Chapter 65

When the meal finally ended, it was not with relief but with jagged tension hanging between us like a blade suspended mid-air.

I left the room trembling, my chest aching as though invisible fingers had wrapped around my ribs, squeezing tighter with every breath.

Thankfully, as I walked down the hallways, the stares had reduced, granting me much-needed relief.

Back in my room, exhaustion dragged me to the balcony, where I clutched the railing and tried to breathe through the storm gathering inside me.

Staring out at the town below, I felt the sense of peace come upon me.

At least for a short while…. Until I heard a knock on the door.

“Miss Isla?” Lily’s voice, soft but laced with dread.

She didn't even wait for me to say ‘come in’ before the door swung inwards and she walked in, her eyes wide, pale.

“What is it?” My voice cracked.

“I didn't want to tell you because I know that you already have a lot on your plate but I thought you should know. They’ve called a closed-door meeting.” She whispered, twisting her fingers. “The council, some of the elders… just Tristan and them. They’re questioning his leadership. They say if his home isn’t in order, how can he possibly be trusted to lead the pack?”

Dread bloomed in my chest, the cold railing beneath my hands jolting some awareness to my body.

A closed-door meeting could only mean one thing…they're about to take action.

“Are you sure about that, Lily?” I breathed out, my heart beating wildly.

She nodded, biting her lip.

I closed my eyes briefly, muttering under my breath.

Deep down, I wished I could barge in and give my opinions like I did in the previous meeting, but walking into a closed-door meeting attracts penalties, and I'm already on shaky ground with the pack; I can't stir any more waters.

I just have to believe that Tristan will do the right thing.

And in his current state of mind… I doubt that he will.

Tristan POV

The council chamber smelled of smoke and oil.

Torches lined the walls, their flames bending with the faint draft that always seemed to snake through the hall. I could feel the weight of centuries pressing down from the carved arches above, but heavier still were the eyes fixed on me.

Marcellus sat at the head, broad-shouldered and stern, his grey beard catching the firelight.

Garrick leaned forward in his chair, those beady eyes of his assessing, his lip already curling with disdain as if he’d been rehearsing his disapproval.

Helena’s hands were folded neatly, but her gaze was sharp, measuring.

Rowan drummed his fingers slowly against the oak of the table, a man known for speaking few words but they cut deep.

I stood before them, folding my arms behind my back while I made eye contact with each of their gaze.

The tension that enveloped the room was thick enough to cut.

I waited for a few minutes, allowing them space to talk or at least to get down to the reason why I was summoned here but they all kept mute, exchanging weird glances amongst themselves.

“You summoned me here,” I began, my voice even, “ and then sit in silence as if I should hang myself with it.”

Garrick was the first to talk. He always was. “We summoned you because your silence out there is killing us, Tristan. A house divided is no house at all. If you cannot command your mate, your brother, your table…. Then what makes you think you can command this pack?”

The words were soft grenades launched to undermine my position, but I didn’t flinch.

Helena spoke up too, her tone softer but no less sharp. “The pack talk, Alpha. They see tension at your table, they see uncertainty in your home. And they can question if the bond with your mate is not steady, then what foundation can you say you stand on?”

A flicker of Isla's face burned in my mind, unbidden.

Her eyes, her silence at breakfast, the way Kieran’s defiance lingered in the air around her.

I quickly shut that image out.

“All of this is hearsay and as much as I appreciate it, the truth remains….” I said flatly. “My home is my concern. My bond is mine to worry over and the pack remains protected, does it not?”

Rowan’s fingers stilled. “Maybe, maybe not… but who knows for how long?”

The silence cracked then, Garrick pushing back his chair with a scrape that echoed off the walls.

“You should have banished Kieran months ago and you know it. His shadow stretches over every room he enters, and he even mocks you at your own table. Do you not see how it undermines you? Or worse…. Are you doing nothing because you fear him?”

My wolf surged, a low growl humming in my chest before I controlled it. “I fear no one.”

Garrick smirked, as though he’d gotten what he wanted. “Then prove it. Cast him out. Let the pack see that their Alpha can make his own decisions and stand by it let them see a fierce and disciplined ruler.”

Helena lifted her hand, her voice cutting through his. “Hold on, Garrick. Banishing him could fracture us further. Some wolves admire his ruthlessness, dangerous as it is. For reasons that I may not fathom, they even look up to him. If you chose to cast him out, you might risk making him a martyr.”

Helena's words offered another perspective, and that made us pause and reflect.

After a few minutes, Marcellus’s gaze shifted to me. “So what will it be, Tristan? Keep the wolf at your table gnawing at your bones, or throw him to the wilds and pray he does not bite back harder?”

My fists clenched at my sides.

They thought bringing me here would make me cornered, but this was not the battle I’d come here to fight.

Then Rowan spoke, his voice low, deliberate. “ We're facing petty issues while abandoning the ones that are of utmost importance. The rogues.”

The whole room went quiet.

Rowan leaned forward, folding his hands. “Allister McCane has sent word. He asks to meet you, Tristan. He demands the return of his dead.”

Allister McCane was the current leader of the rogue wolves.

Sometimes I wondered how that works since they had all decided to forfeit the traditional pack chain and authority but I gave up trying to understand them.

Murmurs rippled through the chamber at the mention of his name.

Helena’s brows drew tight. “Really? He dares to make demands of an Alpha?”

“Not demands,” Rowan said. “An invitation. He wants to parley.”

Garrick spat on the floor. “It's a trap. If you go, you might not return. The rogues are a bloodthirsty bunch without rules governing them. But also, if you send the bodies, you hand him proof that his rogues reached this far into our lands. That could cause unrest in the pack as well as let him believe that they could sneak into our territory at any time.”