The council chamber was packed.
Every noble who could fit had squeezed onto the benches. Lord Vesper sat in the front row, his expression unreadable. Behind him, his conservative faction filled three rows. On the progressive side, Lord Pemberton nodded encouragingly at Seren.
She stood at the head of the table, a thick parchment scroll in her hands. Kael stood to her right, still wearing his travel-stained armour. Aeron and Theron flanked the dais. Even Elowen had returned from the east, taking her seat among the council with narrowed, watchful eyes.
Three days had passed since Seren's return. Three days of debriefings, of healing, of sleeping in her own bed with her mates around her. Now came the hard part: translating victory into law.
"The north is broken," Seren began. "Thorne is dead. His followers have scattered. But broken does not mean healed. If we do nothing, the north will remain a wound that festers."
She unrolled the parchment.
