A rustle came from between two big oak bookcases.
Colette turned and saw a pup crammed into the gap, no older than three or four.
He scrambled back the moment her shadow fell over him.
“My lady,” he squeaked, dropping to his knees and pressing his head to the floor.
“Stop that,” Colette said.
She squatted down so she wasn’t looming over him.
“I’m not going to hurt you.
What’s your name?” “Milo,” he whispered.
He flinched hard when she reached out to smooth his messy dark hair.
Before she could say anything else, heavy footsteps came running down the archway.
The archive clerk rounded the shelf, his face pale.
“Your Majesty!
Forgive the intrusion.” He grabbed the boy and set him on his hip without stopping, muttering apologies as he hurried the wide-eyed pup away down the hall.
Colette stood up slowly and brushed off her skirt.
The boy hadn’t been scared of getting caught.
He’d been scared of her.
She couldn’t let anyone else in this estate look at her and see only a monster, or a liability.
If she wanted to survive long enough to break the curse, avenge Rosella, and find out what really happened to her parents, she needed to take control of her pack.
Starting with the council meeting the next morning.
Colette stood at the double doors a moment too long, her throat tight.
Every habit Rosella had spent a lifetime learning in IronClaw rose up at once, telling her to duck her head and make herself small.
She hated how fast the old instinct came back, even now, in a body that had never had to shrink for anyone.
Elias noticed her hesitation.
“Alpha?” She turned, met his eyes, and nodded like she meant it.
“Open the doors.” He pushed them wide and she made herself walk in like she belonged there.
The council hall was bigger than she’d pictured.
A long slab of black marble sat in the middle of the room, eight seats down each side and one at the head.
Every elder stood the moment she crossed the threshold, hands pressed to their chests, heads bowed.
“Alpha,” they said together.
She’d spent the night before in her study memorizing every name and face until her eyes burned, dossiers and lineage charts spread across the desk like cards she couldn’t afford to play wrong.
She took her seat at the head of the table and pressed her palms flat against the cold stone to stop them from shaking.
“Sit,” she said, and the room filled with the rustle of wool and heavy chairs as they obeyed.
She opened the folder in front of her.
With a confidence she didn’t feel, she looked down the long row of faces and said, “Let’s begin.” The woman on her left opened her binder, cleared her throat, and started in on a report about commercial yields.
Colette barely listened.
She matched the face to the name in her head.
Priska Renfrew.
She held the third seat, from a family older than most in the room.
They ran one of the biggest shipping ports in the county.
Colette could hardly follow the numbers.
Her eyes kept drifting down the table.
To her right, two older councilmen traded a quick, doubtful look.
Further down, a pair leaned together, whispering, until they caught Colette watching and straightened up fast.
She refused to let anyone see how new and overwhelming all of this felt.
One by one the elders gave their reports, until the room’s attention shifted to the far end of the table.
Elder Gale sat there with his arms crossed, not even bothering to open the folder in front of him.
“Tribute from the western district is down fifteen percent,” Gale said.
His voice filled the room without effort.
“I moved the extra burden onto Ansgard Vire to cover private security along the eastern ridge.” Colette went still.
Gale Vantorne.
His family had guarded Bloodmoon’s borders for four generations and ran the whole security network.
His two cousins, Raynard and Gothorn, flanked him, leaning back in their chairs, watching her with cold, careful eyes.
Her heart pounded.
This was the same man who had locked the pack archives.
The man keeping her father’s records behind a shut door.
“Without council approval?” Colette asked, keeping her voice flat.
A quiet murmur moved down the table.
Priska stopped writing, her pen hanging over the page, while two elders near the middle sat up straighter, feeling the room shift.
Gale’s mouth curved into a thin, satisfied smile.
“It was an emergency call made while you were indisposed, Alpha.
Your father gave me direct authority over pack accounts years ago for cases just like this.” He leaned forward, elbows on the wood.
“Given your recent…
instability, I saw no reason to burden you with small financial matters.” Across the table, an elder cleared his throat and tapped his fingers on the marble.
Others kept their faces blank, careful not to meet either Gale’s eyes or hers.
Colette felt her blood go hot.
Beside her right shoulder, Elias went stiff, his scent turning sharp with anger.
“Small matters?” Colette picked up a pen and tapped it once against the stone.
“Fifteen percent of our western revenue isn’t small, Elder Gale.” “It is when border safety is on the line,” Gale said smoothly, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off his sleeve.
“You’ve been out of the loop for months at a time, Colette.
The rest of us have kept this pack running while you were off in isolation, dealing with your ailment.” “And you thought that gave you permission to go around the head of this house?” “I thought,” Gale said, his voice dripping with the kind of tone people use on children, “that I was sparing an overburdened young woman a headache.
The contracts are already signed, stamped, and paid.
It wouldn’t look good for me to go back and cancel them now.
Unless the Alpha wants to audit her own council?” Gale’s cousins smirked.
The rest of the table stayed dead still, waiting to see if the young Alpha would back down.
Colette held his gaze and took a slow breath.
“My father is in the ground, Gale.
Pack money doesn’t move anywhere without my signature.
Not anymore.” “Is that a threat?” Gale asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back.
“I don’t make threats.
I act on them,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady while her chest burned with anger.
“I intend to go through every ledger in this house.
Starting tomorrow.” The silence in the room stretched thin.
Priska traded a quick, meaningful look with the elder beside her, and Raynard’s smirk faded into a hard glare.
Gale stared at Colette for three long seconds, his jaw tight, before he gave a shallow, mocking nod.
“As you command.” Colette pushed her chair back, the legs scraping loud against the floor.
“We’ll pick this up after my wedding.
I want daily reports from each of you, starting tomorrow morning.” She stood, ignoring the stunned looks passing between the elders, and walked toward the exit.
Elias stepped forward at once and pulled the heavy oak doors open for her.
They crossed into the quiet hallway, leaving the stunned council chamber behind.
As they walked down the stone corridor toward her private quarters, Elias fell into step a pace behind her.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly, breaking the silence.
Colette nodded once, eyes fixed ahead, too tired to give a real answer.
At her door, she turned to face him.
“What’s the update on Rosella’s funeral?” “It’s set for three days from now,” Elias said quietly.
“At the grand cathedral in IronClaw.” Colette’s chest tightened.
She knew that place too well.
Rosella’s parents had been buried there too; she’d turned to Marcus and her stepsister Pridda for support back then, foolishly believing she had a family who cared about her.
“I see,” she murmured.
She opened her bedroom door and stepped inside.
Just as she turned to shut it, Elias slipped in behind her, grabbed her by the waist, and pinned her against the wall.