The guards marched them back to the palace under heavy escort—human soldiers on one side, wolf enforcers on the other. Celesse's vision swam from blood loss. Through the bond, she felt Dacian's matching exhaustion. The second anchor's destruction had accelerated his degradation even further.
They were taken directly to the throne room, which was packed with observers. Full council, palace staff crowding the galleries, even common citizens who'd witnessed the bridge incident and followed to see the aftermath. Chancellor Vorin stood near the throne, his expression grim.
"King Dacian, you've been witnessed shifting uncontrolled during a public crossing. Multiple injuries to guards. Property destruction. How do you answer these charges?"
Dacian stood straight despite his exhaustion. Someone had given him clothes, at least. "I acted to protect the realm. The second anchor was destroyed, bringing me closer to breaking the curse that's been killing me for twenty years. The shift was involuntary—a consequence of breaking the hex, not evidence of lost control."
"Yet witnesses report you scattered guards and destroyed property in your path," Vorin pressed.
"I maintained enough control to avoid killing anyone. The threadwalker used pack-sign language to call me back from the feral edge. I responded. That demonstrates recognition and choice, not mindless violence."
Murmurs rippled through the assembly. Marin Grayclaw stood from his council seat. "The human threadwalker speaks pack-sign now?" His tone dripped skepticism. "How convenient."
"She's life-bound to me through the hex's defensive magic," Dacian said. "When the anchor broke, she nearly died. The bond created sympathetic damage. I responded as any alpha would to a pack member in mortal danger."
"Except she's not pack," Marin countered. "She's a hired contractor who's caused nothing but chaos since arriving."
"Chaos she didn't create," Thane interjected. "The planted evidence, the rival threadwalker, the conspiracy to accelerate the King's death—all of that traces back to you, Alpha Grayclaw."
"Prove it," Marin said coldly.
Vorin raised a hand for silence. "Enough. We're wasting time. The immediate question is the King's fitness to rule. The conspiracy remains active—Renna fled after her exposure. Until we have answers, stability must be our priority."
"Then let's find those answers," Thane said. "I request permission to conduct a thorough search of Alpha Grayclaw's holdings. If he's innocent, he has nothing to hide."
Marin's amber eyes narrowed. "I won't permit another illegal search of my quarters."
"Then refuse publicly," Dacian said quietly. "Let the council wonder why."
The challenge hung in the air. Marin's jaw tightened, but he was trapped. Refusing would look like guilt. Accepting meant risking more damaging evidence being found. He chose deflection.
"I'll agree to a search if the King agrees to one as well. Full transparency. Search both our holdings."
"Agreed," Dacian said without hesitation. "Let the council examine everything."
"Very well." Vorin gestured to the guards. "Conduct simultaneous searches. Report findings immediately."
He turned back to Celesse. "The threadwalker will remain for questioning about the bridge incident."
"She's injured—" Dacian started.
"After questioning." Vorin's tone left no room for argument. "Take her to the interrogation chamber."
Through the bond, Celesse felt Dacian's fury spike.
"Don't," she said quietly, touching his arm. "I can handle questions. Don't waste your strength fighting this."
The guards led her away to a sparse stone chamber and left her alone for what felt like hours. No treatment for her wounds, no water, nothing. Just cold stone and waiting.
When the door finally opened, it wasn't Vorin who entered. It was Marin.
"I requested a private conversation," he said, sitting across from her at the small table. "Just us."
"Not interested in anything you have to say."
"You should be. You're in an impossible position, Celesse."
He leaned back, studying her. "Life-bound to a dying king, accused of conspiracy, injured from dangerous magic. You have days—maybe hours—before the hex kills you both."
"Get to the point."
"You don't have to die with him." Marin's voice took on a reasonable tone. "Work with me. Testify that Dacian coerced you into this bond, that he's been using you. I'll arrange your release, safe passage out of the Crescent, and enough coin to start over somewhere far from here."
"In exchange for betraying him?"
"In exchange for saving yourself. He's dying, Celesse. Even if you somehow break all five anchors, his wolf will consume him. Every shift brings him back a little less human. You've seen it."
"Why do you care whether I live or die?"
"I don't, particularly. But your testimony would make the transition smoother. The realm needs stability, and a voluntary abdication is cleaner than forcing one."
He leaned forward. "When the third anchor breaks and he goes fully feral, you'll remember I offered you a way out."
He stood and moved to the door, then paused.
"One more thing. The evidence planted in your quarters—the Grayclaw token, the forged letters. That wasn't me."
Celesse's head snapped up. "What?"
"Think about it. Who else had access to your belongings? Who else benefits from you being discredited?"
He smiled thinly. "Not everyone working against Dacian wears a Grayclaw crest."
He left.
Celesse sat in silence, her mind racing. Who else benefits? Vorin, certainly—the human court wanted the King weakened. But Marin's implication suggested someone closer. Someone with palace access.
Through the bond, she sent: Renna. We need to find her.
Dacian's response came immediately: Thane's searching. She knows the palace's secret passages.
The door burst open again. Thane, breathing hard, his clothes singed. "Found her. The archives. She's destroying records. We need to stop her now."
