The tip of the Sword of Judgment gleamed, a sliver of cold moonlight against the ruined landscape of Kaelen’s throat. The Great Elder’s words hung in the charged air, not an accusation, but a verdict. A final, irrevocable unmaking.
*You are no longer our Alpha.*
Kaelen did not protest. He didn’t roar or fight. A sound, thin and brittle, escaped his lips—the sound of a world shattering. He looked at Lycoris, then his gaze slid past her to me, his silver eyes now hollowed-out pits of dawning horror. He was not looking at his mate; he was looking at the architect of his oblivion.
Lycoris raised the blade. She did not need to strike him. She turned the flat of the sword to the assembled Elders, a silent signal. They rose as one, their faces grim, and began to chant in the Old Tongue. It was
