(Vivienne's POV)
The footage hit the council screens like a detonator.
"Pause it," I snapped, but it was too late. The still frame burned itself into the chamber's glass—the Queen, the wrong twin, running from the future Lycan King's chambers, naked.
Murmurs rose like steam from the council benches. Chairs scraped, palms hit tables—panic in the bodies of people who swore they never panicked.
"Phones," I said, perfectly calm. "All of them. On the table."
A beat of hesitation. Then, one by one, devices thudded into a felt-lined tray as a secretary slid down the aisle. The chamber doors sealed with a soft hydraulic sigh.
"Communications blackout until I lift it," I said. "If you so much as breathe on a comm unit, you will be escorted to the cells and questioned until you forget your own name."
"Your Majesty—" Lord Varos began.
I flicked a look at him, and he swallowed the rest. Scarlett stirred beneath my skin—the old wolf uncoiling, voice soft, quiet.
This will cut her, Vivienne. If Nyx is in the wind now, she'll feel betrayed. Distance turns bonds into blades, then into ash.
Then we make betrayal look like loyalty, I replied.
I pivoted to the wall of screens."The official line is simple," I said, letting each word fall with the weight of decree. "The footage is forged—obtained illegally from sources yet to be identified and manipulated to portray an untruth. The prophecy has been deliberately misinterpreted by enemies who want the crown destabilized."
The press secretary—a thin woman with ink-black hair and a throat full of fear—scribbled furiously.
"We can push an immediate statement—"
"No," I cut her off. "Not an immediate statement. An immediate narrative." I moved like a storm, precise and controlled, assigning orders with surgical efficiency.
"Security," I said, turning sharply toward the commander. "Detain, publicly, Factors Halden and Mire—they're in charge of the special branch of palace intelligence. They were on the video security detail during the window this… incident was purported to have occurred. They'll be released later, if no wrongdoing is found."
"I want optics on this," I added, tone even. "Enough to warn and deter anyone from trying it again—but let's not waste resources chasing tabloid smoke."
"Army liaison," I continued. "You'll coordinate with the palace guard for perimeter and press handling for tomorrow's inquiry." I sighed deeply, "It's guaranteed to be a circus."
Scarlett's pulse brushed mine. You're buying hours. She'll need days.
"Then I'll make hours feel like days," I said.
The doors opened long enough for Captain Rellan to enter with a small, pale man in gray. The man's eyes rolled like a cornered rabbit.
"An optics detainee has been placed in the cells, Your Majesty," Rellan said, bowing.
"Thank you," I said. "Put him where the cameras can see him. Don't bruise his face."
Scarlett's laugh rasped, humorless. You haven't changed.
The council members were visibly unnerved. No one dared to question me, but the fear rolling off them was almost tangible—a silent acknowledgment that they were witnessing a performance, and they didn't know which part of it was real.
I reached for the velvet-lined case on the console. Inside lay a single, old-fashioned satellite phone—unregistered, unlogged, untraceable.I excused myself with a nod to make a call.
Nothing hurts more than mate rejection and betrayal, Scarlett murmured, softer now. We may never get her back.
Scarlett, when did you become a worrier?
I dialed a number I'd memorized three centuries ago. Stepping into a secured office, I spoke to my sister, "Eider," I said when the line clicked. "I need you to play sick."
My sister didn't ask why. She never had. "How many days?"
"Three. Hospital posts, a visible specialist or two. The usual touches."
"Same code?" she asked dryly.
"Same code."
I hung up, returned to the main chamber, and handed the press secretary a sheet of paper."Draft the palace feed: The Queen Mother will be visiting her ailing sister in Paris. Health is a family matter. No further comment."
"Paris," the woman repeated, relieved to have something concrete.
"I'll book the flight publicly," I said. "And for good measure—leak the flight details to three of our friendlier gossip channels. Let them play chase."
"And the real destination?" Security asked, wary, through the mind link.
I didn't answer. I didn't have to. The only person in the chamber who knew my habits that well was no longer in the room; my mate, who had been silent through this event and let me work, was already raising the walls around the crown.
Scarlett's presence pressed closer, the way it did when angst moved through my veins.
If she sees that broadcast, she'll know you're covering for her.
She will. And she'll stay hidden because of it. If I've read Nyx correctly, she thinks like me. I hope.
I won't abandon her.
WE won't abandon her. Scarlett replied.
My attention shifted to the smaller screen on the left—tracking the jet icons crawling across the map.
Seat me on the noon flight, I mind-linked my personal aide of fifty years. Paris. Keep the boarding passes visible. And route a private charter at the layover to..., I paused, measuring, to the coast. I'll send the coordinates on paper. Burn it after. Have a car waiting for me. I will drive myself the rest of the way.
The aide swallowed. "Yes, Your Majesty."
The High Priest rose from his seat, trembling hands clutching his ceremonial staff.
"Your Majesty," he rasped, "the footage… it fulfills the first sign of the prophecy. The wrong twin unveiled before the moon. The true Queen hidden in shadow."
A ripple of superstition cut through the council. Some crossed themselves. Others muttered that perhaps Dorian had chosen correctly—that Liana was the safer path.
"Silence," I said, my voice slicing clean through the noise. "Do you honestly believe the King would manipulate the prophecy to fulfill it by deceit? Doesn't that very thought make it not a prophecy at all?"
But the priest pressed on, stepping back, further away from me. "We have not seen your Lycan in fifty years. "She is present in your eyes, Majesty. If the prophecy stirs again, perhaps it is because—"
Scarlett stiffened under my skin. And from somewhere deeper, older—something else had moved.
Not Scarlett. My Lycan.Eryndra.
Well, look who's here! Have a good nap? I inquired with genuine joy.
Eryndra replied, raspy-voiced from disuse: Hush, you need my help. Let me work.
The temperature dropped; candles guttered in their sconces. My vision blurred at the edges as my Lycan moved forward, then widened until every detail in the room glowed.When I spoke, my voice was my own—and hers layered beneath it, low and resonant, like thunder underwater.
"Do you tremble at signs you begged the heavens to send?" Eryndra's voice filled the hall through me. "The prophecy breathes not because of scandal, but because balance has been broken—and blood will demand balance again."
Gasps broke around me. Two priests fell to their knees; another fled outright. One of the generals crossed his chest, whispering a prayer.Lord Varos wept openly.
"You quote omens," Eryndra growled through my lips, "yet ignore your own oaths."
I slammed my hand on the table, the marble cracking beneath my palm. "Enough!" I snapped, my voice returning—shaken but human.
The chamber reeked of sweat and fear. They all stared at me as though I had returned from death itself. I let them.
"Tomorrow," I said, each syllable deliberate. "The Council will reconvene. His Majesty and Lady Liana will appear before you in a televised inquiry. The people will see them speak their truth."
Murmurs rippled again—televised inquiries were rare, dangerous.
"The Council," I continued, "will then decide if, for the good of the kingdom, the mating ceremony and bond should be dissolved—and whether Liana will take Nyx's place."
Silence.
Scarlett whispered, They'll destroy her, Vivienne."They'll try," I murmured. "But they won't."
I straightened, the faint glow of Eryndra still pulsing in my eyes. Every face around me lowered, unable to meet them.
"Now," I said. "Let's begin damage control."