The Council Hall was built from black stone and bone, circular and echoing, with torches flickering like watchful eyes.
Every elder sat in their carved seat, stripes gleaming faintly beneath the firelight.
When Nox and I entered, the murmur that rippled through the chamber wasn't surprise. It was calculation.
I could feel it—like claws against glass—everyone trying to measure me.
"Maise of the Southern Plains," one elder began, his mane gone silver. "You claimed three mates without trial or council witness. You stand accused of upsetting the balance of the prides."
"Balance?" I tilted my head, letting my tone cut softly through the hall. "If the balance is so fragile that one lioness tips it, perhaps it isn't worth keeping."
A few gasps, one sharp laugh that sounded suspiciously like Luka.
Nox's tail flicked once in warning beside me, but he didn't speak. His silence said everything—*I trust her.*
Elder Korr leaned forward. "You mock our order, child."
I met his gaze. "I strengthen it. You think the Circle stays safe because of rules. It survives because some of us still have the will to fight for it."
The murmurs grew louder. Then a voice, smooth and venomous, sliced through the noise.
"Then fight me."
Serah stepped into the open—a tall lioness with copper fur and three clear stripes down her arm. Her eyes burned with challenge and something colder: envy.
"You took what wasn't yours," she said. "Prove you can keep it."
The hall went silent.
A challenge of dominance. There was no refusing it.
Elder Korr banged his staff once. "So be it. The trial will be held outside. First blood or submission decides."
We stepped into the light of midday. The Circle had already gathered, word spreading like wildfire.
Serah stretched her claws, a slow, deliberate show of strength. "You talk well," she said. "Let's see if you move half as fast."
I rolled my shoulders, tail flicking lazily behind me. "You'll find I'm full of surprises."
The signal sounded—a deep drumbeat that echoed through the stones—and she lunged.
The world narrowed to movement.
Her strike came high; I dropped low, sweeping her legs with a twist of my tail. She caught herself, growling, came in again, claws flashing through the air. I pivoted, felt the rush of wind as her swipe missed my throat by inches.
For a heartbeat, our eyes met—hers fierce, mine steady.
She was stronger. But I was faster.
I feinted left, drew her forward, then used her own momentum to spin behind her, pressing my palm to the back of her neck. "Yield."
She snarled, twisting free. Dust spiraled around us as we circled again.
The crowd's noise dimmed to a heartbeat in my ears.
When she came again, I didn't evade. I met her head-on. Our forearms locked, claws scraping, muscles straining. For a moment it was pure will—the kind that burned hotter than any fire.
Then I shifted my weight, dropped, and rolled, pulling her forward just enough to break her stance. She hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Before she could rise, I placed my hand lightly on her chest—firm, not cruel. "Yield."
Her breathing came rough, sharp, then steadied. Slowly, she nodded.
The crowd exhaled as one.
I stepped back, offering my hand. She hesitated, then took it. Pride didn't vanish in a moment, but respect flickered there, faint and real.
When we turned to the council, Elder Korr's gaze was unreadable. "The Circle witnesses and accepts. The claim stands."
Cheers erupted—some genuine, some bitter.
Nox stepped close enough that only I could hear him. "You were supposed to avoid setting fires."
"I did," I whispered back, smiling. "This one just happened to burn brighter than expected."
He gave a quiet, reluctant laugh. "You're going to make this pride very interesting, Maise."
"Good," I said, brushing dust from my arm. "I hate being bored."
The crowd still buzzed as we walked back toward the camp, whispers following in our wake. But this time, they weren't mocking.
They were wary.
They were curious.
And some, just a few, were already calling my name with something that sounded like loyalty.