Chapter 66: Chapter Sixty-six

Chapter 66

Brie’s POV

The chamber smelled of oak and smoke, though neither masked the undercurrent of unease that lingered there. The elders had grown restless, their glances sharper, their silences longer. To most, such tension would have been dangerous, a sign of fracture within the pack. To me, it was opportunity.

And I knew how to cultivate opportunity.

I stood at the far end of the chamber as they murmured among themselves, letting the sound wash over me like a current. Words mattered less than tone, and the tone here was heavy with doubt. I could taste it in the air, bitter and sharp, the kind of doubt that once planted could not easily be pulled up.

Halric noticed me first, straightening as though embarrassed. “You should not linger when the Alpha has dismissed us,” he muttered.

I smiled faintly, folding my hands before me. “Forgive me. I only linger where I am welcomed.”

It was not a lie. I had spent years learning to insert myself where others forgot to bar the door. They had not asked me to leave, and so I stayed.

Fenra cleared her throat, her eyes narrowing. “Your presence is unusual.”

“As unusual,” I countered, “as an Alpha who falters when he rises from his seat?”

The silence that followed was heavy, but none contradicted me.

That was all I needed.

Edgar had grown weaker, though he masked it with steel. He was still fierce in voice, still commanding in gaze. But I had seen the tremor in his hand when he reached for the cup, the stiffness of his movements when he stood. I had seen him falter, just slightly, when the chamber emptied and he thought no one watched.

He thought he could hide weakness. He forgot that I had been watching him since he was a boy.

And wolves did not forgive weakness in their leaders.

I let the silence linger a moment longer before I stepped forward, my voice low, weaving the words carefully. “He has led us well. None would deny that. But leadership is not immortal. The goddess chooses, and the goddess may unchoose. If she has turned her face, would you not see it? Would you not feel it?”

Halric’s jaw tightened, but he did not argue. Fenra looked away, her fingers fidgeting against her sleeve. Caddel only exhaled slowly, a long breath that betrayed more than any words could.

Seeds, all of them. Seeds that had already been sown, roots already spreading. I was only watering them.

Later, in the quiet of my own quarters, I replayed their faces in my mind. I had learned to read people not by what they said, but by what they could not say. And today, I had seen the cracks widen.

The council was shifting. Not fully, not openly. But the balance was moving.

And Edgar, Edgar was running out of time.

It should have pleased me more than it did. Once, perhaps, I might have felt satisfaction in seeing him stumble. But now, my satisfaction was sharpened by urgency. The pack could not be left to tear itself apart. If Edgar fell without direction, chaos would follow.

Chaos was Connor’s realm, not mine.

And so I prepared.

Connor had written again. His words came cloaked in caution, but I knew his meaning. He was impatient, frustrated by distance, desperate to move the board faster.

Patience had never been his strength.

I sat with his letter by candlelight, tracing the strokes of his hand with one finger. He thought himself ready, thought that Edgar’s weakness meant the path was clear. But he did not see what I saw.

A throne unguarded is not seized easily, it is defended by those who fear losing their place. To strike now would only ignite the pack’s resistance, bind them tighter to Edgar out of desperation.

No. Better to let doubt do the work. Better to let them question quietly until the moment came when they asked for change themselves. A wolf forced into obedience would bite the hand that chained it. But a wolf who believed the chain was necessary would bow willingly.

That was what I worked toward: not force, but inevitability.

And inevitability took time.

I dipped the quill in ink and began to write, my hand steady, my words precise. Patience, Connor. Trust the weaving. A web does not catch its prey by force but by stillness. Soon, the pack will beg for change. And when they beg, you will be the answer.

The next evening, I walked the halls where the guards stood their posts. I knew their names, their families, their loyalties. I spoke softly, kindly, to each of them, asking after children, wives, the winter stores. It was not the questions that mattered, but the listening. Wolves remembered kindness, even in small doses.

And when the time came, those who remembered my voice would hesitate before raising their claws.

I passed two servants in the corridor, their voices hushed as they carried linens. They did not notice me until I was near, and by then, I had already caught the thread of their words.

“he was pale again today. The Alpha.”

“Hush, don’t speak it.”

“But it’s true. If he falters”

They froze as they saw me. I only smiled, tilting my head slightly. “Truth does not vanish when hidden, child,” I said gently. “Be careful, though. Words are weight, and not all ears are kind.”

They nodded quickly, scurrying past. But I knew they would remember the warning, and the kindness.

Every small thread mattered.

By the week’s end, the council no longer met my gaze with suspicion. They did not yet meet it with trust, either. But they listened. They paused when I spoke. They allowed my words to linger in the air without being brushed aside.

That was enough.

Edgar still stood at the head of the chamber, still spoke with authority. But I saw the way his jaw clenched when silence answered him, the way his eyes flickered when his orders were met with hesitation. He noticed.

And that was all I needed, for him to notice.

Doubt weakens faster than poison.

When the meeting ended, I lingered as I always did. This time, Halric did not question it. Fenra did not glare. Caddel gave me the smallest of nods as he left.

The shift was happening.

I turned toward the empty throne, the firelight flickering against its carved wood. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine it, steady, untrembling hands upon its arms, a leader whose strength did not falter with each breath.

The pack needed that. They deserved it.

And if the goddess had truly turned her face from Edgar, then it was not betrayal to guide the pack elsewhere. It was obedience.

I closed my eyes, letting the silence settle. Soon, I thought. Soon the threads would tighten, and when they did, no one would be able to pull free.

Not even Edgar.