Chapter 104 Divided throne
Meanwhile,
The heavy doors of the Council Study slammed shut, cutting off the draft from the drafty hallway. Inside, the air smelled of old parchment and cold wax. Arwen stood at the head of the long mahogany table, her eyes fixed on Elder Kaelum.
"You are playing with fire, Arwen," Kaelum rasped, his hands braced against the wood. "Using that girl’s blood to patch up a King who is already falling apart? It’s reckless."
Arwen didn’t flinch. "My son is alive, Kaelum. That’s all that matters to me."
"It’s not all that matters to the pack," Kaelum snapped. He paced the length of the rug, his shadow stretching long against the bookshelves. "The council is split. Half of them are ready to revolt. They see the king choosing a girl from a cellar over a proven alliance with the South. They see a King who is compromised."
"Pandora was never an option for the throne, Kaelum. You know that," Arwen said, her voice dropping an octave.
"She was a Lycan! An Alpha Female! She knew our ways!" Kaelum countered, his face flushing. "This girl... she’s a stranger. She carries the scent of the White Wolf clan that is currently sitting at our gates like a siege engine. If Ronan crowns her tomorrow, he’s telling every warrior in this pack that our traditions don't matter."
Matthew, standing by the door, cleared his throat. "The warriors care about a King who can lead. Ronan is stronger now than he’s been in years."
"Is he?" Kaelum looked at Matthew with pure disdain. "Or is he just a puppet for the girl's bloodline? If the rogues attacks tonight, who leads us? A King who can't even stand?"
"That's enough, Kaelum," Arwen commanded, her silver eyes flashing. "The ceremony will hold. If you have a problem, bring it to the floor of the Great Hall. But don't you dare bring your politics into my son's recovery again."
"I hope you all don't regret this." Kaelum gritted his teeth, his jaw working in silence. He didn't say another word as he stormed out, the heavy doors vibrating in his wake.
Back in the royal guest wing, the silence was absolute.
Elara sat in the armchair by the hearth, her legs tucked under her. She looked exhausted, her skin still carrying a ghostly pallor from the ritual. Across the room, Ronan lay on the bed, his breathing deep and steady. Arwen had insisted they stay in Elara’s chambers for the night, under the heavy guard of the Black Shield units.
Elara stared at the dying embers in the fireplace. "He’s right, isn't he? Kaelum. About the pack being divided."
Arwen, who had just entered the room after the council meeting, sighed. She sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the duvet. "Kaelum and Silas has wanted Pandora on that throne for years. He’s loud, Elara. But he doesn't speak for everyone."
"But he speaks for enough of them," Elara whispered. "I can feel it. The way the other elders look at me. Like I'm a virus."
"You are a change they weren't ready for," Arwen said gently. "But soon, when you take that oath, they will see you as their Luna. They won't have a choice."
\---
Hours later, the room was draped in deep blue shadows. Arwen had retired to her own quarters, and the maids had been dismissed to the outer foyer.
Elara had fallen into a deep, restless sleep in the chair. She didn't hear the click of the balcony lock. She didn't see the crimson silk of a dress fluttering in the moonlight as a figure slipped into the room.
Pandora moved like a ghost. She had spent a decade learning the blind spots of the palace guards. She reached the bedside, her eyes burning with a feverish intensity as she looked down at Ronan.
"You're mine," she hissed under her breath. "She's just a phase. A mistake."
Pandora stepped into the candlelight, her red hair disheveled and her eyes bright with a manic, desperate light. She had bypassed the guards using the secret passages she had known for years—passages she had used many times to visit Ronan in the dark.
She looked at the King, her chest heaving. She didn't see the black veins or the sickness; she only saw the man who had discarded her.
"You won't leave me, Ronan," she whispered, her voice a jagged thread of sound. "I won't let that silver-haired bitch have you."
She moved to the bed, her fingers trembling as she unfastened the silk ties of her bodice. She knew Ronan was unconscious, but she also knew the power of the primal bond. If she could just get close enough, if she could force his wolf to recognize her scent in his weakened state, she could claim a fragment of him that Elara could never touch.
She slid into the bed beside him, her skin cold against his feverish warmth. She pressed her body against his side, her lips brushing his neck, right over the spot where the rot had been strongest.
"You don't get to cast me aside, Ronan," she hissed into his ear, her voice dripping with a dark, desperate possessiveness. "The White Wolf threw me away, so I’m taking what belongs to me. You’re going to wake up and see that I’m the only one who can handle your darkness. I’m the only one who fits your bed."
She began to undo the remaining laces of her bodice, her eyes fixed on his closed lids. "Forget the girl. Forget the bond. I’ll be your Luna, with or without a ceremony."
Ronan’s eyes snapped open.
They were a dark, stormy gray, swirling with the remnants of the Shadow King’s power. He didn't look confused or groggy. He looked lethal.
He felt the weight of a body against his, the familiar, cloying scent of jasmine and roses that he had once tolerated out of necessity. But through the haze of his recovery, he also smelled something else—the metallic, sweet scent of Elara’s Sovereign blood running through his veins.
His hand shot out, his fingers locking around Pandora’s throat with the force of a vice.
"What," Ronan rasped, his voice sounding like grinding tectonic plates, "are you doing in my bed?"