin's smile thinned. “Then let us confirm it, shall we?"
He turned to his guards. “The alliance demands a public oath of loyalty. From both Alpha and fiancée."
Noah's voice was ice. “She doesn't speak."
Severin's eyes gleamed. “She can still bleed."
---
Hours later, the arena
