Chapter 171
The long table in the Elder Council’s private court is set for tea, but no one’s really drinking. The air smells faintly of old wood and brewed herbs, and the low hum of voices fills the room. It’s supposed to be an informal gathering — a break from the rigid meetings and endless rules — but tension creeps in through the door like a draft.
Two elders sit at the far end, leaning toward each other, their words slipping out in low, urgent tones. Another, the youngest among them, glances around before speaking.
“They’re saying our heir is cursed,” he murmurs. “A child barely a year old.”
The room goes quiet for a heartbeat. Cups pause halfway to lips. Eyes shift to the oldest elder at the head of the table. His brows draw together, deepening the lines on his forehead.
“Where did you hear this?” His voice is calm but carries weight.
“From one of the maids in the pack house,” the younger one says, sitting back. “And she heard it from—”
“A maid,” the oldest cuts in, his tone sharper now. “You’re bringing women's gossip into the council’s ears?”
“It’s not just gossip anymore,” another elder says from the middle of the table. “I’ve heard it twice this week. Same story, different mouths.”
The youngest nods quickly. “It’s spreading fast. And you know how people get when it’s about heirs and curses. They won’t stop talking.”
A heavy silence follows. The ticking of the old wall clock suddenly feels louder.
The oldest elder leans back in his chair, fingers tapping slowly on the armrest. “And what exactly are they saying?”
“That the child’s birth brought bad luck to the pack,” the middle elder says. “And that’s why… certain things have been happening lately.”
Theon’s name isn’t spoken yet, but it hangs there, unspoken and heavy.
Another elder shifts in his seat. “If this spreads outside our borders, we’ll be seen as weak. Vulnerable. A cursed heir means a cursed pack.”
The youngest glances at the door, as if checking for anyone who might overhear. “We can’t just ignore it.”
The oldest elder exhales slowly, looking at each of them in turn. “We will not make decisions based on whispers in the maid's quarters. But—” He stops, pauses long enough for everyone to lean in slightly. “—we will meet with the Alpha. Formally. And we will hear from him directly.”
“Formally?” the youngest repeats, his tone carrying a hint of surprise. “Not… privately?”
“This is a matter of the pack’s future,” the oldest says. “We will do it in the open. Let him face the council with answers.”
No one argues after that. The decision settles over the table like a cold blanket.
The rest of the gathering carries on, but the talk shifts to weather, trade, anything but the heir. Still, the rumor sits in the back of everyone’s mind, refusing to leave.
By nightfall, word of the council’s decision has already moved through the corridors of the packhouse. Servants pass each other in the hallways with knowing glances. The walls seem to hold the whispers.
Upstairs, Lumina notices it before Theon says a word.
He’s standing near the window, shirt sleeves rolled up, his hands braced against the frame as if the glass might tell him something he doesn’t already know. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense. The light from the lamp casts sharp lines across his face.
“You’re quiet,” she says, closing the door behind her.
He doesn’t turn right away. “The elders want a meeting.”
She crosses the room slowly, watching him. “About what?”
His eyes flick to hers, and she sees the edge there, the part of him that’s been honed by years of leadership and pressure. “About our son.”
Her steps falter. “What about him?”
“They’ve heard the rumors.”
The word rumors tastes bitter even in her own mouth. “They can’t possibly believe—”
“It doesn’t matter what they believe,” he cuts in. “It matters that they think they have the right to question me. Question us.”
Lumina stops beside him, searching his face. “Then tell them. Show them he’s fine.”
Theon’s lips press into a thin line. “You think it’s that simple?”
“If you speak to them, they’ll listen—”
He gives a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t know the elders. They don’t listen. They weigh. They judge. And once they decide something, pulling them back is like trying to stop a river with your hands.”
She watches him for a moment, then moves to stand in front of him, forcing his gaze on her. “So what’s your plan?”
“My plan is to walk into that room and remind them who the Alpha is,” he says. “And to make it very clear that my son’s future isn’t theirs to decide.”
There’s something under his voice, a darker current she’s heard before when his control is stretched thin.
“You’re worried,” she says softly.
“I’m not worried,” he replies, but it’s too quick. “I’m…” He trails off, then exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t like them circling like vultures.”
She reaches for his arm, her fingers brushing the tense line of muscle there. “Then don’t let them see fear. Don’t give them anything to feed on.”
His gaze holds hers for a long moment. Then he nods once, sharp, as if sealing something in his mind.
They stand there in the quiet, the hum of the night pressing in from outside. Somewhere down the hall, a door closes softly, and the faint echo reminds them that the walls have ears.
"I have tried every single ritual I know Theon" Lumina mutters.
"I know, but we have to try some other way but first you need to relax... I can't bear to see you like this" he says, his hands wrapping the back of head and cupping her face to look at him.
He presses his lips on hers, it feels like the whole war in their home had blurred the bond between them.