Chapter 35: Chapter Thirty Five — The Wolf Who Forgot the Pack

The silence after I'd spoken stretched as taut as a bowstring. The judgment hall felt smaller than it had ever been, walls closing in on me with the weight of a hundred eyes upon me. The air was heavy with smoke and fur and expectation, it was so thick that I labored to breathe. My heart pounded in my chest, but I did not allow it to show.

Roran still stood before me, his broad shoulders set, his eyes daring me to falter. His words still lingered in the air like a rebuke: You are not one of us. You don't understand our ways.

I could feel the anger rise within me as I have had enough of the constant disrespect.

I stepped closer to cover the distance between us. Roran's jaw had clenched, his eyes pinching as if readying themselves for my wrath.

But I did not give him fury.

"You are right," I said softly, my words carrying further than I meant in the silence. "I was not born here. I did not grow up among you. I did not play with you under the moon as a child. My bloodline is not bound by centuries to this pack."

A murmur rippled through the wolves, some leaning forward, others standing firm. Roran sneered, believing my admission to be vulnerability.

But, I continued, my tone escalating, "I have bled for this pack. I have fought. I have stood with Lucien when your enemies came to batter these gates. I have left the corpses of your kin in fire and ash. I have called out their names so that even the Moon Mother herself would hear them.".

I scanned the crowd with my eyes, not just the soldiers, but the women, the children, the elders whose eyes pressed down on me like scales. "Tell me—what does it mean to be of the pack? Is it blood only? Or is it sacrifice? Is it tradition only? Or is it the bond we create in fire, war, and sorrow?"

The grumbling grew louder, shifted now, less assured. Roran's smirk faltered.

I turned to him. "You speak of hunger. You speak of the people's needs. Answer this, Roran—how many raids have you commanded in which your loot fed the widows, the orphans, the injured? Or do your kills fuel only your stomach and that of your closest friends?

The words sliced like claws. Roran's face turned red, and he snarled low in his throat. But I had already turned from him, speaking to the others.

"Who among you has eaten from Roran's hand in times of famine?"

The silence that met me was more damning than any accusation. Wolves shifted, avoiding my eyes, unwilling to meet them. None of them said a word.

Roran's snarl intensified. "This isn't about me—

No," I cut him off, my voice ice-hard. "It is about the pack. Always about the pack. You refer to me not as one of you. Yet here you stand, sowing discord when in oneness we are strong. You would tear us apart from the inside out as our foes gather at our gates.".

I stepped forward, staring into his eyes. "So let's see, Roran. Who has forgotten the ways of the pack—you, or me?"

A growl of agreement spread among the assembled wolves. It began around the edges—first one voice, the another voice—and later it became a sound that had substance to it. Wolves did not howl in sorrow this time, but in recognition.

Roran's eyes flickered, his defiance losing its grip to doubt. His fists were clenched at his sides, and for a moment I thought he'd attack. But then Lucien shifted in his chair, his form a threatening shadow, and Roran restrained himself.

I held up my hand, and the growling ceased.

This is my judgment," I stated, my voice strong, my heart beating like drums of war in my chest. "Roran, son of this pack, you have two choices. You will kneel before me, before your Alpha and Luna, and renew your vow of loyalty—without hesitation, without deceit. Or you will leave this hall and this pack, and never return. The Moon Stone will confirm your choice, and so will all the wolves in this hall.".

The room was deathly still. The torches flared with more intensity than the pounding of my blood.

Roran's chest heaved as he snarled at me, pride and anger warring in his eyes. He looked at the wolves who had once voted to follow him, but now their gazes had shifted direction. Some glared at him, some averted their gaze, but none stood with him. He stood alone.

Slowly, his growl shaking on the verge of a roar, Roran knelt on one knee. His head lowered, though his eyes still smoldered with rage. "I renew my oath," he spat. "To the Alpha. To the Luna."

The oath was a bitter one, but it was binding.

The pack emitted a howl, not for Roran, but for the unity my judgment had upheld. The howl shook the rafters, a chorale of voices risen in something beyond pride, beyond doubt.

I stood upright, though my legs trembled under my gown. My hand was clenched so hard at my side that my nails dug crescents into my palm.

Lucien stood up then, tall and looming, his hand for an instant on my shoulder. Not guiding, not holding in place—recognizing. His silence had been deliberate. His faith had been total.

And now, the pack did not only see me as his shadow, but as Luna in the flesh.

But when Roran stood up, his head raised to level with mine, and in their blue depths, I did not see submission, but promise. This was not the end of his rebellion.

No, it was only the beginning.