The silence in the Hall of Whispers didn't break_it shattered.
A wave of gasps, murmurs, and confused shouts crashed over the dais. Orion's face, frozen in confusion a second before, crumbled into pure, uncomprehending shock. He took a step toward Liana, his hand half-reaching for her.
"Silas?" Orion's voice cut through the noise, strained and sharp. "What is this? What are you doing?"
Silas didn't look at his brother. His slate-grey eyes were anchors, holding Liana in place from across the room. That ghost of a smile was gone, replaced by a mask of chilling certainty.
"The moon has spoken, Orion," Silas said, his voice low but carrying an Alpha's compulsion that stilled the closest onlookers. "You heard the law as well as I. The bond recognizes me."
"That's impossible!" Orion's protest was a roar that echoed in the high ceiling. He turned to the High Beta, who stood stunned, his ceremonial staff trembling. "There must be a mistake. The ceremony… check the rites!"
The old beta blinked, looking from Silas's impassive face to Orion's desperate one. "The… the scent is manifest, Alpha Orion. The Luna's wolf has awakened. It is a direct recognition. The law is clear…"
"The law is clear," Silas repeated, finally turning his head a fraction toward his brother. The movement was predatory, slow. "The recognized mate claims his Luna. Immediately."
The word "immediately" hung in the air, heavy with implication. The Claiming. The final ritual that would seal the bond permanently before the pack.
"No." Orion moved, placing himself physically between Silas and the petal-strewn path where Liana stood paralyzed. "You will not touch her. This is a trick. A sickness in the air. We will reconvene after_"
"There is no 'we,' brother." Silas's voice dropped, a deadly whisper that somehow silenced Orion's next words. "You are confusing your personal desire with pack law. Stand aside."
Orion didn't move. His shoulders were set, his hands curled into fists at his sides. The hall held its breath. This was no longer a ceremony; it was a challenge between Alphas.
Liana watched, a distant part of her mind screaming that she should run, should howl, should do anything. But her body was lead, trapped by the icy scent of snow and sandalwood that now felt like chains. Her wolf, so joyous a moment ago, was a confused, whining presence in her chest, torn between the warm, safe sunlight of Orion and the cold, magnetic pull of Silas.
From the crowd, a figure strode forward. Caelan, the grizzled Head of the Guard. His leather armor creaked with the sound of authority. He stopped at the foot of the dais, his old, tired eyes sweeping over the twins.
"My Alphas," Caelan said, his voice a gravelly rumble that demanded attention. "The hall is in upheaval. This… unprecedented event is causing a panic. The law may be clear, but wisdom suggests a recess. To allow for… clarification."
It was a soldier's intervention. A plea for time to defuse a battle about to explode in the throne room.
Silas's gaze flicked to Caelan. "Your counsel is noted, Captain. And dismissed. A recess would imply doubt in the Moon's decree. It would undermine the very foundation we stand on." He looked past Caelan, his eyes finding specific faces in the crowd—his loyalists, positioned near the doors. A barely perceptible nod.
Orion saw it too. "Silas, don't—"
It happened with brutal, rehearsed efficiency.
Four large Betas in unmarked leathers—not the official Citadel Guard—moved from the shadows near the main doors. They didn't head for Orion. They moved toward Liana.
Orion moved to intercept, but Silas was suddenly there, a black-clad barrier. "This is not your fight," Silas hissed, the words for Orion alone.
"SHE IS MY MATE!" Orion's roar was raw, primal. He swung, not with strategy, but with heartbroken fury.
Silas caught the blow on his forearm, the impact a sickening crack of bone on muscle. He didn't flinch. "Not anymore," he snarled, and shoved Orion back with a surge of dominant power that made the light twin stumble.
In that moment of distraction, the four Betas reached Liana. Their hands were not gentle. One clamped on her upper arm, the grip like iron.
"Come, Luna," the lead one grunted, his breath smelling of stale mead.
The touch broke her paralysis. "Let me go!" The words tore from her throat, laced with a newfound, Omega-weak snarl. She twisted, but another Beta took her other arm. They began to half-drag, half-carry her back down the petal-strewn path, away from the dais, away from Orion.
"LIANA!" Orion's cry was agony. He tried to lunge again, but Caelan was suddenly in his way, the old soldier's arms outstretched not to fight, but to restrain.
"Don't, my prince," Caelan murmured, his voice thick with an old man's grief. "It's a trap. Look."
Orion followed his gaze. The main doors were now held by a full contingent of Silas's personal guards. More were filtering into the hall from the side passages, weapons not drawn but hands on hilts. The coup wasn't just for a Luna; it was for the hall itself.
Liana kicked, her bare feet connecting uselessly with leather-clad shins. The great ebony doors, which had opened for her in hope, now loomed ahead like the entrance to a tomb. She twisted her head for one last look.
Orion was on his knees, held back by Caelan, his face a mask of shattered betrayal. And Silas… Silas stood victorious on the dais, watching her being taken away. Their eyes met for a final, searing second.
In his gaze, she saw no triumph, no lust. Only a cold, terrifying finality.
Then the doors swallowed her, and the shouting, chaotic warmth of the hall was replaced by the cold, silent stone of the corridor. The scent of the crowd vanished, leaving only the cloying, inescapable smell of snow and sandalwood clinging to her own skin.
The Beta on her right spoke, his tone flat, as if reciting a order. "The Alpha commands you be taken to the Opal Suite in the Obsidian Tower. You are to wait for him there."
The Obsidian Tower. Silas's fortress within the fortress. Her new cage.
Her wolf, finally understanding, let out a silent howl of despair deep within her soul. The warmth of its awakening had completely faded, leaving only a cold, hollow ache where the bond was supposed to be—a bond that now felt like a wound, tied to the wrong man.