Chapter 4 JUDGMENT OF THE COUNCIL
Sleep did not come.
Aria lay on the unfamiliar bed in the West Wing guest chambers, staring at the canopy above her as the shadows shifted with every flicker of the hearth. The room was far too grand for someone who felt like a mistake—tall windows veiled in heavy drapes, a carved wardrobe, a small table with fresh bread, cheese, and fruit laid out like she was some honored guest and not an unwilling captive.
She’d eaten just enough to keep the shaking out of her hands.
It didn’t stop the cold.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the moon bleeding red over the forest. Roman’s storm-grey gaze. The way the bond between them had snapped into place like a chain.
Mate.
Her wolf whispered it like a prayer and a curse.
She rolled onto her side, curling her knees to her chest. Her veins still glowed faintly under the skin—less bright now, more like embers than open flame, but impossible to ignore.
What are you? she asked herself.
The answer came in her aunt’s voice, trembling and desperate from years ago:
Dangerous. Precious. Doomed if they find you.
Well, they’d found her.
A soft sound clicked at the door.
Aria shot upright, heart racing. Her hand flew automatically to the small knife she’d hidden beneath her pillow—a habit from years in the village. Familiar comfort. Thin protection.
The door opened just a crack.
A woman slipped in.
She was tall and willowy, with dark hair braided over one shoulder and eyes the green of deep forests. She wore simple but well-made clothes, an apron tied at her waist. Not a warrior. Not a noble, unless this kingdom dressed its royalty like kitchen hands.
The woman shut the door quietly behind her, then turned and offered Aria a small smile.
“You shouldn’t be awake,” she said gently. “Council mornings are hard enough without no sleep.”
Aria’s grip on the knife eased, just a fraction. “Who are you?”
“Lysa,” the woman said, dipping her head. “I handle the North Wing kitchens and, occasionally, stubborn Alphas who forget to eat.”
Aria blinked. “Roman?”
Lysa’s smile turned fond and exasperated all at once. “He treats food as a strategy rather than a necessity. If he could win wars on sheer willpower and coffee, he would.”
The image almost made Aria smile. Almost.
Lysa studied her for a moment, eyes softening. “He sent me to check on you.”
Heat crept up Aria’s neck. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Good,” Lysa said cheerfully, crossing the room to the table. “Because I don’t have time to be one.”
She lifted the cloth covering a second tray Aria hadn’t noticed. Steam spiraled up from a bowl of porridge laced with something that smelled like honey and herbs. She carried it over to the bed and set it on the small stand beside it.
“Eat,” she said. “You’ll think more clearly with food in you.”
Aria hesitated. “Did he tell you… what I am?”
Lysa’s expression didn’t change. “He told me you’re important,” she said. “And that you’re not to be harmed.” Her gaze flickered to Aria’s arms, where the faint silver glow showed beneath her skin. “The rest, I can guess.”
“Are you afraid of me?” Aria asked quietly.
Lysa thought about it. Really thought about it.
“A little,” she admitted. “But I’m more afraid of what the Council will do if no one stands in front of them.” Her lips twitched. “Fortunately, our King is very good at standing in front of things. Arrows. Blades. Stupid decisions.”
Aria’s chest tightened. “They hate me already, don’t they?”
“Oh, dear one.” Lysa’s voice gentled. “They feared the idea of you long before you were born.”
That… didn’t help.
Aria picked up the spoon anyway. The porridge was warm and thick, the herbs calming something frantic in her chest. Lysa fussed with the curtains, letting in a sliver of grey-blue dawn.
“Is it always this quiet here?” Aria asked after a few bites.
“In the mornings?” Lysa shrugged. “The North wakes like the moon: slowly and with plenty of brooding.”
Aria swallowed another spoonful. “How long have you known him?”
“Roman?” Lysa hummed. “Since he was a boy too serious for his own age, trying to wear a crown that didn’t fit yet.”
“And now?” Aria pressed.
“Now he wears it like it’s grown roots into his bones,” Lysa said softly. “He carries too much. Has for too long.”
Something heavy and reluctant stirred in Aria’s chest. Sympathy.
She didn’t want to feel it.
She hadn’t asked to be tied to a man made of duty and ghosts.
Lysa straightened. “They’ll send for you soon,” she said. “When they do, walk tall. Don’t look at the floor. Councilors can smell weakness better than wolves can smell blood.”
“I’m not strong,” Aria whispered.
Lysa’s gaze hardened. “You survived eighteen years with power like that in your veins, in a world that wanted you dead and didn’t even know your name.” She nodded at Aria’s glowing skin. “That seems strong enough to me.”
Before Aria could answer, a knock sounded at the door.
“Come,” Lysa called.
The door opened. Kael stood there, armored now, expression composed but eyes sharp.
“It’s time,” he said.
Aria’s heart dipped.
Lysa squeezed her shoulder briefly. “Remember,” she murmured. “They’re not the only ones with teeth.”
