Chapter 49 Still pissed
Ronan let out a low, terrifying growl that made the stone walls vibrate. "She hasn't shifted ever! They are asking for the impossible just to get rid of her."
"The court elders are whispering," Matthew added, his silhouette grim against the torchlight of the hallway. "They're convinced that your 'distraction' with Elara is weakening the throne, and that a human presence in the Royal Wing during the Sacred Hunt is an affront to the ancestors."
The silence in the King’s chambers was heavy, weighted with the scent of cedar and the lingering tension of the dinner party. Elara now stood by the window, her fingers tracing the cold stone of the sill. She turned, her silver eyes scanning the grave expressions on Ronan and Matthew’s faces.
"Everyone is talking about it in the halls," Elara said, her voice breaking the quiet. "The Hunt. What is it, exactly? Why is it such a monumental thing for your court?"
Ronan exhaled, his broad shoulders shifting as he leaned against his desk. "The Sacred Ridge Hunt is an ancestral rite. It’s how the pack honors the moon and proves the strength of the bloodline. It isn’t a game, Elara. It is a grueling, primal test of endurance and instinct. It gets bloody. It's not a place for... for recovery."
Matthew stepped closer to Ronan, his voice dropping to a low, jagged murmur intended only for the King’s ears. "And now that Pandora is here, the court elders are whispering louder than ever. They think the timing is a sign. They believe it is time to officially name her your Queen and solidify the Southern alliance before the first kill is made."
Ronan’s jaw locked, and a low, terrifying growl rumbled in his chest, making the floorboards vibrate. "I don’t need another Queen," he hissed, his eyes flashing a lethal gold. "And Elara doesn’t need to shift or prove a damn thing to a group of senile old men. She stays here, in the Royal Wing, where it’s safe."
Elara watched them, her brow furrowing. She couldn't hear their whispers, but she could feel the heat of Ronan’s anger. She stepped forward, her chin tilted high.
"I’m joining the hunt," she blurted out.
"No!" Ronan roared, the word echoing off the vaulted ceiling. He turned to her, his worry flaring into a protective rage. "Absolutely not. The pack doctor said you need rest. Your body is still fragile, Elara. The hunt in the Ridge is a bloodbath. I cannot risk you."
Elara let out a sharp, bitter scoff that cut through his authority. "You can't risk me? Why can't you risk me, your highness?"
She stepped into his space, her silver eyes clashing with his burning gold. "I’m not your mate. I’m not your kin. I’m a nobody from Northwood—a half-dead outcast you found in the woods. Is this just what you do? Pick up broken things and keep them in gold cages until they forget how to breathe on their own?"
Ronan flinched as if she’d struck him. "Elara, that's not—"
"It’s weird!" she snapped, her voice rising. "Even the queen treats me like I’m something special, but I’m not. I have no standing here. My presence shouldn't bother anyone, yet you’re acting like I’m made of glass. If it were Pandora asking, that red-headed, perfect woman who actually knows how to lead a pack and catch fishes, you would agree in a heartbeat! You’d be proud to have her at your side!"
"Elara, listen to reason—" Ronan began, reaching out to steady her.
"I am going to that hunt," she yelled, stepping back from his touch. "I wasn't sure I had ever asked you for a single thing, but the one time I do, you turn me down? You want me to stay here while she proves she’s 'worthy' of your crown? Forget it!"
"I said no!" Ronan growled, his Alpha command vibrating in the air.
"And I said I don't care!"
Before he could react, Elara spun on her heel and stormed out of the chamber, slamming the heavy oak doors behind her with a force that rattled the hinges.
Inside the room, the silence was absolute. Ronan stood frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs. Deep within him, Fenrir went deathly quiet, stunned into a rare, stunned silence by the girl’s fire.
Matthew broke the tension with a low, dry chuckle, leaning against a stone pillar. "Well, Alpha... she definitely has the temper of a Queen. And she is definitely still pissed."
Elara didn't hear him. She was moving blindly through the dimly lit corridor, her mind screaming at Ronan’s suffocating protectiveness. She turned the corner at a sharp pace, her vision blurred by a volatile mix of tears and rage, and slammed full-tilt into a soft, yet unyielding figure.
Elara stumbled back, her breath hitching. Standing before her, bathed in the pale moonlight of the hallway, was the last person she wanted to see.
Pandora stood there, dressed in a shimmering night-robe of emerald silk, her long red hair cascading over her shoulders. She didn't look startled; she looked like she had been waiting. A slow, mocking smile spread across the Southern Princess’s lips as she looked Elara up and down.
"My, my," Pandora purred, her eyes glinting with a dangerous, knowing light. "The little stray finally learned how to bark."