Her words echoed down the corridor, cold and clipped.
“The shooter is in a cell,” Henrik said, blocking her path in the dim light outside his daughter’s room.
“He’ll answer for it.” “Good.” Colette’s tone stayed completely flat.
“Then we’re done here.” She brushed past his shoulder.
Henrik reached out to catch her arm, his fingers halting a fraction of an inch from her sleeve before dropping to his side.
“Colette.” She paused, half-turned in the shadows, the low torchlight catching the bright silver of her hair.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
“For not taking it out on Laura.
For not treating her differently.” A sharp flicker crossed her violet eyes a sudden, defensive flash before her jaw set into cold stone.
“She’s a child.
None of this is her fault.” “Most people in your position would hold a grudge.” “Then most people in my position are fools.” Henrik stayed in place until the sound of her heels faded.
He turned and walked toward his own quarters, confused about who the real Colette was, but too tired to even think about it.
He just needed to sleep.
Morning came cold and grey, barely washing through the courtyard.
Henrik stood by the balcony overseeing the courtyard, watching the crowd gather below.
Rysand stepped up beside him.
“Alpha, we are ready.” Henrik gave a clipped nod.
He turned and walked down, coming out through the front entrance and stepping onto the dais, flanked on his right by Rysand and another guard.
The crowd watched him with trepidation as he stepped onto the platform and looked over his pack.
“Silence!” Henrik’s voice boomed across the square, heavy and commanding.
The quiet fell instantly.
Every head turned, eyes locking onto him in dead silence.
“Today we are here because a member of the SilverFang pack dared to attempt to assassinate my bride,” Henrik declared, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.
“I will not stand for treason, nor will I tolerate any threat to this alliance.” He motioned toward the guards stationed at the far right of the courtyard.
Iron chains scraped against the stone, followed by frantic shouting.
“Let me go!
No!
I don’t want to die!” Two guards held onto the man tightly, dragging his thrashing weight through the archway.
The crowd looked on in fear, several pack members backing away as the guards shoved the man, bruised and beaten, onto the stone floor at the foot of the dais where Henrik stood over him.
A murmur rippled through the back of the crowd rhythmic click of heels signaled Colette’s arrival.
Fear flickered across the faces of several pack members as they parted to let her pass.
She walked up onto the dais and took her place beside Henrik.
Her long silver hair swept over tailored leather and a dark silk shirt that brought out the sharp violet of her eyes.
Henrik caught himself noticing her appearance again, cursing himself for doing so.
He gave her a clipped nod.
“Good morning.
How’s the wound on your neck?” Colette raised a hand to neck and gave a short nod.
“Hurts less.
Thanks for asking.” Henrik pointed down at the kneeling man.
“He thought violence would dictate our future.
He was wrong.” He motioned toward Colette.
“This alliance stands.
Treason carries one penalty.” Henrik raised his hand.
The blade came down without hesitation.
A collective gasp rose from the crowd as the body fell to the cobblestones.
Henrik kept his eyes fixed on the pack, tracking the shock, disbelief, and lingering defiance on their faces.
“The treaty holds.
The wedding proceeds as planned.
Anyone who disagrees can answer to me directly.” He gave Rysand a brief nod.
Rysand returned it, already turning to signal the guards to clear the body.
Henrik stepped off the dais, Colette following a pace behind with Elias trailing her.
Together, they crossed the stone courtyard, climbed the entrance steps, and passed into the main hall, the heavy oak doors shutting out the noise behind them.
Henrik started across the foyer toward the grand staircase, but her voice cut through the quiet hall, stopping him mid-step.
“Henrik.” He turned back to face her.
Elias had already peeled off toward the main doors to give them space.
Colette stood in the middle of the foyer, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Have your legal team send the contract by Friday.” “It will be ready.” From where he stood near the foot of the steps, he saw her gaze shift past him, tracking up the stairs toward the landing above before returning to his face.
“I need to return to Bloodmoon,” she said.
“To start preparing for the wedding, I have business to attend to.” An uncomfortable silence stretched across the short distance between them.
“Of course,” he replied curtly.
She turned to leave, then paused, her expression easing slightly.
“Give Laura a kiss for me.
Tell her I will see her soon.” Henrik stared as she walked away.
Nothing in the stories about the Wolf of Death allowed room for a detail like that.
Elias stepped up to open the door, escorting her out into the courtyard.
Once the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind them, Henrik turned and took the stairs two at a time, cutting right at the top landing toward his study.
Inside, he poured a glass of whiskey and downed it straight.
The alcohol burned down his throat, but it did nothing to settle his thoughts.
The execution, the contract, her sudden gentleness toward his daughter, none of it balanced out.
A knock sounded at the frame.
“Come in.” Rysand entered, his hands folded behind him.
“The courtyard is cleared, Alpha Colette just left the premises with her guards.” Henrik sat behind his desk, resting his elbows on the wood.
“Good.” “The council is relieved.
The debt collectors backed off the moment the execution was confirmed.” Rysand hesitated.
“Marcus left yesterday morning right after the shooting.
He said he didn’t want to get in the way.
He was heading to his stepdaughter’s funeral.” Henrik frowned.
“He left without speaking to me?” “Left a note with my assistant.
Said the timing couldn’t be helped.” Henrik noted the detail.
Marcus was rarely quiet about anything, especially his departures, but there were bigger issues at hand.
“Should I update Harmony about the wedding date?” Rysand asked.
“Not yet.
She won’t take it well.” “I will handle Harmony myself.” Rysand nodded and backed out, closing the door softly behind him.
Seconds later, light footsteps padded across the hallway rug.
Laura peeked around the doorframe in her nightgown, holding her worn stuffed rabbit by the ear.
She walked around the desk without a word.
Henrik pulled his chair back, and she scrambled onto his lap, burying her face into his neck.
“Papa,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
“I had a dream.” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close against his chest.
“What kind of dream?” “We were at the park,” she said, resting her chin on his collarbone.
“You, me, and the lady with the silver hair.
We had a white horse, and nobody was sad.” Henrik went still.
Nobody was sad.
His late wife had used those exact words years ago, back when they still talked about the future they wanted for their family.
Before the debts, before the attacks, before grief became a permanent fixture in the house.
Henrik looked down at his daughter’s grey eyes, so much like his own, as she rubbed her face against his sleeve.
“Papa?” she asked softly.
“When is she going to be my mummy?”