The air in the Royal Auction Hall shattered.
A deafening crack of thunder shook the foundations of the estate and rattled the crystal chandeliers overhead.
Isolde, still frozen on the floor, gasped as the Calamity-class familiar at her side let out a low, terrified whine.
"Fenrath?" Genevieve whispered, her voice barely audible beneath the thunder. "Isn’t that the Duke’s Sovereign-Tier familiar? How can she summon it?"
Bianca stood perfectly still.
The amber jewel set into her wedding ring burned against her skin. It no longer reminded her of her cold marriage. It felt alive.
Amber fire and silver lightning arced from the stone, winding around her wrist like a living bracelet. The pressure of Peregrine’s mana surged through her veins, powerful enough to make the air tremble.
Then the shadows behind her tore open.
Fenrath emerged from the darkness.
The Sovereign-Tier wolf was enormous, his shoulders nearly brushing the high ceiling. Midnight-black fur covered his body, silver lightning crackling through it like living veins. His eyes burned white as he swept his gaze across the hall, and the sheer weight of his presence sent the nearest nobles stumbling backward.
Lightning snapped from his fur.
One bolt struck an ornate tapestry, setting it ablaze, and another burnt a painting.
Fenrath bared his fangs, and the growl that followed seemed to vibrate through everyone’s bones.
*Thud*
Genevieve dropped to her knees. The cerulean glyph on her arm flickered wildly beneath Fenrath’s presence.
One by one, the other nobles followed. Every knee touched the floor.
Marchioness Seraphina did not.
She merely watched Fenrath with a flicker of amusement in her icy-blue eyes, her Sovereign-Tier familiar perched calmly upon her shoulder.
The hall fell into a deathly silence.
Bianca looked down at Isolde.
The woman’s carefully cultivated expression of innocence had finally disappeared. She was staring up at the massive wolf with wide, trembling eyes, her white-lotus act shattered by pure, unmistakable panic.
For the first time since Bianca had arrived, Isolde looked as frightened as Bianca felt.
Bianca’s fingers brushed over the amber jewel on her ring. She knew what it could do.
Peregrine might not have intended for her to use his familiar like this. Perhaps he had given Fenrath to her to protect the honor of the Valois name, or to compensate for the shame of having a glyph-less woman as his wife...
She had never allowed herself to wonder whether there was anything more to it.
But right now, everyone in this hall needed to understand one thing.
She didn’t have Peregrine’s Account Sigil. She didn’t have a glyph of her own. She didn’t have the power the other noblewomen had spent their entire lives taking for granted.
But she had this. And for the next few minutes, that would have to be enough.
Bianca’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile as he looked at Genevieve. "This would be the real spectacle, Dear Sister."
Bianca raised her hand pointing at the door. "Prepare my path, Fenrath."
The enormous wolf lowered his head.
Lightning exploded across the floor in front of Bianca, scorching a clean path through the red carpet and forcing everyone to scramble farther out of her way.
Bianca stepped forward.
She didn’t hurry. She didn’t look back at Genevieve. She didn’t spare Isolde another glance.
She simply walked down the path Fenrath had created, the hem of her deep-blue gown trailing behind her as silver lightning illuminated every step.
The doors of the auction hall opened before her. Bianca walked through them with Fenrath at her side while the nobles remained frozen behind her, watching in stunned, reverent silence.
For once, nobody whispered.
Bianca stepped into the sunlight and allowed herself another tiny, wicked thought.
Suffer the spectacle, fools!
"Bee! Sorry, I’m late!"
Bianca heard that familiar, lovely voice behind her and nearly sagged with relief.
Lady Fiona Delvagne. Her only true friend.
Bianca turned toward her, then glanced at Fenrath. The enormous wolf was still prowling beside her, lightning crackling lazily through his midnight fur and making several servants along the entrance hall press themselves against the walls.
"Retreat," Bianca said quietly.
Fenrath lowered his massive head.
His enormous body dissolved into wisps of dark smoke and silver sparks. When the smoke cleared, the Sovereign-Tier beast had shrunk to the size of a small dog. He padded after Bianca at a respectful distance, still radiating enough pressure only for other familiars to keep away.
Fiona stared.
Then she looked at the scorched red carpet...Then at the smoking tapestry inside the auction hall... Then at the nobles still kneeling in terrified silence.
Finally, she looked back at Bianca. This woman was the most elegant and patient woman she knew. If she did this...
"Bee..." She pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes widening. "What happened?"
Bianca stared at her.
It was only then that the full weight of what she had just done crashed over her.
She had summoned Fenrath... In front of half the nobility of Lysaria.
She had used Peregrine’s mana, commanded his Sovereign-Tier familiar, set fire to the auction hall, frightened Genevieve and Isolde half to death, and walked out as though she had planned the entire spectacle.
Her stomach dropped.
Oh.
Oh, no.
What have I done?
Bianca grabbed Fiona’s hand. "We should leave," she said, her voice suddenly very small.
Fiona blinked. "Leave?"
"Now."
Bianca started pulling her toward the carriage before Fiona could ask another question.
Bianca’s heart hammered against her ribs. The humiliation at the auction had been terrible. But this?
This was going to get back to Peregrine.
She could already imagine his face when he learned that his supposedly quiet, glyph-less wife had marched into a charity auction and summoned his Sovereign-Tier familiar in front of the entire aristocracy.
Her steps quickened.
I’m finished.
In the King’s council chamber, a tense discussion was underway.
General Octavien de Montferrand stood before the long council table, one hand resting on the map spread across its surface. "It is obvious that these attacks are becoming more frequent, Your Majesty. We should consider reinforcing the—"
Duke Peregrine Alistair de Valois sat on the King’s right, leaning leisurely against the tall, ornate back of his chair. His expression had remained detached throughout the discussion, one hand resting near his mouth as he listened.
Then his entire body went still.
Something had changed.
Peregrine lowered his hand slowly.
His mana... Someone was drawing on it, with a force he could feel all the way to his core.
There was only one person in the whole world who could do that.
Peregrine rose so abruptly that the legs of his chair scraped against the stone floor.
General Octavien stopped mid-sentence. "Your Grace...?"
Peregrine didn’t answer.
His senses were already reaching through the bond, searching for Bianca. He felt the familiar pulse of his mana flowing toward her, followed by the unmistakable presence of Fenrath.
His eyes darkened.
Bianca had summoned Fenrath. Something must have happened.
"Dear nephew," the King said, his brows drawing together. "The meeting is not yet over."
Peregrine was already walking toward the door.
"My little wife is in danger."
He didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t even look back at the King.
The council chamber fell silent as the Duke of Valois walked out, leaving a room full of bewildered ministers staring after him.
And everyone’s expression said the same.
Did we hear him say "Little Wife"?