Council Shadows & Red Dresses
The dress was crimson. Deep enough to be mistaken for blood in the right light. Emma stared at herself in the mirror, fingers brushing the silk that clung like temptation incarnate. Her collarbone still bore those phantom claw-marks. No explanation. No pain now. Just a heat that pulsed there, whispering something she couldn't name.
When she turned to leave, the reflection in the mirror didn't move right away. It lingered… a second too long. Watching.
The Council Hall beneath Vale Estate wasn't just a room. It was a warning carved in stone. The underground chambers of the Vale Estate were nothing short of legendary—spoken about in whispers across packs, rarely seen by outsiders. Carved into stone and shadow, the Council Hall was where dynasties were made, alliances forged, and rogues sentenced.
The air was old. Heavy. Sacred.
Centuries-old rock, ash-black and iron-gilded, formed high arches that loomed like ancient gods. The walls were polished obsidian, etched with golden wolf crests that shimmered under the flicker of ancient fire pits embedded into the floor. Above the dais, a steel relief of the original Alpha Vale—snarling, eyes lit with emberstone—watched all who entered like a god carved in judgment. This was where decisions that shaped entire packs were made. Where blood was spilled beneath polished words.
Emma walked in with Zane, Sebastian's second-in-command, who said nothing but wore the hardened face of a man who didn't question orders—just enforced them. His silence was heavy but not unkind. Protective, maybe. But she couldn't afford to trust kindness. Not here.
The doors behind them groaned shut, casting a final echo through the chamber like a warning bell.
Everyone was already seated.
Rows of powerful Alphas, their Lunas, Council Elders with sharp eyes and sharper tongues. Emma didn't need to see faces to feel the weight of every gaze.
They all looked at her like she was the unspeakable sin dressed in crimson.
But she didn't falter.
She didn't slow.
Her heels struck the stone with the rhythm of war drums. Her chin didn't dip. Her eyes didn't flinch.
She walked like the daughter of no one and the mate of a king.
Like she belonged there—even if they wished she didn't.
Even if she wasn't sure herself.
And at the far end of the hall, at the high seat carved into the throne-like stone dais, Sebastian Vale sat like a myth made flesh.
Unmoving. Unblinking.
Draped in darkness, suit crisp, his wolf simmering beneath the surface. His silver cufflinks glinted like blades. But as she entered, she saw Sebastian stood from his seat and stand at the center—perfectly poised, dressed in midnight and arrogance. He didn't look at her. Not once.
But the weight of his presence pulled her gaze like gravity.
And the room noticed.
Celeste sat in the first row of spectators. Legs crossed. Back straight. Smiling like a porcelain viper. The moment Emma entered, her fingers curled tighter around her chair.
Murmurs swept like wind through dry leaves.
"Is that the rogue?"
"Wearing Vale red?"
"Is this a power play?"
But still Emma kept walking. Every step deliberate. Every flick of her eyes calculated.
She wasn't a guest in this war. She was the next predator they hadn't prepared for. And then Sebastian eyes locked on Emma as she approached, unreadable.
No warmth.
No hatred.
Just silent, razor-sharp interest.
Public Scrutiny & Cold Applause
Whispers coiled around her like smoke.
"Is that the rogue he married?"
"No markings on her… not even claimed properly."
"Collarless. Just like a street mutt."
Emma didn't respond. She let them murmur. Let them bite with their words.
Because queens don't bark back. They wait for the right moment to sink their teeth in.
She saw Sebastian return to his seat and as he went back, she took her place beside Sebastian without hesitation. Didn't ask. Didn't look for approval.
And when he didn't offer her a glance—not even a flick of his eye—she smiled to herself.
Good.
It meant she could play this game her way.
A shift in the air cut through the whispers.
Celeste.
She was seated off to the side, surrounded by Luna advisors like a perfect little trophy. Dressed in pristine ivory, not a hair out of place. Every inch the image of control and class.
But her eyes—those painted doll eyes—watched Emma with an edge of something that made Emma's blood sing.
Jealousy.
Possession.
Loss.
Emma inclined her head just slightly.
Graceful. Dangerous.
Like she'd already won a war Celeste didn't know they were fighting.
At the far end of the hall, Alric Vale sitting watching Emma. The elder Alpha's gaze held no warmth, only bloodline. He looked at Emma as if she'd stained the carpet just by standing there.Then came his voice that could cut glass.
"I see the stray finally found her way into the hall."
Alric Vale.
Sebastian's uncle. Elder of the Council. A man whose tongue was sharper than most daggers.
He stood slowly, the hall going silent as he addressed the crowd, but kept his gaze locked on Emma.
"A rogue with a title. Curious times. The Vale name must be desperate."
Snickers echoed in corners of the room.
Emma turned her head, calm. The firelight kissed her cheekbones.
"Or perhaps the name is evolving," she replied, voice smooth, edged like a fine blade. "Even royalty needs fresh blood now and then."
A beat.
Then silence.
The kind that made people hold their breath.
Alric's eyes narrowed, but he wasn't done.
"What exactly do you offer this council, girl? Besides scandal and mystery. Do you think bloodlines are built on attitude alone?"
Emma smiled faintly, never blinking.
"No. But I know kingdoms have been torn down by less than my attitude."
The silence stretched.
Then someone choked on their breath.
Another let out a low whistle.
Even Zane shifted beside her.
Alric stepped forward, voice cold. "You wear the Luna mark like it's a borrowed necklace. One you'll give back when this charade ends."
Emma's lips curled just slightly.
"That would require someone worthy enough to take it off me."
That stunned the room.
The kind of hush that follows a knife through silk.
And through it all, Sebastian sat—watching her. Still unmoved.
But the corner of his mouth twitched.
Not quite a smirk. Not quite approval.
Just… curious.
Like she'd stepped into the arena, and he was finally interested in the fight.
"Luna," Alric said, voice echoing again. "You carry the title. But not the mark. Tell us, then—how does a collarless stray become royalty? On her knees?"
A few muffled chuckles. One bark of laughter. Emma's lips curved—not into a smile, but a cut-glass grin.
"Funny," she said, voice velvet laced in blade. "I was going to ask how cowards earn thrones—behind old names or older men?"
Gasps. Silence. The tension so thick, even Sebastian's brow twitched.
Alric didn't respond. But the room had changed. Eyes began to watch her differently.
Celeste's smile cracked for half a second.
But then a bell sound came and all the whisper calm down Sebastian stand and announced, Enough for this hour. Please enjoy your meal till other hour session.
during the recess, Celeste approached with a glass of something too sweet and a smile too sharp.
"So," she said, "how does it feel… being paraded in front of wolves who would rather chew you up than crown you?"
Emma tilted her head. "Strangely familiar. You know—like being mistaken for someone relevant."
Celeste's smile wavered. "Don't get comfortable in that seat. It won't be yours by morning."
Emma leaned closer, just enough to make the other woman's skin bristle.
"Neither will Sebastian," she whispered. "He's not the type to keep leftovers."
She left before Celeste could reply. The other woman's glass shattered behind her.
And not a soul dared acknowledge it.