The Cracks in the Throne
The great hall of Reon Palace was colder than usual, though no one dared mention it. The stained-glass windows, once vibrant with the colors of dawn, now cast shades of iron and ash across the marble floor. The Elders stood like shadows in their silver robes, their faces hidden beneath hoods that glimmered faintly in the torchlight.
At the head of the chamber, King Ryan sat upon the obsidian throne — unyielding, silent, his gaze fixed on the council below him. The throne's black stone seemed to devour the light, reflecting nothing but the sharp glint of his eyes.
Elder Valen spoke first. "The whispers in the east grow louder, my king. Merchants speak of banners raised in defiance, of packs questioning your rule. The bond between you and the Queen is faltering. The people sense weakness."
Ryan's jaw flexed. "The people sense truth," he said, voice low and edged. "They see a council that speaks more than it serves."
The murmur that followed was sharp as breaking glass.
Another Elder — Lysandra, older and more cunning than most — stepped forward, her tone dripping with careful disdain."You forget, Your Majesty, that it is our guidance that sustains the throne. The prophecy itself declares balance between Alpha and Oracle, not—"
Ryan rose.Every word died.
He didn't shout — he didn't need to. His presence filled the room, a storm gathering beneath skin and crown alike.
"Balance," he repeated softly, stepping down from the dais. "Do you think balance means chains? You twist your prophecy into a leash and dare call it destiny."
The wolf stirred within him, silent but seething. Break them, it urged. Tear their tongues from their lies.But Ryan forced stillness — restraint sharper than any violence.
"You will not speak of my bond," he finished, voice dangerously calm. "You will not speak of my Queen."
The Elders bowed their heads, but he could feel their hatred coiling beneath obedience. They would strike back — of that, he was certain.
And somewhere beyond these walls, Isabella was already playing her own game.
The Queen's Gambit
In the western tower, Queen Isabella stood before the council's lesser chamber — smaller, private, but no less treacherous. She had invited the House of Varrin, powerful nobles of the eastern provinces whose loyalty had begun to waver under the Elders' shadow.
Her tone was diplomatic, regal, but her eyes burned with calculation.
"The prophecy they preach is not salvation," she said. "It is manipulation. They sow fear so they may harvest loyalty. My father once believed in their words — and it destroyed him."
Lord Varrin's brow furrowed. "You speak of open defiance, Your Majesty. To stand against the Elders is to risk damnation."
"Then damnation will have to wait," Isabella said coldly. "Because if the Elders rule the throne, we are already lost."
A silence followed — heavy, dangerous. Then Varrin bowed."The East remembers your father, Queen Isabella. We will listen."
When the council was dismissed, she lingered by the window. Snow drifted down from a pale sky, settling upon the palace walls like white ash. For the first time in weeks, she felt purpose burn in her veins again — until the door opened behind her.
Fire and Ice
Ryan entered without a word. His expression was unreadable, but his anger rolled off him in waves.
"What were you doing here?" he demanded.
"Speaking to those who still have sense left in them," she replied evenly, turning back to the window. "Someone has to."
"Varrin is a traitor."
"Then perhaps we need a few," Isabella said. "At least they still remember what loyalty used to mean."
He moved closer, each step echoing like thunder. "You dare make alliances behind my back?"
"You dare leave the kingdom to rot while you glare at maps!" she snapped, spinning around to face him. Her cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. "You think silence will save you? That restraint will make them obey? They already rule you, Ryan — they've already taken your throne, and you're too blind to see it!"
The air between them trembled. The bond — that cruel, living thread — pulsed with fury, pain, and something else neither could name.
He took another step closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, smell the wild scent of pine and rain clinging to his skin.
"I don't take orders from you," he growled. "Nor from anyone."
"And yet here you stand," she said softly, "bound to me by fate you refuse to face."
For a heartbeat, silence.Then Ryan laughed once — sharp, humorless. "You think this bond makes you my equal? You think prophecy makes you queen? It's nothing but a curse, and one day, I'll break it."
Her heart twisted, but her voice stayed steady. "And when you do, it won't just break me. It'll destroy you."
The bond shuddered — a flash of shared pain, shared truth. He looked away first.
"Stay out of the council's affairs," he said, turning for the door. "You're not ready for the war that's coming."
She watched him leave, her hands trembling — not with fear, but with anger too deep to name. "Neither are you," she whispered after him.
The Council's Decree
That evening, the Elders gathered again — but this time, the meeting wasn't called by Ryan.
When he arrived in the great hall, the Elders already stood in a half-circle around the throne. Isabella was there too, summoned without warning. She glanced at him once — sharp, guarded — but said nothing.
Elder Lysandra stepped forward, holding a scroll marked with black wax. "By decree of the Council of Elders, the throne shall reaffirm the ancient rite of union between Alpha and Oracle."
Ryan's hands clenched. "You dare—"
"The bond must be sealed," Lysandra continued smoothly. "Only through its consummation will the prophecy's protection endure. Refuse, and the curse will return — to the King, to the Queen, and to the realm."
Murmurs rose among the court. Eyes turned toward the royal pair — some pitying, most expectant.
Ryan's voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "You overstep your place."
But Lysandra only smiled. "We act for the good of Theralis."
Isabella's heart pounded. The Elders were cornering them — turning their private pain into public spectacle. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ryan's glare stopped her. His fury was volcanic, but so was his restraint.
Then, slowly, he turned to face the court."If it is unity they demand," he said, each word cold as steel, "then unity they shall see."
The crowd erupted into hushed whispers as he extended his hand toward Isabella. For a moment, she hesitated — every instinct screaming to refuse — but the weight of the watching court left no room for rebellion.
She placed her hand in his.
The contact burned.Not warmth — fire. The bond flared so violently that the torches flickered, shadows jumping across the marble. Pain, desire, defiance — all tangled until neither could tell where one ended and the other began.
The Elders smiled, satisfied.
But in that moment, both Ryan and Isabella knew — this was no victory.It was the beginning of war.
The Shattered Silence
Later that night, the palace lay in uneasy quiet. The snow outside had turned to ice, sealing the windows like crystal bars.
Ryan stood alone in his chambers, staring into the flames of the hearth. His knuckles were raw from striking stone; his thoughts, a storm of rage and confusion. He could still feel her hand in his — the tremor, the heat, the unwilling spark that refused to die.
You cannot fight both them and her, his wolf whispered. One will break you first.
"I'll fight them all," Ryan muttered. "Even her, if I must."
But even as he said it, the bond thrummed — softer now, like a heartbeat beneath the silence. And somewhere in the palace, Isabella felt it too, unable to sleep, unable to forget the look in his eyes.
The prophecy had promised salvation through unity.Instead, it had birthed division sharper than any blade.
And above the frozen kingdom, the moon rose — blood-red once more.