Chapter 34: The Cost of Standing Close
The elders did not summon him loudly.
They never did.
The request came in the form of a sealed message, delivered by a guard who would not meet Lyra's eyes as he passed her in the corridor. She noticed that too—noticed everything lately. Fear sharpened perception.
Kael read the seal once, then folded the parchment carefully.
"I'll be back," he said.
Lyra looked up from where she sat near the window, knees drawn to her chest. "That didn't sound like a suggestion."
"It wasn't."
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her sleeve. "Is it about me?"
He hesitated.
"Yes."
That was enough to make her stand.
"I should come with you."
"No," he said immediately—not harsh, but firm. "Not this time."
Her face fell. "You said no more secrets."
"I said no more lies," he corrected gently. "This isn't something you need to hear firsthand."
"That sounds like you're protecting me from words," she said quietly. "I've survived worse than words."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "And I don't intend for you to survive more."
She studied him, searching for cracks in his resolve. Finding none, she nodded reluctantly.
"Okay," she whispered. "But don't let them decide who I am."
"I won't," he said.
The council chamber felt colder than usual.
Stone seats carved with centuries of authority circled inward, each elder already present when Kael entered. Their gazes followed him—measuring, weighing, judging.
"She remains," one of them said without preamble.
"Yes," Kael replied. "She does."
"She destabilizes the balance," another added. "Packs are watching. Lines are shifting."
"She's nineteen," Kael said flatly. "And she was left to die."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
"The mate bond complicates matters," an elder with silver-white hair said slowly. "Especially given her… nature."
Kael's eyes hardened. "Speak plainly."
"She is not fit to be Luna," the elder continued. "Not while her power remains untrained. Not while enemies circle her name like carrion."
"She is not a weapon," Kael snapped. "Nor a bargaining chip."
"No," the elder agreed calmly. "She is a risk."
Silence fell.
Then: "End the bond."
The words struck like a blow.
Kael's voice dropped, dangerous and steady. "That is not a command you can give."
"It is if you wish to remain Alpha."
Kael leaned forward slightly. "Then understand this clearly. I will not abandon her. Not now. Not ever."
Several elders stiffened.
"You would choose her over the Pack?"
"I choose the Pack by protecting what they fear," he replied. "Because fear makes monsters of men."
The chamber erupted into tense whispers.
"She will be watched," the silver-haired elder said finally. "Every step. Every choice. One misstep, and the consequences will be severe."
Kael straightened. "Then train her. Guide her. Or admit that your fear has made you obsolete."
He turned and left before they could respond.
Lyra felt it the moment he crossed back into the courtyard.
Not relief.
Resolve.
She stood before he even reached her.
"They tried to make you choose," she said.
He stopped. "Yes."
"And you didn't."
"No."
Her chest tightened. "That could cost you."
"It already has."
She stepped closer, voice trembling. "I don't want to be the reason—"
"You are not the reason," he said firmly. "You are the truth they've been avoiding."
She searched his face. "What happens now?"
"Now," he said, "you'll be trained openly. No hiding. No half-measures."
Fear flickered in her eyes. "I'm not ready."
"You don't have to be fearless," he said. "You just have to be willing."
She nodded slowly. "I am."
That night, alone in her room, Lyra pressed her palm to her chest.
The warmth answered.
Gentle. Present.
Waiting.
And far beyond the walls, someone marked her name again—this time not with curiosity, but intent.