The word hung in the throne room like a drawn blade.
For three full heartbeats no one moved. Even the torches seemed to stop flickering. Then a low, dangerous murmur rolled through the assembled packs. Some faces showed shock.
Others showed the first crack of something Rowan had not planned for: doubt.
Rowan’s smile never wavered, but the hand he rested on Lina’s shoulder tightened until her knuckles went white.
“I will give you one opportunity to take that back,” he said, voice soft and carrying. “Kneel.
Both of you. Now.”
Darius did not look at him. He looked at the pack leaders, at the wolves who had once sworn oaths to the Blackwood line, at the lords who had survived the council m******e by pure luck or cowardice.
“I am still your king,” he said, each word edged with the last
