Chapter 7: Council of Teeth
1753 Words
Kael’s POV
The council chamber had always carried the same stench—cold stone, old incense, and the faint metallic tang of spilled blood scrubbed away but never forgotten. Kael had stood in this room more times than he could count, yet today the air felt sharper, as if every breath dragged knives through his lungs. Or maybe that was simply the curse gnawing beneath his ribs, reminding him Lyria was too far from him.
He pushed the double doors open with one hand, letting them slam against the walls. Conversations halted instantly. Twelve council members, each dressed in dark ceremonial attire, straightened as the king entered. Their expressions shifted between concern, curiosity, and thinly veiled calculation.
Beta Rowan stepped forward first. His hair, silver as frost, glimmered in the firelight, and although he kept his face composed, Kael saw tension hiding in the lines around his eyes. “Your Majesty,” Rowan said quietly, “we felt the curse surge. It rattled the ward stones. The palace hasn’t felt something like that in years.”
Kael didn’t pause on his way to the head of the obsidian table. “Something happened in the Shadowwood.”
Gamma Thane leaned back in his chair, his thick arms folding across his chest. The older wolf had a face carved with scars earned from battles few still lived to speak about. “Shadowwood?” Thane echoed. “What were you doing in that forsaken place?”
Kael didn’t dignify the question. “We’ll begin.”
He sat, and the council followed—some reluctantly, some eagerly, all prepared to dissect whatever truth he was about to reveal. Torches crackled along the walls, casting long shadows like claws stretching toward the ceiling.
Kael let a moment of silence sit in the center of the table before he spoke.
“I encountered a shadowbeast.”
The murmurs were instant—sharp, disbelieving, fearful.
“That’s impossible—” “Those creatures never venture this far north—” “They haven’t been seen outside the rifts in decades—”
Kael raised a hand. The room silenced beneath the simple motion.
“It attacked,” he said, “but it wasn’t only after me.”
Their reactions sharpened.
Rowan leaned forward. “Who else was present?”
Kael’s jaw clenched. He’d expected the question. Still hated it.
“A girl,” he said finally.
Thane narrowed his eyes. “A rogue?”
“No.”
“A human?”
“No.”
Thane’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “Then what is she?”
Kael met his gaze. “A hybrid.”
A dead stillness fell over the chamber.
Someone inhaled sharply. Someone else muttered a curse. A female councilor at the far end of the table pressed a hand to her lips, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Hybrids are forbidden,” another councilor whispered. “They are executed on sight in half the northern provinces.”
Kael’s voice dropped into a tone that brooked no argument. “Not in my lands.”
Gamma Thane slammed his palm against the table. “A hybrid with you when your curse raged? What was she doing there?”
“She was being hunted,” Kael replied. His tone didn’t soften, but the weight behind it did. “A hunter drove her into the Shadowwood. She ran, she defended herself—she survived.”
“And the curse?” Rowan asked quietly. “What did it do?”
Kael exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. His scars pulsed faintly beneath his clothes, as if hearing her name had stirred the curse again.
“It reacted to her,” he said.
No one breathed.
“Reacted how?” Thane pressed.
Kael hated the vulnerability of the truth, but he had no choice but to speak it.
“When she came close,” he began, “the curse calmed.”
“And when she moved away?” Rowan asked.
Kael lifted his gaze, the faint glow of the curse brushing across his irises. “Pain.”
Rowan inhaled sharply.
Thane looked horrified. “Your Majesty… that suggests a bond.”
“It’s not a bond,” Kael growled.
Rowan frowned. “But if distance causes you pain—”
“It’s not a bond,” Kael repeated, slower, colder. “It’s the curse. It’s choosing her. Using her. I am not bound by choice.”
Silence flooded the room again.
Seris—an older councilwoman who rarely wasted breath—finally spoke. “If she calms the curse… then she is a threat to your enemies.”
Kael nodded once. “Yes.”
“And a weapon to your allies,” Seris added.
He met her steady gaze. “I won’t let anyone treat her as a weapon.”
Rowan exchanged a glance with Seris. “Where is she now?”
“In the east wing.”
Thane barked, “Inside the palace?”
Kael’s stare cut through him like a blade. “Yes.”
“Your Majesty, we cannot allow—”
Kael slammed both hands onto the obsidian table. The sound cracked like thunder, echoing through the chamber.
“You do not allow anything,” he said, voice dripping with authority sharp enough to draw blood. “I do.”
Thane instantly shut his mouth.
