The next morning, the air in the Shadowkeep was charged with a different kind of electricity. The scent of our finalized mate bond permeated the ancient stone, sending a clear, undeniable message to every Lycan within a hundred miles: The King had taken a Queen, and her power was not to be questioned.
I stood at the head of the massive, obsidian table in the War Room, dressed in tailored black leather riding trousers and a high-collared tunic that displayed the intricate, silver-scarred mark of the Lycan King on my neck.
Kaelen stood beside me, his hands resting on the edge of the map-strewn table. His aura was calm, composed, but radiating an oppressive, lethal authority. Standing before us were the five Lycan Generals of the Northern Reaches—massive, scarred warlords who had spent their entire lives shedding blood for the Shadowkeep.
"Inquisitor Vance did not return to the capital," Gamma Silas reported, his pale blue eyes scanning a decrypted parchment. "Our scouts report that he diverted his Vanguard to the outpost at the border of the Neutral Zone. He has sent an emergency missive to the High Council via a blood-falcon."
General Thorne, a terrifyingly large Lycan with a jagged scar bisecting his left eye, slammed his fist onto the table. "He knows! Even if the illusion held, Vance's instincts are sharp. He's rallying the border garrisons. The Council will declare a Crusade before the moon is full."
"Let them," sneered General Vane, a leaner, cruel-looking Lycan. "We will slaughter them in the open fields. Our regenerative abilities make us invincible against their standard infantry."
"And what of their Paladins?" Thorne shot back. "They wield holy magic. Silver-infused weaponry. If they bring an army of ten thousand, even Lycans will fall to sheer numbers. We should strike first. March on the outpost tonight and crush Vance before the Council can reinforce him."
"No."
The word was spoken softly, but it cut through the generals' argument like a razor blade.
The five massive warlords stopped arguing and slowly turned to look at me. There was a moment of heavy, dangerous silence. I was an outsider. An Omega by birth. To these ancient, blood-soaked veterans, my newly acquired title of Queen was a political novelty, not a military reality.
Thorne narrowed his single good eye at me. "With all due respect, My Queen, war is not a game of court politics. It is butchery. The Vanguard is mobilizing on our doorstep."
I didn't flinch under his predatory gaze. I didn't seek Kaelen's permission to speak. I simply leaned over the map, planting my hands on the table, projecting a fraction of my dark, refracted aura to remind them exactly who they were speaking to.
"If you march on the outpost tonight, General Thorne, you will be giving the High Council exactly what they want," I said, my voice dripping with cold, calculated logic. "Vance is bait. He is sitting at the border, surrounded by magical wards, praying you attack him. If the Lycans strike an outpost in the Neutral Zone, the Council can legally declare us the aggressors. They will frame it as a savage, unprovoked massacre."
I pointed a finger at a narrow, jagged contour line on the map.
"But," I continued, tracing the line into the Northern Reaches. "If we do nothing... Vance's arrogance will eventually override his patience. He failed his inquisition. His pride is wounded. He will try to probe our borders, perhaps cross into the Howling Pass to capture a Lycan scout for interrogation to save face."
Kaelen's eyes gleamed with dark pride. He remained silent, letting me command the room.
"The Howling Pass," Thorne muttered, looking at the map. "It is a chokepoint. Barely wide enough for ten men to ride abreast. The blizzards there are lethal."
"Exactly," I said, a cold smile touching my lips. "We do not meet them on the open field. We do not march on their outpost. We let Vance cross the border. The moment his boots touch the snow of the Howling Pass, he becomes an illegal invader. Then, we do not just defeat them. We annihilate them. We leave no survivors, save for one messenger to carry Vance's severed head back to the Council as a declaration of our borders."
The War Room fell dead silent. The generals stared at me, the initial skepticism in their eyes entirely replaced by a profound, chilling respect. They had expected a soft, compassionate Luna who would beg for peace. Instead, they found a tactician proposing absolute, ruthless slaughter.
Thorne slowly bowed his head, baring his neck in genuine submission. "It is a brutal, flawless strategy, My Queen. The Vanguard will not survive the Pass."
"Prepare the strike force, Silas," Kaelen finally spoke, his deep voice finalizing the command. "Only fifty of our best. We do not need an army for a chokepoint."
Kaelen turned to me, his crimson eyes burning with a mixture of lust and terrifying approval. "And prepare your armor, Elena. Today, the White Wolf hunts."