Every pair of eyes was on her in the jury. The elders' faces shifted first — shock flashing briefly before settling into a look of uneasy concern.
The twelve civilian jurors couldn't hide their reactions either. Most had never seen her in person. They'd heard the stories from pack members and from this courtroom. The queen who had been poisoned twice and the woman at the center of every whispered rumor.
But none of those stories had prepared them for this. She was stunning. The kind of beauty that hit like a punch — sharp and immediate.
The bruising at her throat only made the smooth lines of her collarbone and neck stand out more starkly. Her hair, silver-blonde and soft, fell in loose waves down her back, a few strands brushing her jaw.
Her dress, deep midnight blue, drew every shade of green from her eyes. She was beautiful in a way that made the whole room hesitate.
Fin guided her slowly toward her seat, one arm steady around her waist. The contrast between her delicate frame and his sharp, protective posture continued to draw every gaze.
The realization rippled through the chamber in silence: she was more than the rumors. She was real. And the sight of their Alpha helping her into the courtroom, careful and almost reverent, only sealed it.
Everyone sat only after she had.
It wasn't etiquette. It wasn't protocol. It was something older, deeper — a current that hummed through every Shadowclaw-born wolf in the room.
Protect her.
It wasn't spoken, but felt — bone-deep and undeniable. The kind of instinct that came from generations of packbonds, from ancestral memory buried in blood and marrow. Their wolves recognized her before their minds did.
She was their Queen.
And no juror, no elder, no witness who carried Shadowclaw blood could ignore it. The urge settled into the air like a pulse — silent, powerful, absolute.
Even the ones who had doubted her felt it now, the same thought threading through every heartbeat in the room:
Ours to defend.