Derek walked into court flanked by Declan, Connor and so Gammas.
The hall rose as one. The elder wolves, the gathered officials, every figure in the room got to their feet and bowed as he crossed to the front and lowered himself into his chair, and gestured for them to sit.
One of the gammas stepped forward to deliver the report first.
"Your Grace. We’ve accounted for the dead from the attack. The Umbra bodies have been gathered and burned."
He paused. "We’ve also confird sothing concerning. The Northern Lycans who attacked were not Lycans at all. They were Umbras, wearing the bodies of dead Northern gammas."
A ripple of unease moved through the hall.
One of the elder wolves rose first, his face grave.
"Then we must address the true question. How did Umbras breach this stronghold? In the eight years since His Grace took Dravengard, not once have we had a breach."
The elders and officials nodded in agreent.
"Dravengard has been a fortress." He looked around the room. "And yet last night they walked straight in, and ca directly to the palace. To the heart of the pack. That is not chance, Your Grace."
"There must be a mole among us," another elder said hesitantly. "There has to be. Soone fed them the way in."
The others nodded, exchanging glances. The room was filled with unspoken words that no one wanted to speak.
"Do we really need look far for the answer," a third bolder elder said, his eyes sliding across the hall scanning for support.
"We all know what changed. The stronghold stood untouched for eight years, and within months of a werewolf entering these walls, the Umbras find their way inside."
A murmur of agreent rolled through the hall. So courtiers were openly agreeing, but others didn’t want to get on the King’s bad side.
"That is a serious accusation built on convenient timing," an older female elder cut in. "And nothing more. The Umbras are shadow shifters. Infiltration is their entire nature." She looked around.
"This could as easily be the work of a rival kingdom hoping we’ll tear ourselves apart looking for an enemy within while they do what they want."
"And if we ignore the obvious for the sake of being fair," the third elder shot back, "we hand our throats to the enemy out of politeness."
The argunt swelled, voices overlapping, half the hall leaning toward suspicion and the other half urging caution, the room dividing along lines of fear.
Through all of it, Derek said nothing. He sat with his fingers loosely steepled, his face unreadable, letting them argue themselves out, listening to every word and giving away nothing of his own.
"We should strike Moonfang first," the first elder said. "If Rolf Thornclaw is behind this, then war is already here whether we na it or not. We should march before they regroup, and settle the question of the queen’s loyalty along the way."
"More than that," said the third elder, leaning forward. "We should postpone the coronation, until the investigation is complete. It would be reckless to crown her while a breach this size goes unexplained."
"There will be no postponent." Derek’s voice was quiet, but it cut the noise of the hall instantly. "The coronation goes ahead as planned. And we will not march on anyone. Not yet."
The third elder opened his mouth. "Your Grace, with respect—"
"If Rolf is indeed responsible," Derek said, "then he is expecting our retaliation. He’ll be waiting for us to co charging across his border in a rage, because a furious enemy is a careless one."
His amber eyes moved across the hall. "Any strike we make right now is a strike he has already anticipated. And anything an enemy is waiting for you to do is a trap."
The hall remained silent.
***
After the elder wolves and gammas had finally cleared the hall, leaving only Derek and his n, Declan stood near the window, Connor by the dais.
Uncle Crane refused to leave.
He sat in his seat and watched Derek with the patience of a man who had nowhere else he needed to be.
Derek ignored him, and kept his eyes on the tablet in his hand, scrolling through reports he was not reading, letting the silence stretch.
Eventually Crane rose to his feet.
"You know they’re right," he said. "The logical course is to postpone the coronation. Conduct a proper investigation into your wife before you place a crown on her head."
Derek said nothing. He did not look up.
"Even a soon-to-be queen is not above the law, Derek."
Derek’s fingers paused on the screen. His jaw set, but he kept his eyes on the screen.
Crane tone softened, turning almost fatherly.
"You’re so much like your father, you know. He was the sa. Too trusting. Too willing to believe the best of people who hadn’t earned it."
He shook his head slowly. "And do you know what it got him? It got the werewolves believing they still had the standing to challenge this throne. They look at you, and they rember him, and they think perhaps they can push."
Derek’s grip tightened on the arm of his chair.
Crane took a step closer, lowering his voice to sothing quieter and more pointed.
"Prove them wrong. Show them you are not a weak man. They’ve forgotten who you are, Derek. Perhaps they need reminding."
He paused. "Tell . Have you, by any chance, shared your tragic little story with your new wife? Is that it? Have you gone soft enough to start confiding? Because the werewolves are growing bold, and a man only grows bold around prey he no longer fears. Don’t you think they still believe you’re mad?"
Derek’s eyes snapped up from the tablet and fixed on his uncle.
"I have fully recovered," he said, and his voice was very quiet and very cold. "I know exactly what I am doing. And my marriage is not a matter for discussion in this court, by you or anyone else."
Crane’s face hardened.
He held Derek’s gaze for a long mont. Then he straightened, gave a small nod that conceded nothing, and turned and walked away.
Derek watched him go, his eyes tracking the retreating figure all the way to the doors. Then his gaze slid sideways and landed on Declan, who was looking at him with an expression Derek did not care for in the slightest.
"I don’t need your opinion right now," Derek said.
Declan raised both hands, shrugging. "Wasn’t going to offer one."
Derek exhaled through his nose and turned to Connor. "What’s the update from Bruce?"
***
Outside, Crane walked clear of the court, past the staff stringing garlands and hanging banners for the coronation, until he reached a flower hedge where no one lingered.
He pulled out his phone and dialled.
It rang twice, before a voice answered on the other end.
Crane glanced back the way he had co, toward the hall where his nephew sat, and a thin smile touched his mouth.
"It’s ti to make the move," he said quietly. "The young boy is hopelessly in love."
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