CHAPTER 12:The Southern Capital rose from the earth like an unmovable truth.
White stone towers glimmered beneath the late afternoon sun, their banners snapping gently in the breeze—silver crescents against deep midnight blue. The Lunaris sigil hung proudly from every wall, every gate, every watchtower. To outsiders, it was a symbol of strength and unity.
To Lucas, it felt like a cage.
He slowed his horse as they approached the outer gates, his jaw tight, shoulders rigid. The road behind them stretched long and dust-worn, carrying with it the echoes of bloodshed from the North and East—rogue screams, dying howls, the stench of iron and smoke that still clung to memory.
Louise rode just behind him.
She sat straight-backed, composed, her expression serene in a way that unsettled Felix deeply. He'd fought beside her. Seen the aftermath of attacks. Seen death. And still—she looked like someone walking into a calculated storm rather than an ambush.
Leo rode to Lucas's right, quieter than usual, his gaze drifting to the capital walls with a mixture of relief and dread. Maya stayed close to him, her presence grounding, her hand occasionally brushing his sleeve as if to remind him that he wasn't alone.
Felix exhaled slowly. "Well," he muttered, "home sweet political hell."
Lucas didn't answer.
The gates opened.
Guards bowed in unison, fists pressed to chests, eyes sharp and respectful. Word of the attacks had reached the capital before they had—news always traveled faster than grief.
They dismounted in the inner courtyard.
Edgar was already there.
He stood at the top of the marble steps leading into the main hall, dressed in black trimmed with silver, the Alpha's authority resting on him as naturally as breath. His posture was relaxed, his expression carefully warm.
"Brother," Edgar said, descending the steps. "You returned swiftly."
"You summoned us," Lucas replied evenly. "We came."
Edgar's gaze flicked briefly to Louise—quick, assessing—before returning to Lucas. "And you brought everyone."
"We are done dividing ourselves," Leo said quietly.
Edgar smiled faintly. "Good. Then perhaps we can finally speak as one."
Felix caught the way that smile didn't reach Edgar's eyes.
Servants moved quickly around them, offering water, taking reins, murmuring greetings. The capital buzzed with restrained curiosity. Every wolf within these walls could feel it—something was wrong.
"Come," Edgar said. "The Council is already assembled."
The Council Hall had always been a place of power.
But that day, it felt like a tribunal.
Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows high above, painting the stone floor in fractured colors—reds like blood, blues like bruises. The air smelled of old parchment, incense, and tension.
The Elders sat in a wide semicircle.
Rowan Vale, calm and grave.
Morcant Ashen, sharp-eyed and rigid.
Thorne Blackwood, silent as judgment itself.
And Selene Frostwind.
She sat with her staff resting between her palms, pale eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable. If grief touched her, it did not show.
Elder Kappa stood near Edgar, leaning slightly on his staff, his presence unassuming—but Lucas felt the familiar prickle of unease crawl up his spine.
The brothers took their places at the center.
Louise stood with them, hands folded neatly before her, chin lifted.
Edgar remained standing.
"The Lunaris Pack has bled," Edgar began, his voice steady, carrying effortlessly through the chamber. "In the North. In the East. Too much. Too suddenly."
Murmurs rippled among the Elders.
"The rogues are no longer striking blindly," Edgar continued. "They move with intent. With knowledge."
Lucas folded his arms. "We know what they did. We were there."
"Yes," Edgar agreed. "And that is precisely why this conversation must happen now."
He began to pace slowly.
"They struck during transitions. Ceremonies. Patrol rotations. Times when defenses were thinnest."
Morcant Ashen frowned. "You imply internal compromise."
"I do," Edgar said calmly.
Lucas stiffened.
Selene lifted her head slightly. "The threads of fate have tightened," she murmured. "Paths that should not converge… now do."
Louise felt something brush faintly against her mind.
She did not react.
Edgar stopped pacing.
"There is one constant," he said, turning deliberately.
His gaze settled on Louise.
The room stilled.
Lucas stepped forward instantly. "No."
Edgar raised a hand. "Let me finish."
Louise met Edgar's eyes, her expression calm, almost curious.
"She arrived in the North," Edgar said, voice measured, "and shortly after, rogue activity intensified. Not randomly. Strategically."
"That proves nothing," Lucas snapped.
"Doesn't it?" Edgar countered. "She was present during multiple incidents. She survived them all."
Felix's jaw tightened.
"Others did not," Edgar continued quietly. "Fifteen wolves died before reinforcements arrived. Yet she walked away untouched."
Leo shook his head. "That's not evidence. That's coincidence."
Edgar's gaze softened, almost regretful. "Is it? Or is it pattern?"
He turned to the Elders.
"She had access," Edgar said. "Not to secrets—but to rhythms. Schedules. Gatherings. The simple knowledge of when and where wolves would gather."
Selene leaned forward slightly.
"I see blood where trust was placed," she said softly. "A thread walking willingly into ruin."
The words settled like frost.
Louise spoke then, her voice even. "If I am accused, I will answer."
Lucas turned sharply to her. "You don't have to."
Edgar watched the exchange closely.
"My brother has changed," Edgar said gently. "He defies protocol. Takes unnecessary risks. Diverts resources."
"That's leadership," Lucas said harshly.
"Or distraction," Edgar replied.
The word cut deeper than a blade.
Silence stretched.
Thorne Blackwood rose slowly.
"The Council will decide," he said.
The vote followed.
Too fast. Too clean.
"Louise," Thorne declared, "you are to be held until the truth is revealed."
Lucas surged forward.
"No."
Guards moved instinctively.
Louise placed a hand on Lucas's arm.
"It's alright," she said softly.
His eyes burned. "It's not."
"I trust you," she replied.
Then she turned and walked with the guards.
Lucas stood frozen, fury coiled tight in his chest.
The dungeon was cold.
Stone walls pressed in, iron bars heavy with age. The air smelled of damp earth and silence.
The door closed.
Louise exhaled slowly.
Above, in the capital, Selene frowned faintly.
Something resisted her sight.
Edgar stood on the balcony later that night, staring out over the capital lights.
Kappa joined him quietly.
"You did well," Kappa said.
Edgar didn't answer.
"Do not let your interest in a woman disrupt the plan," Kappa continued softly. "Attachments make wolves foolish."
Edgar's jaw tightened.
"It won't," he said.
But his gaze lingered on the dungeon entrance below.
Far away, in the East, John stood watch beneath blood-stained skies.
And the pack waited.