He grabbed Celesse's arm. "The King invoked alpha-right. You're released under his authority. But we move fast."
They ran through the palace corridors. Smoke poured from the archive chambers—thick, acrid smoke that made Celesse's eyes water.
Through the haze, she saw Renna standing amid burning ledgers and scrolls, a torch in her hand.
"Stay back!" Renna warned. "I'll burn it all. The truth dies here."
Dacian appeared from another entrance, guards behind him. "What truth, Renna?"
"That you were never meant to rule!" Her voice cracked. "Kael cast the hex to suppress your wolf permanently. You were supposed to abdicate once it was complete, step down peacefully and let the realm heal. But you didn't. You held on, and now everyone pays the price."
Silence crashed over the archives.
"Kael wanted me to abdicate?" Dacian's voice was hollow.
"She wanted you to survive. The grief-madness after her death would have made you destroy everything—you were already halfway there. The hex was meant to save you from yourself. But you were supposed to honor the agreement."
Renna's hands shook. "My mother helped cast it. Helped hide the truth. When you refused to step down, she spent the rest of her life trying to fix it."
"By hiring someone to kill me?"
"By hiring someone who understood Kael's vision. Who knew what the hex was really for."
Renna threw the torch at a stack of parchments. Flames erupted. "You were supposed to die peacefully. Instead, you've dragged an innocent woman into your death spiral."
"Where's the rival threadwalker?" Thane demanded, moving closer.
"Beyond your reach. The anchors are breaking. Soon the Wolf King will be nothing but memory, and the realm can finally move forward."
She turned and threw herself toward the flames.
Thane lunged but couldn't reach her in time.
Renna disappeared into the fire and smoke.
They fought the blaze, saving what records they could. When it was finally out, they found Renna's body in the ashes—burned, but with something clutched in her hand.
But Thane crouched beside the remains, frowning. The scent was wrong—ink and old parchment, not Renna's. A decoy, or something left to fool them. His eyes met Dacian's. "She's alive. She planned this."
Dacian broke the seal and read. His face went pale.
"What does it say?" Celesse asked.
"Kael's last will. She did cast the hex—used my blood, my consent given during the worst of my grief. The agreement was that I'd rule for five years to stabilize the realm, then abdicate and live out my life in peace."
He looked up. "I honored it for five years. Then threats emerged—separatists, rival packs, challenges to the Accords. I kept ruling because the alternative was civil war."
"So you broke your word," Vorin said from the doorway.
"I chose the realm over personal honor. Yes."
"Then the throne is forfeit."
"Perhaps." Dacian met his gaze. "But ask yourself this: who benefits from my removal right now, mid-conspiracy, with the hex still killing me? Who's been orchestrating all of this?"
He turned to look at Marin, who'd appeared in the archives. "The alpha who funded the rival threadwalker. Who stands to claim the throne once I'm gone."
Thane produced a partially burned journal. "Renna's mother's records. Detailed accounts of payments Marin made to ensure Dacian would never honor the abdication agreement. Payments to create 'incidents' that required the King's continued rule."
He read aloud: "'Alpha Marin understands that voluntary abdication would leave Dacian with dignity and public support. Better to let the hex kill him slowly, publicly, with witnesses to his degradation. Then the realm will beg for new leadership.'"
Marin's composed expression finally cracked.
Before anyone could react, a voice called from the corridor: "You forgot one detail."
Renna stepped into the archives—singed, injured, but alive. "I escaped through the servants' passage. Because you all needed to hear the truth."
She pointed at Marin. "You killed her. You killed Kael because she chose Dacian over blood-loyalty to Grayclaw. And you've spent twenty years engineering his destruction."
Marin drew a knife and lunged at Renna—
Celesse didn't think. She entered the dreamscape while still standing, using the forbidden technique of waking-world weaving. She grabbed the black-violet threads of Marin's murderous intent and pulled them into physical reality. Visible cords of light wrapped around his arms and legs, binding him mid-lunge. He crashed to the floor, struggling against bonds only he and Celesse could see.
Blood poured from Celesse's nose. The technique was killing her.
"The threads won't release until you confess or die," she gasped.
Marin struggled, then choked out: "I killed her. Kael. My own sister. Because she chose him over pack."
The threads loosened slightly.
"And the hex?" Dacian demanded, kneeling beside Marin.
"Paid Renna's mother—to make the structure permanent. To make you suffer. So when you finally died—they'd beg me to save them."
The threads released. Guards moved in to arrest him. Celesse collapsed. Dacian caught her before she hit the ground.
"Reckless," he said, but his voice was gentle. "It worked."
Vorin approached, his expression unreadable. "Alpha Marin Grayclaw, you're under arrest for murder, conspiracy, and treason. The tribunal question is postponed until the King's hex is resolved. The realm needs stability more than political maneuvering."
As guards dragged Marin away, Celesse caught his whispered words to an unseen figure in the shadows: "Phase two: if the threadwalker won't die on the ice, we'll make the King kill her himself."
The conspiracy wasn't over. It had just entered its final, deadliest stage.