Aria rose on unsteady legs, smoothed the simple dress someone had left for her—a deep blue that set off the silver in her veins disturbingly well—and followed Kael into the corridor.
Two guards fell into step behind them.
As they walked, Aria caught glimpses of the castle waking—servants moving quietly, warriors heading toward training grounds, the distant clang of metal on metal. No one stepped into their path. Some glanced at her and quickly looked away. Others stared openly, curiosity wrapped in wariness.
The air grew colder as they climbed.
Kael glanced back once. “They’ll test you,” he said abruptly. “Push you. Try to see what breaks.”
“Encouraging,” Aria muttered.
His lips almost twitched. “Don’t give them reason to agree with their fears.”
“And if I do?” she asked.
His jaw tightened. “Then the King’s promise will be tested sooner than it should.”
Not helpful.
They reached a set of tall double doors reinforced with dark iron, intricate patterns etched into the metal. Two guards stood on either side, hands on their weapons.
Kael faced her fully now. “Whatever you feel in there,” he said, “don’t run. They respect wolves who stand their ground.”
“What if I fall apart?” Aria asked, honesty slipped out.
“Then fall apart after,” he replied. “Not in front of them.”
He knocked once.
The doors swung inward.
The Council chamber was circular, ringed with stone columns, banners hanging between them in the colors of different packs. At the far end, a raised platform held a wide chair carved from black wood—not as ornate as a throne, but no less commanding.
Roman sat there.
Not slouched. Not relaxed.
Every line of his body radiated controlled power. He wore a dark tunic with the eclipse sigil over his chest, a simple silver circlet resting against his black hair. His eyes found Aria the moment she stepped inside.
The room was full.
Men and women of varying ages and builds filled the semi-circle of seats—broad-shouldered Alphas with scars and sharp gazes, slender strategists with ink-stained fingers, elders whose hair had gone white but whose eyes were still keen. Their scents layered over one another, a heavy mix of fur and earth and steel.
Conversation died as Aria walked in.
All eyes turned to her.
She felt their attention like claws dragging over her skin.
Kael led her to the center of the chamber, then stepped back to stand at Roman’s right hand.
Aria stood alone on the stone floor, acutely aware of how small she was in this room full of power.
Roman’s voice cut through the silence.
“Councilors of the North,” he said, his tone cold and steady, “you demanded to see what the Blood Eclipse delivered.” His gaze remained locked on Aria’s. “Look well.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
“So it’s true,” a woman to Aria’s left said softly. She was beautiful in a severe way, with white-blonde hair braided into a crown and eyes like icy water. “Silver veins. Eclipse eyes.”
An older man snorted. “Or some trick. You’ve been fooled before, boy.”
Roman’s jaw twitched at the word boy, but he didn’t rise to it. “This is no trick, High Elder Merron,” he said. “You feel it as clearly as I do.”
Merron’s nostrils flared. He leaned forward, his dark gaze raking over Aria. “What I feel,” he said slowly, “is dangerous magic that should have died with the rest of that cursed line.”
Aria’s heart pounding loud enough she was sure they could all hear it.
“Speak, girl,” another councilor barked. He was thickly built, his beard shot through with grey. “What’s your name? Who claimed you? What pack do you call home?”
Her first instinct was to shrink, to drop her gaze, to make herself small.
Lysa’s words cut in: Walk tall.
Aria lifted her chin.
“My name is Aria Nightwolf,” she said, surprised that her voice carried as clearly as it did. “I had no pack. No one claimed me. My home was a small village at the southern edge of the forest. My parents died when I was a child.”
“Convenient,” Merron muttered.
Heat flared beneath her skin. Her veins brightened, silver light pulsing faintly.
Some councilors stiffened.
“She can’t control it,” someone whispered.
“Neither could the last one,” another replied darkly.
Roman’s fingers tightened on the armrest of his chair. “Careful,” he said softly.
An older woman with deep lines around her mouth leaned forward, studying Aria. “Do you know what you are, child?”
Aria swallowed. “A mistake.”
The woman’s eyes softened, just slightly. “No. That’s what frightened people call things they don’t understand.”
Merron scoffed. “You would welcome another Eclipse Luna, Seris? After what happened the last time we bowed to one?”
Seris did not look at him. Her focus remained on Aria. “What do you feel when the moon turns red?” she asked.
Aria hesitated. Lying felt pointless. They seemed to smell falsehood like blood in the water.
“Like… something inside me wakes up,” she said slowly. “Like fire, but not hot. Like… like the sky is inside my veins.” Her voice dropped. “Like I’m not allowed to be small anymore.”
A stunned silence followed.
Seris’ eyes burned with a strange, sad approval. Merron’s lip curled.
“This is exactly why she should never have been allowed to live,” he snapped. “We barely survived the last prophecy. You would risk it all again?”
“You’d kill a girl for being born?” Seris countered.
