Chapter 106

Amelia

They gave me three hours to sleep. Not that it mattered. I tossed and turned the whole time, my nerves burning beneath my skin like static. When the knock came at six sharp, I was already sitting up in bed, staring at the soft gray light pushing through the curtains. I hadn’t dreamed, or if I had, I didn’t remember it. My head felt heavy. My stomach hollow.

Lady Maris was already waiting in the sitting room with the precision of a military general. Two full racks of clothing, a steamer puffing gently in the corner, a tray of lemon-thyme tea, and a folder labeled simply "Presence." She didn’t speak right away. She just circled me like she was evaluating a gemstone for cracks.

"You look pale," she said finally.

"Good morning to you too."

"You’re not there to be pretty," she said, ignoring the sarcasm. "You’re there to be seen. You are the spine. Don’t let anyone mistake you for decoration."

She pulled a deep navy blouse from one of the hangers, layered it beneath a structured cream blazer with an angular cut that framed my shoulders, and handed me a pair of dove-gray slacks. Understated elegance, not flashy. Polished. Confident. "This," she said, “says you didn’t just show up, you belong.”

Downstairs, Simon and Nathan had turned the formal parlor into a makeshift war room. Papers covered every inch of the coffee table. Simon tossed me a folder without looking up from his screen.

"Sit. David added three new talking points overnight. He’s going to circle you like a vulture. Don’t flinch."

"She’s not speaking," Nathan reminded him, seated with a tablet and three mugs of black coffee beside him.

"Doesn’t matter," Simon said. He pulled out a thick stack of flashcards and began flipping through them with manic energy. "She’s in the front row. She is the visual. If she looks scared, we lose points. If she looks smug, we lose points. If she looks bored, you guessed it, we lose points."

I blinked at him. "So basically I’m supposed to look like a beautiful statue and pray nobody throws fruit at me."

"Exactly," he said, completely serious.

Nathan smiled faintly. "Just be yourself. Graceful. Calm. Collected. And spine straight."

"And don’t cross your arms," Emma added, flipping another card. "David’s team will read it as defensive."

Lady Maris swept back in and fixed a pair of pearl studs into my ears. "Shoulders back. Chin up. You belong there. Don’t let them sell you a version of yourself smaller than the one we already know."

By the time the car arrived to take us to the venue, I’d practiced a dozen facial expressions in the reflection of the tinted glass. Focused. Soft. Assured. Unshakeable. The inside of my mouth tasted like copper. I didn’t speak the whole ride.

The crowd was already buzzing when we entered the building. I barely heard Emma murmuring logistics to someone. I didn’t notice the flashing cameras. All I could focus on was the slow, steady sound of my own breath. One inhale. One exhale.

Until the lights came up.

Richard

David smiled like a man who believed he’d already won.

He walked onto the stage with that smug, casual gait he always used when he was about to land a punch and pretend it was a handshake. The moderator introduced us both, but I barely heard her. My attention was locked on David’s eyes, watching for the moment he turned venomous.

It didn’t take long.

"Let’s call it what it is," he said after the very first question, stepping close enough to test boundaries without crossing them. "The Alpha King appointed a political novice to the most public position in the territory. No wolf. No family ties. No legacy. Nepotism dressed up as modernity."

I didn’t blink. I didn’t look at Amelia, though I felt her presence like a tether. I adjusted my mic.

"I appointed someone who knows what it means to fight for a place in a system that wasn’t made for her," I said, my voice measured. "Someone who doesn’t posture or parade, but listens. Works. Leads. That’s not nepotism. That’s strategy."

David made a show of laughing. "It’s sentiment."

"It’s progress," I said, sharper now. "And I’d rather build the future with her than uphold a past that’s already failed too many of our people."

The moderator jumped in before he could push further. The conversation shifted, but the crowd buzzed. Something had shifted.

Then the camera panned.

Amelia sat front and center, her posture perfect, her expression unreadable. She didn’t blink. Didn’t fidget. Her back was straighter than anyone else’s on that stage. She looked like she belonged in marble.

The clip exploded online before the debate even ended.

#SpineMatters

It trended for hours.

Amelia

The reception was held in a domed atrium lit by glass chandeliers and a thousand tiny pinlights meant to make the space feel expensive, not warm. The smell of champagne and hairspray hung thick in the air. Everyone spoke in careful tones, punctuated by forced laughter and practiced nods.

Emma pressed a glass into my hand. "Don’t flinch," she whispered. "You don’t have to win anyone over. You just have to look like they can’t move you."

It wasn’t as easy as she made it sound. My jaw was still tight from clenching through the debate.

"She certainly drew attention," said a crisp voice behind me. A man in a navy tie and too much cologne studied me over the rim of his glass. "We appreciated the restraint," he said, tight-lipped. "But let’s not pretend the girl didn’t pull focus."

I met his eyes. "Then it sounds like I did my job."

The woman beside him laughed softly. He didn’t.

I moved through the room with the same calm I had practiced in the car. I remembered names. Repeated back phrases I’d heard Emma drill into me. Strategic alliances. Inter-Pack trust. Mutual visibility. My smile was careful. My nods deliberate.

Halfway through the evening, a donor from the Southern Border Pack pulled me aside. She wore velvet and pearls and a look like she was used to being feared.

"I didn’t think much of you at first," she said.

I smiled. "I’ve heard that before."

She tilted her head. "But you didn’t waver. Not once. That matters."

"I plan to keep holding steady."

"Good," she said. "The Pack needs someone who doesn’t blink."

By the time we left, Emma had secured three new pledges and a fourth verbal. I was peeling off my shoes upstairs when Nathan knocked lightly.

"He’s not coming."

I turned. "What do you mean?"

"War council. Emergency. He had to go."

I crossed the room, drawn to the window almost against my will. The rooftop was still lit, the string lights swaying slightly in the breeze, candles flickering in half-melted puddles. The table was still there, though someone had started clearing the plates. A bouquet had been left behind, its ribbon undone.

I remembered what Richard had said earlier. That he wanted to have dinner, just the two of us, after the debate. That we would celebrate together. I had assumed he meant something quiet, intimate. I hadn’t imagined this.

It looked like a scene from a proposal. A perfect little dream folded into the night sky. And for a moment, just a moment, I wondered if that was what it had been.

Then I felt stupid. Embarrassed for even letting the thought bloom.

Of course it hadn’t been. Things like that didn’t happen when war was on the horizon.

Still, it hurt to watch the candles go out one by one.

The table was empty.

Richard

The war council was a blur of overlapping voices, updates from the border, rumors of coordinated movement. The skirmish had been stopped, but something darker was brewing. I felt it in my spine.

By the time I returned, the Pack House was silent.

Amelia

I didn’t hear the door open. Just the sound of him sitting on the bench, unbuckling his shoes. I was still curled in bed, his shirt too big on me, the blankets a cocoon.

He joined me without a word, slid in behind me, and pulled me close.

I exhaled for the first time all day.

Richard

She fell asleep before I did.

I lay still, watching the ceiling, my hand resting against her back. The ring was still in the drawer, hidden beneath layers of velvet and hesitation. I’d planned to propose tonight. The dinner had been set, the candles arranged, the words turning over in my head like a prayer. She had looked so sure of herself in that crowd, so unshakably brave, and I had wanted to mark the moment with permanence.

But then the call came. And the world shifted again.

The rooftop was still dark. The future still uncertain. And now, with tensions rising at the border, I didn’t know when I’d get another chance, or if asking her now would be anchoring her to a future that could break apart beneath her feet.