Rumors never rise loudly. They never do.
They begin low, crawling, whispered over sips of expensive wine and smiles far too polite. Small circles formed like fungus on damp wood—discreet, yet persistent. The elite knew how to do this like no one else. Speak without ever seeming to speak.
—Did you notice? — murmured a gray-furred she-wolf, fanning herself with feigned distraction. —The Luna stood… and the protegée returned shortly after. Curious coincidence.
—Curious is a kind word, — replied another, adjusting the jewels at her neck. —I would call it a poorly calculated provocation.
An older Alpha leaned forward, feigning interest in his plate.
—Or desperation, — he remarked. —Omegas who step too close to the center often mistake tolerance for entitlement.
Low laughter. None openly claimed.
Near the gilded columns, young nobles played the same game with less refinement.
—They say she wanted to be Luna in Luna's place.
—They say the Alpha allowed it.
—They say Samael's daughter was too kind.
—They say this won't stay that way.
Each "they say" carried a different venom.
Some glances went to Theodor. Others to Elizabeth. But most took the easier path: Dandara. The pink dress no longer seemed gentle to attentive eyes. Now it was seen as effort. As insistence. As recurring error.
—The Moon does not like competition, — whispered one priestess to another. —And that she-wolf is competing alone.
—Worse, — came the reply. —She's trying to force a game already decided.
Between glasses and false laughter, invisible alliances reshaped themselves. Smaller houses began to drift away from Dandara's orbit. Not from morality. From calculation. Approaching her now was risk. And the elite hate risk that does not yield profit.
Safira, from the depths of Elizabeth's mind, felt it all like a collective shiver.
—Hear that? — she murmured. —The sound of someone falling without anyone pushing.
At the center of the hall, nothing seemed different. The music continued. The food was served. Diplomacy smiled.
But in the small circles, where real power whispers, the verdict begins to form.
And rumors, once loosed, ask no permission to become judgment.
The day was radiant, the perfect time for a celebration of this kind.
As hours passed, Elizabeth seemed less tense, slightly calmer. After their conversation, she saw Theodor join a group of Alphas and some Betas.
She gave a half-smile.
—Are you still giving the wolf the cold shoulder?
Safira did not feel much urge to answer.
—He does not deserve my forgiveness so easily. One conversation will not repair the damage done.
Elizabeth crossed her arms, lifting a glass of wine.
—I never said I would fix it, I'm just curious how something so soft and sweet can be so grudging.
She teased, sipping the wine infused with flower juice from the Solari hills.
—Do not start calling me sweet! I am an Alpha, authority, not a plush toy.
She snapped back, tapping the paw for no reason.
—Very well, Lady Authority.
Elizabeth shrugged, finding Safira's reaction utterly amusing.
—But he is not someone to toss aside.
She said it lightly, just to provoke the cantankerous creature in her mind.
The sun seemed to conspire in favor of the farce called normality.
Too much light. Too clear a sky. Too easy laughter for a day that had already shown its teeth. Yet it worked. Slowly, tension dissolved into the wine, the music, the bodies relaxing, for pretending tires less than confronting.
Safira, however, did not pretend.
—Not someone to toss aside? — she repeated, her mental voice thick with disdain. —You speak as if evaluating a carpet someone nearly burned in the hall.
Elizabeth contained a smile as she twirled the glass between her fingers.
—Carpets do not think, do not err, and do not carry political alliances on their backs. He does. Defects included.
Safira growled.
—A defect is when the problem is isolated. That… is a pattern of behavior.
Across the hall, Theodor laughed with three Alphas and two Betas. Strategic conversation, open postures, glasses raised in the correct rhythm. He was in his natural habitat. Leadership performed with competence. Any outsider would not guess that this same man had been dismantled hours earlier by a she-wolf sitting in silence.
—Look at that, — Safira noted mentally. —Perfect posture. Relaxed shoulders. He knows how to play this game.
—And he plays well, — Elizabeth admitted, without bitterness.
Safira fell silent for a few seconds. The kind of silence that precedes something too honest to be easily spoken.
—That is what irritates me, — she finally said. —He is not incompetent. He chooses poorly.
Elizabeth sipped again, letting the floral taste soften on her tongue.
—Choices are harder to forgive than mistakes, — she remarked.
—Especially when repeated, — Safira countered. —I saw the pink she-wolf watching from afar. She did not give up. She only changed her angle.
Elizabeth followed the wolf's instinctive gaze, finding Dandara at the far end of the hall, speaking with two elite she-wolves. Low smile, withdrawn posture, the perfect victim of her own excess.
—She is collecting feathers, — murmured Elizabeth. —Predictable strategy.
—And dangerous, — Safira added. —Because it works on wolves who like to feel needed.
Theodor's group erupted in louder laughter. A Beta slapped his shoulder in camaraderie. The Alpha tilted his head, confident, whole again.
—See that? — Safira said, dryly. —He forgets quickly when the environment validates him.
—He does not forget, — Elizabeth corrected. —He compartmentalizes. Stores the problem in a drawer until he believes he can handle it later.
—Later is usually too late, — Safira retorted.
Elizabeth shrugged, too calm for someone at the center of it all.
—Perhaps. But today is not the day to fix everything. Today is the day to observe.
Safira sighed, resigned yet still vigilant.
—You are cruel when you pretend to be calm.
Elizabeth gave a half-smile, her eyes scanning the hall with calculated attention.
—I learned from the phases of the Mother Moon. She never hurries. She only changes the tide.