Morning came to Silver Moon Palace not with peace, but with obligation.
The bells rang low and slow, echoing through stone corridors and into chambers where sleep had offered little comfort. Servants stirred first, then guards, then concubines — each waking with the same thought pressing against their chests.
Another wife.
The Inner Court gathered early.
Kael Draven stood at the head of the council chamber, hands braced against the long obsidian table, shoulders squared in rigid restraint. The elders sat opposite him, robed and composed, their expressions carved from tradition and expectation.
"You were informed of the council's decision," Elder Varros said calmly. "The union will proceed."
Kael's jaw tightened.
"I was informed," he replied, voice steady but cold, "not consulted."
A murmur rippled through the elders.
"This is not about desire," Elder Maera said. "It is about continuity. Your line—"
"—will continue when I decide it does," Kael cut in, amber eyes flashing. His wolf surged beneath his skin, snarling at the confinement of stone and words.
Silence followed. Heavy. Measured.
Finally, Varros leaned forward. "You are cursed, Alpha. You cannot sense the mate bond. That makes you… vulnerable to mistakes."
Kael laughed once — sharp and humorless.
"Or immune to manipulation."
The meeting ended without victory on either side. It always did.
Across the palace, the women felt the shift immediately.
In the west wing, wives gathered under the guise of tea, their smiles brittle, their voices edged.
"So it's true," one murmured. "Another."
"As if twenty were not enough," another scoffed, fingers tightening around porcelain. "He barely looks at half of us."
"And yet," Serina said softly, eyes dark with calculation, "he looks somewhere."
The room stilled.
"Where?" a younger wife asked.
Serina smiled — slow, knowing.
"That," she said, "is what unsettles me."
In the servants' quarters, Lyria folded linens with careful precision, unaware that her name hovered unspoken in rooms she would never enter.
Selene lingered nearby, pretending to organize shelves.
"You've been quiet," Selene said lightly.
Lyria shrugged. "The palace feels… louder."
Selene studied her. "About the new wife?"
Lyria hesitated — just a breath too long.
"I don't know why it should matter," she said finally. "It changes nothing for people like us."
Selene opened her mouth to press further — then another maid entered, shaking her head subtly.
Enough.
Lyria didn't notice the exchange. She returned to her work, heart unsettled for reasons she refused to examine.
That evening, Kael walked.
Not with guards.
Not with ceremony.
He moved through the inner corridors alone, shedding the weight of council words with each step. His wolf paced restlessly, alert, tugging him toward something undefined.
That was when he saw her.
Lyria stood near the old library alcove, arms full of scrolls, brow furrowed in concentration. She hadn't sensed him yet — and for a moment, he simply watched.
There was nothing remarkable about her by court standards.
And yet…
"Careful," he said suddenly.
She startled, scrolls slipping — but before they hit the floor, Kael's hand caught them.
Their fingers brushed.
The contact was brief. Barely there.
But Kael inhaled sharply.
Something pulled. Not forcefully — subtly. Like a tide testing the shore.
"My— my apologies, Alpha," Lyria said, stepping back quickly, eyes lowered.
"You're not at fault," he replied, voice lower than intended.
She nodded, but didn't flee. Instead, she looked up — just once — and the air between them tightened.
"You work near the archives often," he said.
"Yes, my lord."
"Do you read?"
A pause. "When I'm allowed."
Something flickered behind his eyes — curiosity, perhaps. Or frustration with rules he hadn't written.
"You should be," he said. "Allowed."
Their gazes held too long.
Then footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Kael stepped away first.
"Go," he said gently.
She did.
But long after she disappeared around the corner, his wolf remained alert, unsettled — aware that something had shifted without permission.
Elsewhere, Isolde stood before her mirror, removing jeweled pins from her hair with deliberate slowness.
"Did he look at her?" she asked Maris.
"Yes," Maris admitted. "Only briefly."
Isolde's reflection smiled.
"That will be enough," she said. "For now."