CHAPTER 72: CHAPTER 72: ORDER OF THREE

IVAN’S POV

The council trial hearing came faster than I’d have liked.

It wasn’t held in the regular venue; given the exhausting demands of honoring this invitation, the venue was the sacred council hall of the castle—reserved for matters of the highest caliber.

And apparently, the supposed mental decline of the Alpha was considered one.

The chamber smelled of old incense and dust. Banners of past Alphas hung down the walls—my father’s, in particular, stared at me in judgment, as though even being summoned here was the gravest crime.

The pack elders sat in a circle: Elder Halden at the center, Elder Mara to his right, Elder Ilyas on his left.

Barty was tersely seated between them, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that this meeting might go badly if things weren’t handled with utmost care.

Francis stood at my shoulder, walking in just as confidently as I did, his face set in a stern mask like mine.

And then there was Elder Vance Montrose.

Serena’s old man.

He was an elderly wolf in his late fifties, but his bulk and the full, graying beard made it far too easy to doubt his age.

Gold rings glinted on his fingers—no doubt acquired from his several travels overseas—paired with an immaculate suit and his characteristic hundred-watt smile.

He had been absent from pack meetings for weeks now, despite being one of the highest-ranking members in the room and soon to be seated as Chief of the Council.

But Vance Montrose had always loved his travels, and his most recent had been for the purpose of his southern trade business.

Despite the fatherly warmth he seemed to exude, something about him made the man intimidating—enough to fill the room with his presence.

In minutes, I was standing before the large, granite-built table for the test and trial.

I’d heard of Alphas who lost their thrones, families, and some even sentenced to death if they failed the trials—some locked away like rabid animals.

That little fact made this all the more suffocating.

Fucking hell, this was never the plan. I was never supposed to be here, standing before a room of judgmental old fucks, waiting on their words like it was law.

I was the fucking law of this pack.

And by the Goddess, I’d get to the bottom of whoever had pushed the rumors until they got out of hand—whoever had lied in my name.

Elder Halden struck the sound-stone once. The chime traveled fast through the room, carrying a light echo.

"Alpha Ivan Cross—son of Roderick and Lydia Cross," he said, his voice carrying a dramatic timbre. "We convene to address the rumors of your instability—what the pack’s people are calling the Rabid Wolf. The peace of the pack has been thrown into chaos for this reason: mothers hiding their young, fathers standing guard against the possibility of a mad Alpha with enough strength to rip the hearts of five grown men at once.

"We have seen the rise of many Alphas, and the fall of a thousand more—whether for greed, cruelty, or, in this case, going feral. As the Moon Goddess’ loyal council, it is our designated duty to try every Alpha under her watch and ensure he is fit to sit on the throne.

"Now, Alpha Ivan, you contend you are fit to rule. You contend that the rumors have been fabricated to disparage your name. While we respect your right to be Alpha King, for the good of Ash Creek, we will not take your word alone. And for that, by the power vested in the Council by the Goddess Selene, we invoke the Order of Three."

Francis’s wide eyes snapped to mine from where he stood across the room. I saw the evident panic there—the range of bleak possibilities flashing in his mind.

The Order of Three came from the ancient wolf laws. It was used in extreme situations to force truth from royal families.

As a wolf from a royal bloodline, you were bound to certain laws, certain rules—and the Order of Three was one of them.

Three tests, each backed with heinous consequences if failed, designed to try the heart of an Alpha and determine where his loyalties truly lay.

Anyone else in my position would panic, knowing they were fucked. Many would run from the stand entirely, unwilling to incur the Goddess’ wrath for lying or being found untrue.

But I chuckled, merely amused by the turn of events. The old men’s hawk-like eyes regarded me warily—more so when the next words left my lips.

"Then let’s not waste any more time. I was starting to grow bored of your speech."

A slight brow raise from Vance—amusement, maybe pride. Barty looked flabbergasted. And though Elder Hayden grumbled, he didn’t counter. Trial or not, I was still his Alpha.

Elder Ilyas slid a slate across the table.

"This hearing has three parts: Order of Oath, Order of Fury, and Order of Sight. You will submit to all three."

"Proceed," I said.

For the first trial, Order of Oath, Elder Mara set a bowl before me, a delicate antique designed for an older generation. In it was silver, melted into a burning liquid.

"Truth-binding," she said. "You must swear on Selene’s name, the one who forged the sacred silver as a weapon of truth. If you lie, the silver burns and poisons you with its bite. If you dodge, the silver burns and poisons you with its bite. If you omit, the silver burns and poisons you with its bite. If you consent, then place your hand into the bowl."

I did as she asked without a blink. The silver warmed against my fingers, biting down excruciatingly, but not enough to hurt an Alpha.

To any regular wolf, the Goddess’ sacred silver would not need a lie as its permission to burn.

"State your name, rank, and the case you contend."

"Ivan Zachary Cross. Alpha-Heir of Ash Creek. I contend that I am unfit to sit on the throne on grounds of an exaggerated rumor."

The silver hissed in the bowl, swirling — but in time, it cooled, and there was no burn. A few elders shifted in their seats, exchanging side glances.

"Alpha Ivan Zachary Cross, have you lost control of your wolf in the last seven days?" Ilyas asked.