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bChapter /bb191 /b

It began with footsteps.

:

Heavy, measured, far too many for the ordinary patrol.

Audrey bwas /bthe first to notice.

AED

She straightened, her hand resting on the hilt of her de as the air shifted. Marlow came from the west corridor with three of his men, their movements sharp, predatory. Even before a guard rushed into the manor to announce it, I knew: strangers had crossed our borders.

Not rogues. Not merchants. Not peasants seeking sanctuary.

Alphas.

Francesco was already waiting in the hall, his presence coiled and ready, ck eyes lit faintly in the torchlight. When the messenger stammered that it was not one Alpha but several, my heart gave ba /bsingle startled beat. And when the names followed, my lips parted in shock.

They hade from several areas in France.

And among them–Dorian.

Alpha Dorian.

The name lodged in me like a stone.

The timing was no coincidence. They hade after whispers of Isolde. But what chilled me most was the speed. News traveled fast, yes–but not that fast. Not unless someone wanted it to.

Not unless someone carried it.

Francesco’s gaze met mine, and in it I read the same thought: Dorian.

His hand flexed, ws threatening to push through the skin, but he stilled them. There was no proof. Not yet. And my mate was not a man to move without it.

“Prepare the great hall,” he ordered, his voice a whip through the air. “If France wants an audience, we will give them one. And they will see how the Italian King greets his guestsb.” /b

bI /blifted my chin. “And his Luna will stand beside him.”

His eyes softened for a fraction of a breath–enough for me to feel the bond hum, the quiet always that bhe /b

gave me.

Then it was gone, hidden under the steel mask of the King.

b***** /b

b10:40 /bbFri/bb, /bbSep /bb26 /b

The great hall filled with the sound of boots against stone.

??

65 vouchet

Torches red against the tapestries of wolves and stars. The long table had been cleared, reced with two high–backed chairs at its head–thrones of sorts, though Francesco never liked the word.

I sat at his right hand, my dress simple but regal enough to mark me as his Luna, my hair bound back with ba /bbraid Monica had insisted on weaving through with sprigs of rosemary.

A reminder, she’d whispered, that roots matter more than crowns.

The doors groaned open, and the French Alphas entered.

Six of them, all broad–shouldered, all carrying the arrogance of men too long obeyed with their trusted members behind them. Their scents filled the air–pine, cedar, musk, a faint tang of iron. My wolf bristled. They came not as allies but as predators circling another’s den.

And there he was, among them.

Alpha Dorian.

He looked much as he had thest time I saw him–dark hair streaked with gray, eyes like chips of flint, his frame leaner than some of the others but no less dangerous for it. His presence carried weight, not because of kindness or honor, but because of calction.

He bowed, just enough to be proper, though his eyes never dipped fully from Francesco’s. “King Francesco. Luna Eine. We thank you for receiving us on such short notice.”

Francesco inclined his head, his voice calm, smooth, utterly controlled. “My door is open to those whoe with respect. You bring many feet across my border–may I ask what matter weighs so heavily that six Alphas. must carry it?”

The words were polite, but the steel beneath them was unmistakable. Why are you here?

One of the others spoke first–a tall man with scar across his brow. “We heard troubling whispers, my King. Of a woman. A former lover of yours, Isolde. That she is here. That she was harmed.”

My pulse stuttered.

So, it’s true that they had heard.

But, already?

Francesco did not so much as flinch.

His voice remained even. “You heard whispers. And instead of sending word, you arrive at my gates with half

your council.”

Dorian’s lips curved, not quite a smile. “Surely you can understand, King Francesco. Rumors bspread /blike fire. Best to quench them at the source.” His eyes flicked briefly toward me, sharp as knives. “We would not want injustice to taint your reign.”

I held his bgaze/b, unflinching, though my wolf snarled inside me.

His words were meant as poison, sweetened with courtesy.

He wanted those around him to think he was here for truth–but I knew.

This was a theater.

And I was the stage.

Francesco leaned back in his chair, the image of ease.

50 you from

Only I felt the bond’s undercurrent: the way his power coiled, ready to strike. “Then let us speak truth,” he said. “Isolde is indeed here. Not in chains. Not in some dungeon. But in our ward, treated by my healers, guarded by my warriors. For her safety–and ours.”

A ripple moved through the Alphas.

Surprise.

Doubt.

Even faint admiration.

I folded my hands in myp and spoke for the first time, my voice steady. “She was not struck down. She was not silenced. She is alive, and she is cared for. That is the justice of this house.”

Their eyes turned toward me, weighing, measuring.

Some softened, though not all.

Dorian’s gaze narrowed, as though he sought cracks in my voice.

I gave him none.

Francesco rose, his presence filling the hall like stormlight. “If you came for proof, you will have it. Come. See for yourselves.”

*****

The ward smelled of herbs and clean linen.

Lamps glowed softly along the walls, throwing golden light across the rows of beds.

Healers moved quietly, their hands busy, their voices hushed. At the far endy Isolde.

Her wrists were unchained now, bandaged from where silver had bitten. Her hair, once her pride, spilled in a tangled sheet across the pillow. She looked smaller than I remembered. Less like a threat, more like a woman undone by her own choices.

The French Alphas stepped forward, their boots loud against the quiet.

b10:40 /bbFri/bb, /bbSep /bb26 /b

??

IX 15 youchard

Their eyes darted–taking in the space, the care, the proof that she was indeed no prisoner of cruelty.

Dorian’s gaze lingered longest. His jaw worked, but no words came.

Isolde stirred, hershes fluttering open.

When her eyes focused and found the men before her, she gasped softly.

For a heartbeat, fear flickered.

Then calction.

“Alphas,” she breathed, her voice weak but carrying. “You bsee/b… I live. The King did not harm me. The Luna did not harm me.” Her gaze slid toward me, something unreadable in it. “I was… mistaken.”

My shoulders loosened a fraction.

For once, she did not twist the truth into venom.

Francesco stood tall at the foot of her bed, his voice quiet but unyielding. “You have seen with your own eyes. This is the justice of the Lycan King. You may carry it back with you.”

The French Alphas exchanged looks, their expressions shifting.

Doubt still lingered, but the seed of proof had been nted. They could not so easily spread rumors of cruelty now–not when they had seen otherwise.

But Dorian.

Dorian’s eyes never left me. And in them I saw something colder than doubt. Something that promised this was not the end.

*****

That night, as the Alphas were given rooms and the hall fell into uneasy quiet, I stood at the balcony of our chamber with Francesco’s arm around my waist.

The moon hung low, silvering the gardens below.

My nts whispered in the wind like small, stubborn soldiers.

“They came for blood,” I murmured. “And left with questions instead.”

Francesco kissed the crown of my head, his jaw tight against my hair. “Questions can be survived. Proof can be shown. But whispers…” His voice dropped, fierce and low. “Whispers must be hunted.”

I thought of Dorian’s eyes, sharp as flint, and shivered.

Tomorrow would bring another battle–not of ws, but of words. And I would have to stand at his side again, Luna to Lycan King, ready to meet whatever storm Dorian thought ito /isummon.

15.49 FM Sep 25

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AD