“I’d kill a weapon before it can be turned on us,” Merron shot back.
Aria’s breath hitched. Her glow flared brighter, reacting to fear and anger like dry wood to a spark.
“Enough,” Roman said.
The word cracked through the chamber like a whip.
Silence slammed down.
He rose from his seat.
Even without looking at him, Aria felt the shift in the room. Authority solidified around him, heavy and electric. He descended the steps of the platform with unhurried, lethal grace, coming to stand at her side.
The mate bond pulled tight, a tether made of moonlight and iron.
Roman didn’t touch her.
But he stood close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the controlled violence coiled under his skin, the cold determination in his scent.
“You fear her,” he said, addressing the Council. “Good. That means you’re not as foolish as you look.”
A few bristled.
“But fear,” Roman continued, “does not excuse cowardice masquerading as wisdom. You would kill a girl because the moon chose her? Because destiny wrote her into a story you don’t like?”
“That ‘story’ cost us a queen and half our warriors,” Merron growled.
Roman’s gaze hardened. “It cost me my mother. Do not presume to lecture me on that night.”
The room went still.
Aria’s heart lurched. His mother.
Queen Elaria. The burning throne.
Suddenly, the vow he’d spoken last night cut deeper.
If the moon ever tries to use another one as its sacrificial lamb… I would stand between her and the fire.
He hadn’t been speaking in theory.
He’d been remembering.
“You think I brought her here blindly?” Roman went on. “You think I haven’t spent years preparing for the possibility that the prophecy might breathe again?” His eyes swept the room, cold and unforgiving. “You question my judgment. Fine. Question it. Challenge me, if you have the teeth for it.”
No one moved.
“Do it,” he invited. “Here. Now. In front of the girl you’re so eager to condemn without trial.”
Still, nothing.
Merron looked away first.
Roman nodded once. “As I thought.”
He turned his head slightly, addressing the room and Aria both.
“Aria Nightwolf stands under my protection,” he said. “By blood, by moon, and by crown. Anyone who raises a hand against her raises it against me.”
The words settled like a shield around her.
Terrifying.
Comforting.
Binding.
“And what will you do with her, then?” another councilor asked, voice wary rather than hostile. “Train her like a soldier? Hide her? Parade her as a symbol?”
Roman’s gaze flickered to Aria for a fraction of a second.
She saw the war inside him then. Duty against destiny. Past against present. Scarred boy against unyielding king.
“I will teach her,” he said at last. “To control what she is. To survive what’s coming. And when the time comes for the prophecy to demand its price…” His jaw clenched. “I intend to make sure we name the price, not the moon.”
Aria’s veins burned.
For the first time since the forest, something like defiance sparked through the fear.
“What if I don’t want any of this?” she blurted, her voice ringing in the chamber. “What if I don’t want to be your weapon or your shield or your prophecy? What if I just want my life back?”
Every eye swung to her.
Even Roman’s.
For the first time, the full weight of his gaze didn’t feel like a storm pressing her down.
It felt like the eye of it, waiting.
Then, quietly, she added, “Do I get a choice?”
The question hung there.
Roman exhaled slowly.
“No,” he said. Then, softer, “Not in what you are. None of us got that choice.” He paused. “But you will have a say in what you do with it. That, I can give you.”
It wasn’t enough.
It was more than she’d had yesterday.
Merron scowled. “If she loses control—”
“She won’t,” Roman cut in.
“You can’t know that.”
“Yes,” Roman said, and now his voice carried something dangerous, something final. “I can.”
His eyes met Aria’s again.
Because if you fall, the bond seemed to say, I fall with you.
She shivered.
Seris rose slowly from her seat. “I will watch her,” she said. “Not as a jailor. As… a scholar.”
“Of course you would,” Merron muttered.
Seris ignored him. “Knowledge is the only power that doesn’t bleed when you draw it.”
Roman nodded once. “Very well. You will advise me on her progress.”
Merron opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. “You are staking everything on this girl,” he warned.
Roman didn’t flinch. “I am staking everything on myself,” he said. “On my ability to keep what’s mine alive.”
The words shouldn’t have made Aria’s heart leap.
They did.
“Council is adjourned,” Roman said.
Chairs scraped. Murmurs rose. Some councilors left with stiff shoulders and tight jaws. Others glanced back at Aria with complicated expressions—pity, curiosity, resentment, fear.
Kael moved forward. “I’ll escort her back, Alpha.”
Roman nodded, but his gaze remained locked on Aria until she turned to follow Kael.
Just before the doors closed behind her, she heard Merron’s low voice murmur to Roman:
“You know what the prophecy says, boy. The Luna of the Eclipse will either crown a new age… or burn the world to ash.”
Kael’s hand tightened briefly on Aria’s shoulder, guiding her out of earshot.
But she’d already heard enough.
Crown a new age.
Or burn the world.
And somehow, the choice was supposed to be hers.