Chapter b221 /b

The next morning, the hall felt heavier before anyone spoke.

The weight wasn’t from stone or ceiling beams.

No, it was from the way the air carried rumor, the way the servants whispered behind their hands, the way warriors moved in sharper lines as if expectingmands that would hurt when theynded. fn4d4e Readplete version only at f?ndnovel/fn4d4e

We had set the long dining table again, silver polished, flowers cut fresh, bread warm enough to let steam rise

when torn.

Because, I had insisted on it–on keeping the warmth even as strategy shifted. It mattered that people bsaw /bbread and blossoms, not just des.

But the people had already heard the news: the King Alpha himself would speak new rules at breakfast.

And that was notmon.

So, when Francesco entered, followed by Alfonso and Marlow, the room hushed. His presence was enough to silence even the scrape of spoons. Warriors straightened in their seats. Women pressed their children’s hands to keep them quiet.

My mate didn’t sit immediately.

He let the silence thrum until every heartbeat in the hall belonged to him.

Then he ced his hands on the back of the chair at the head of the table–his chair–and spoke firmly.

“Yesterday we weed you as family,” he began, his voice deep, steady. “We gave you bread and music and warmth. We offered you safety. And I meant it. But safety without teeth is an illusion. A house that keeps its doors open without guard will be burned. A wolf that shows only its belly will be eaten.”

Murmurs rustled through the hall.

Some elders frowned, confused.

Others nodded grimly, as if they had expected this all along.

But my Francesco’s gaze swept the table. “From this day, patrols double. Curfew returns at sundown. Any stranger who crosses our border without being known will be questioned, not weed. The wardens will check every loaf, every sk, every gift brought to this house.”

A gasp rose from one corner–women clutching children.

I heard one whispered, “But… yesterday, he smiled.”

I rose before fear could root deeper. I have to do something.

My voice carried clear, steady: “Yesterday was the wee. Today is the shield. A family is both. Do

you

fear

protection? Or do you fear the lies others whisper about us?”

And that shut them.

Francesco’s hand found mine briefly as I sat again, the warmth of his palm saying brava.

Then he continued…

170

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“I will not y at warmth while enemies sharpen knives. We will show the face they fear–the Lycan they say is ruthless. Yes. To enemies. To those whoe in shadow. But to you-” his voice lowered, almost a growl –“to you, who eat at this table, whobor and bleed and raise children here–you will have our strength. You will have me.”

The room trembled with that promise.

I saw awe on some faces, relief on others, fear still lurking in the eyes of those who did not yet know him.

Afterwards, when bread and stew were finally served, the tension did not vanish. It shifted. Men ate in silence, measuring. Women looked at me with questions in their eyes. When one finally spoke–her voice small, uncertain—“Luna, why such hard rules, so suddenly?”

I met her gaze without flinching. “Because safety is not given, it is kept. Do you worry for your children?”

She nodded quickly.

“Then know this: every order the King gives now is for them. Protection first,fort after. A mother does not feed her children sweets before bread. We are the same.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

Others nced away, chastened.

But, no one asked again.

By the time breakfast ended, the rules had settled over the hall like a new roof–heavy, strange, but necessary. Alfonso’s jaw was tight with approval. Marlow wore that small, dangerous smile that meant he was already nning drills. Even Monica, who usually frowned at talk of des, only sighed softly and muttered, “At least this way, fewer will end in my ward.”

But the people–oh, the people–they looked both afraid and oddly proud.

As if to say: ‘our house is hard, but perhaps it will not fall.’

Later, when Francesco and his knights walked toward the training field to begin their sharper regimen, I lingered behind.

My heart was proud of him, but it was also tired, knowing what enemies would twist from this show of steel.

By the time I returned to my chambers that evening, the day had already worn me.

I longed for Francesco’s arms, for the quiet bond–hum that came only when we breathed in the same room.

b12:35 /bThub, /bbOct /bb2 /b

But when I pushed open the door, I froze.

-70

The room was dim, the moon slicing the curtains into pale ribbons. And in the corner, in the shadow where themplight did not reach, someone waited.

The woman in gray.

Mother Severine….

Not a prisoner. Not a supplicant. Not an intruder who had forced her way. No. She stood as if she belonged there all along, as if she had only been waiting for me to notice.

Her hands were folded calmly before her.

Her eyes fixed on me with that same unsettling stillness from the square.

My heart thudded, but I closed the door behind me, deliberate, refusing to give her the satisfaction of fear.

“Luna,” she said, soft as the settling of ash.

I give her a small smile, I bet she know that I know her. That Isolde has spoke about her.

So I nodded my head before I called her. “Mother,”

Her eyes caught the word mother and glinted, not with surprise but with recognition—like a candle ring in a draft.

It was the look of someone who already knew her name had been whispered, who could smell the trail of words back to the mouth that had spoken them.

As if she could taste that Isolde had given her away

Themplight trembled between us, and I knew: this was no ident.

She hade to make herself known, and whatever she wanted, I would hear it alone.

Because the reason why shee when noone around must be that she wants me only.

And like she know what’s in my head, she gave me a small smile.