Elaria's POV
Wind howls through the towering spires of Nyxvale, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something else—something metallic, something wrong. The torches lining the grand hall flicker, shadows stretching long and jagged against the stone walls. My throne looms behind me, a symbol of power, yet tonight, I feel the weight of its emptiness more than ever.
They are watching me.
The Elders sit in a half-circle before me, their gazes sharp, their lips drawn into thin lines. Their silence is worse than their words. It thrums in the air, thick with unspoken doubts and veiled accusations. I see it in their eyes—the question they do not dare to voice.
Why him?
I clench my jaw, my nails biting into my palms. They think me weak for choosing Rowan. My mate. My bonded. The fates themselves deemed him mine, yet the whispers say otherwise. A warrior queen bound to an untested wolf—a disgrace, they murmur. A sign of the kingdom's impending downfall.
Fools.
Rowan is no ordinary wolf. They do not see what I see. They do not feel what I feel. But their doubt is infectious, seeping into the marrow of my people like a sickness. It festers in the barracks where warriors glance his way with barely concealed sneers. It lingers in the village squares where merchants whisper behind cupped hands. Even now, it curls around my throat like a noose.
"My Queen," Elder Varek finally speaks, his voice brittle as old parchment. "Word of the disappearances spreads faster than we can contain. The outer villages grow restless. They demand answers."
A cold fist clenches around my chest. The disappearances. Entire clans vanishing in the dead of night, leaving only abandoned homes and eerie, cryptic symbols carved into the trees. The first attack was dismissed as rogue interference. The second, is an unfortunate accident. But now? Now, it is a pattern. A warning. A war cry from something we do not yet understand.
Rowan shifts beside me, his jaw tight. He has spent nights combing through the oldest texts, searching for any record of such symbols. He has ventured into the wilds, tracking scents that lead to nowhere. And yet, the Elders do not trust him. They never have.
"We must act swiftly," I say, keeping my voice steady. "Whatever force is behind this, it grows bolder. If we do nothing, the people will lose faith. We cannot afford to hesitate."
Elder Varek's gaze flickers to Rowan before settling back on me. "And what of your mate? Will he lead our warriors, or shall he remain a mere shadow by your side?"
A deliberate challenge. A test. My breath stills as I turn to Rowan, searching his storm-gray eyes. He meets my gaze, unyielding, and I know—this moment will define him in the eyes of the kingdom.
His next words will change everything.
The torches lining the grand hall flicker as the council members murmur among themselves. Their gazes, sharp as daggers, cut into me from every angle, dissecting, judging. I could hear their thoughts even without the gift of mind-link—whispers of doubt, of discontent, of betrayal.
"She's weakened us," one of them had said before the gathering. "An Alpha Queen bound to a mate like him? It's a disgrace."
I should have silenced them then. But silence does not quell the tide; it only lets it build.
I stand at the center, my hands clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms. Rowan stands beside me, his expression unreadable, shoulders stiff as if bracing for another blow. They have not stopped since his selection. Not a day has passed without another challenge, another insult, another test meant to see him fail.
But he has not.
And that infuriates them more.
Elders sit in a half-circle before us, their robes pooling around them in thick waves of fabric. The highest among them, Councilor Alden, steeples his fingers, his sharp blue eyes narrowing.
"The unrest in Nyxvale grows," he says at last, his voice deceptively calm. "There are whispers—"
"There are always whispers," I interrupt, my tone cool but firm. "Perhaps if you spent less time listening to them and more time enforcing order, we wouldn't be here."
A murmur ripples through the chamber. A challenge. A warning.
Alden's mouth twitches, but he does not rise to it. "It is not order we lack, Your Majesty. It is faith."
My pulse hammers against my ribs.
Faith.
The word hangs heavy between us. I know what he means, what they all mean. They do not trust Rowan. And by extension, they no longer trust me.
Rowan exhales slowly but says nothing. He has learned that speaking only feeds their disdain.
"Faith is earned," I say evenly. "And he will earn it."
Alden tilts his head as if considering me. "And if he doesn't?"
The challenge is clear. The line is drawn.
Before I can respond, a sharp knock echoes against the chamber doors. The guards hesitate before pushing them open, revealing a warrior clad in dust and blood.
His eyes meet mine, and I know—
Something has happened.
He drops to one knee. "My Queen," he rasps. "The outer villages. They're gone."
A hush falls over the room. Gone?
My heart slams against my ribs.
"How?" I demand.
The warrior swallows hard. "We don't know. There were no bodies. No signs of struggle. Just… emptiness. And symbols carved into the trees."
My stomach turns to ice.
Symbols, or warnings.
Rowan shifts beside me. I feel it—the sudden tension, the sharp inhale. He knows something.
Alden leans forward. "Rogues?"
The warrior hesitates. "No. This wasn't the work of wolves."
A fresh wave of unease coils through me.
Rowan takes a step forward. "Take me there," he says.
I turn to him sharply. "Rowan—"
"If this is what I think it is," he says quietly, "then I need to see it for myself."
There is something in his voice. Something dark.
A part of me wants to demand answers right then and there. But I know better.
Instead, I meet his gaze. "Then we go together."
Alden exhales sharply, his displeasure evident. "Your Majesty, surely you don't mean to leave the capital when—"
I turn on him with a look that has silenced greater men. "I do."
Because whatever this is, it isn't just an attack.
It's a message.
And I intend to answer it.