The rumors reached the council before the bells did.
By the time the midday chime echoed through the citadel, the narrative had already hardened into something dangerous—no longer whispers, but conclusions drawn by people who believed distance meant safety and spectacle meant truth.
Veyla was summoned again.
She entered the council chamber alone this time.
No guards flanking her. No escorts signaling protection or threat. Just the quiet weight of attention as heads turned and conversations stopped mid-breath.
The chalk line was gone.
In its place, new sigils had been etched into the floor—subtler, woven into the stonework so they could not be stepped over by accident. Containment without announcement.
Control without consent.
Veyla felt them immediately.
The bond recoiled slightly, tightening like a muscle pulled too far.
She kept walking.
Khorg Ironmaw was already there, positioned at the far end of the chamber. He looked carved from tension, shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes fixed somewhere just past her as if looking directly at her would cost him too much.
The wolf inside him paced relentlessly.
Mate close.
Mate watched.
Mate threatened.
The scent reached him in muted waves—enough to agitate, not enough to sicken. His stomach churned faintly, a warning rather than a command.
He welcomed the pain.
It reminded him why restraint mattered.
Across the room, Vinculus Noctaryn stood beside the council table, posture immaculate, expression neutral. The instability in his blood had settled into a constant, low-grade pressure that sharpened his focus to a blade's edge.
He hated this.
Not the discomfort.
The *visibility*.
What should have been a controlled anomaly was becoming a public variable, and variables invited interference.
Veyla took her place where indicated.
Not central.
Not peripheral.
A compromise designed to appease no one.
"Princess Veyla Aurelion," Lord Hadrien began without preamble, "the events in the outer gallery have forced this council to act."
Veyla inclined her head. "I assumed as much."
A murmur rippled.
Hadrien continued. "Your presence is… disruptive."
Khorg's hands clenched.
Vinculus's eyes narrowed.
Veyla met Hadrien's gaze calmly. "Then perhaps the disruption should be addressed at its source."
Hadrien bristled. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Veyla said evenly, "that I did not create the bond alone."
Silence fell.
Zora, lounging in her seat at the back, snorted softly.
"Bold," she murmured. "I like her."
Hadrien ignored her.
"The council proposes additional measures," he said stiffly. "Public appearances will be limited. Distance thresholds increased. Interaction strictly scheduled."
Khorg growled low in his throat. "You're isolating her."
"We're containing the situation," Hadrien snapped.
Vinculus spoke before Khorg could respond.
"Containment breeds pressure," he said coolly. "Pressure seeks release."
Hadrien stiffened. "Do you object, Your Majesty?"
Vinculus smiled faintly. "I observe."
Veyla listened, the ache beneath her ribs tightening with each word.
Isolation.
Restriction.
Silence.
She had lived these things before, wrapped in politeness and duty.
She lifted her chin.
"I will comply," she said.
Khorg's head snapped toward her.
"No," he said sharply. "This goes too far."
Veyla turned to him slowly.
"Alpha," she said quietly, "this is already too far. The difference is whether I choose it."
The bond pulsed painfully between them, reacting to the emotional shift.
Khorg forced himself to look away, jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
Vinculus watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, something unreadable flickering beneath his composure.
Interesting.
Zora sighed loudly.
"Oh, for the love of old gods," she said, standing. "You're all missing the point."
Every gaze snapped to her.
"The problem isn't her being seen," Zora continued cheerfully. "It's that you've taught the world where to look."
She gestured vaguely toward Veyla. "You can't shove a phenomenon back into a box once it's walked through a gallery."
Hadrien scowled. "What do you suggest?"
Zora smiled thinly. "We change the narrative."
Veyla's breath caught.
"Public stability," Zora went on. "Managed appearances. Controlled proximity. Enough visibility to stop speculation—but not enough to trigger collapse."
Khorg frowned. "That's dangerous."
Zora shrugged. "Everything is."
Vinculus tilted his head. "And who decides what 'enough' is?"
Zora's gaze slid to Veyla.
The room followed.
Veyla straightened.
The ache sharpened, then steadied as something inside her settled.
"I do," she said.
The words landed with surprising weight.
Hadrien scoffed. "You're asking us to trust—"
"—me," Veyla finished. "Yes."
She met his gaze without flinching.
"You already decided I am the risk," she continued. "Let me be the one who manages it."
Silence stretched.
Khorg felt the bond respond—not with pain, but with something dangerously close to approval.
Vinculus felt it too, a subtle realignment that made his chest tighten sharply.
Zora smiled, satisfied.
At last, Hadrien exhaled sharply. "Very well. A trial period."
He turned to Veyla. "You will appear publicly under supervision. Distance rules remain in effect. Any breach—"
"I understand," Veyla said.
The council adjourned soon after.
As the chamber emptied, Khorg lingered.
"You shouldn't have had to do that," he said quietly.
Veyla looked at him.
"Someone had to," she replied.
The bond tugged—soft, insistent.
Across the room, Vinculus watched them with a calculating gaze.
This was no longer a matter of survival.
It was a matter of influence.
And Princess Veyla Aurelion had just claimed her first piece of it.