Chapter Ninety Six - Rendall Of The High Houses

Chapter Ninety Six - Rendall Of The High Houses
Eron's Pov

“The Alpha King,” she voiced out daringly. “Has demanded an audience with The Lycan Prince.”

Immediately, the room erupted, council member speaking over council member.

“Is she serious?”

“Are you playing tricks or what? How can you mention such name here!”

“Thus better not be a trick!”

“Why will the Alpha King demand such?”

“Who is he to be making demands in our own territory? And without showing his face to make matters worst.”

I turned my gaze to my father, the King, who for once didn't utter a word. He just watched, carefully did.

After a moment too long, he raised his hand and that shut them up.

My father’s eyes opened fully now, tired but sharp . “You are certain?”

She nodded. “The Alpha King himself awaits your response.”

Whispers filled the air again, louder this time.

“This is obviously a trap!”

“The werewolves wouldn’t risk crossing into our lands unless they wanted something.”

“This doesn't sound like peace? Ha! They want blood.”

I looked down, carefully weighing the options.
After what happened at the border… after Storm… after everything.

What could he possibly want now?
Was he here to finish me off? To seek blood after we broke into his palace? Or was he here to ask for penance?

I took a slow breath and looked at my father. His expression was unreadable, his fingers tapping the armrest in thought.

The air in the room turned thick. Heavy.

The whispers hadn’t even died down before the massive doors swung open with a slow, deliberate creak that dragged everyone’s attention toward it.

At first, no one moved.

Then the guards stepped aside, and through the space between them walked two figures, calm, proud, and entirely too sure of themselves.

Both were dressed formally, their garments rich with layered silks and subtle symbols stitched in silver thread that shimmered under the hall’s light.

Behind them came a small escort, six men, each tall and broad, wearing wolf engraved armor. They didn’t speak, didn’t even glance around. They simply moved in formation, every step perfectly measured.

The whole council froze, like prey scenting danger in the air.

My father’s fingers stopped tapping, his jaw tight now.

One of the elders muttered something about “desecration” and “protocol,” but no one dared to stop them.

When they finally reached the center of the room, both of them dropped to one knee and bowed low before the throne. Their entourage mirrored them in one smooth motion.

My father didn’t speak at first. He just studied them, his expression caught somewhere between suspicion and reluctant admiration.

The man between the two of them was the first to rise. His eyes, cold, clear, calculating, lifted toward my father.

“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice deep, steady, almost too polite. “I am Rendall of the high houses, advisor to the Alpha King, Kael Varion.”

“And I,” the kady followed softly, standing beside him now, “am Mira of the Crescent Temple, High Priestess to the Wolves. We come in peace, bearing a message and a request from our King.”

The word peace made the councilmen shift uneasily, as if it burned their tongues just to hear it.

My father’s gaze hardened. “A request, you say?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Mira clasped her hands gently before her and then the man Rendall continued.

“Our King seeks formal permission to cross through Lycan territory. He wishes to move against certain human markets and territories that have defied the accords, those responsible for trafficking and harming both of our kinds.”

Whispers rippled instantly.

“The wolves want to cross our lands?”

“Blasphemy.”

“They expect us to open our borders just like that? Who do they think they are!?”

“This is nothing but provocation—”

My father silenced them with a single look. His voice came low. “And tell me, Advisor… your King thought to ask this time? Strange. I was under the impression he was fond of doing before asking.”

Rendall’s expression didn’t change. His tone remained calm, but there was a weight beneath it. “The Alpha King does not repeat mistakes, Your Majesty. Nor does he ignore proper courtesy, when it is shown.”

For a moment, I thought my father might smile. But instead, he leaned back, resting his arm on the throne, like he was genuinely tired.

“Courtesy,” he said slowly, “is a fragile thing between our people. Tell me, have your wolves forgotten who shed the first blood?”

Mira’s eyes flickered, a brief hint of emotion before she composed herself again. “No, my King. But we have not forgotten who healed it either.”

The room went quiet.

I glanced at her, something in her tone, something soft yet sharp, made my stomach twist.

My father, however, didn’t waver. “Tell me then,” he said, “what gives your King the right to demand my council’s time? Does he think himself above my throne?”

Rendall straightened slightly. “No, Your Majesty. But he does think himself your equal.”