The curse flared under Kael’s skin, reminding him again—hot, insistent—that Lyria was too far. His fingers curled against the table, nails digging into the stone.
Rowan’s eyes softened with concern. “You’re in pain.”
“It’s tolerable.”
“But unnecessary,” Rowan countered. “She should have been brought with you. The curse reacts too violently when you’re apart.”
Kael ground out the words between clenched teeth. “She’s safer elsewhere.”
“That is debatable,” Seris murmured.
Kael stiffened. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Seris continued calmly, “the moment word spreads that a hybrid with shadow-infused presence walks within the palace… you will have more enemies inside these walls than outside. Humans, wolves, allied kingdoms—none of them will respond gently.”
Kael pushed away from the table, pacing.
“I won’t hide her,” he said. “I won’t cage her. And I won’t let the court tear her apart because they fear what they don’t understand.”
“Then what will you do?” Thane asked.
Kael paused, turning back to them. “What I always do,” he said. “Protect what is mine.”
Rowan blinked. “Yours?”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “Under my protection.”
The correction did nothing to soften the implication. More than one councilor exchanged a glance. Some curious. Some troubled. Some calculating.
Seris folded her hands. “The queen dowager will not be pleased.”
Kael scoffed. “The queen dowager has no authority here.”
“You know she thinks she does,” Seris said. “And if she hears about the hybrid—”
Rowan cut in, “She will demand the council intervene.”
Kael stopped pacing.
“The council,” he said slowly and clearly, “will not touch her.”
“No one intends to harm the girl,” Rowan said, raising both hands in a gesture of peace. “We are simply trying to predict the court’s reaction. If you want to keep her safe, you must be smart. This is not a battlefield. It is politics.”
“I know,” Kael snapped. “And that’s why I brought her here, not to the village. I’d rather deal with political wolves than feral ones.”
“But hybrids…” Thane said quietly. “Your Majesty, hybrids carry ancient danger. Or ancient prophecy.”
Kael froze.
Rowan noticed. “Kael,” he said slowly, “what did the hunter say?”
Kael’s throat tightened.
Rowan’s eyes widened. “You interrogated him.”
“He said things that don’t matter.”
Thane growled. “Everything matters where prophecy is concerned.”
Kael’s voice dropped dangerously quiet. “Not this.”
Thane rose halfway from his chair. “You will tell us what the hunter said.”
Kael’s gaze snapped toward him, sharp enough to cut. “Sit.”
Thane obeyed, but not happily.
Seris, calmer than the rest, asked gently, “Is the hybrid connected to the curse?”
Kael hesitated.
That silence was answer enough.
Seris’s eyes glimmered. “Then she is significant.”
“Or dangerous,” Thane muttered.
Kael turned his head slowly, his voice chilling the air. “She is not dangerous.”
“Everything with shadow magic is dangerous,” Thane shot back. “Your Majesty, your arrogance will blind you—”
Kael vanished from his seat.
Before Thane could breathe, Kael stood behind him, hand gripping the back of the chair with enough force to c***k wood.
“Say one more thing about her,” Kael snarled, voice low and vibrating with suppressed violence, “and I will show you precisely how dangerous I can be.”
The room froze.
Rowan rose quickly. “Kael—enough.”
Kael released the chair and stepped back, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He forced himself to retreat to his seat, though the curse clawed painfully beneath his skin, urging him toward Lyria.
Rowan spoke softly. “Your Majesty. The curse reacts when you feel threatened.”
“I’m not threatened,” Kael said tightly.
“Then it reacts when she is,” Rowan replied.
The truth of it landed heavily.
Kael shut his eyes for a moment, steadying his breath. He could still feel the echo of Lyria’s presence, a faint thrum somewhere beneath his ribs, pulling, tugging, warning.
Seris stood gracefully. “The council will not interfere with your hybrid. But you must control the narrative. Before rumors spread. Before the queen dowager stirs trouble.”
Kael opened his eyes. “I will.”
Rowan nodded once. “We dismiss this meeting with caution, not fear. And Kael—” He met the king’s gaze with quiet understanding. “Go to her. You’re in no condition to be far.”
Kael didn’t waste another second.
He strode from the chamber, the curse gnawing harder with every step—hot, demanding, vicious.
He didn’t care how it looked. He didn’t care which wolves whispered.
He needed to get back to her.
Because the curse wasn’t the only thing tightening in his chest.
And that terrified him more than any prophecy.
- Writer
