Chapter 5: Whispers of Rebellion
The fortress was never silent. Even at night, the stones seemed to hum with life—footsteps in the corridors, the distant echo of howls from the forest, the murmur of servants carrying secrets like wildfire.
Elara lay awake long after the moon had reached its peak, Kaelan’s words from earlier replaying in her mind: She is not a guest. She is mine.
She should have been furious. And she was—part of her bristled at the thought of being claimed like some prize. Yet, another part, one she hated to acknowledge, had stirred with warmth when he defended her against Lady Selene.
You cannot afford to soften. She rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow as though it could ground her. If you let him break past your defenses, you’ll lose yourself.
Sleep came in fractured snatches, and when dawn finally broke, Elara was more exhausted than rested. A knock sounded at her door, brisk and commanding.
She opened it to find Garrick standing there, arms folded. “The Alpha requests your presence in the council chamber.”
“Requests?” she asked dryly.
He smirked. “When it comes to Kaelan, ‘requests’ are simply a polite way of saying ‘command.’ You’d best not keep him waiting.”
The council chamber was vast, lined with high-backed chairs occupied by Kaelan’s most trusted advisers. Maps sprawled across the central table, heavy with carved markers. The air smelled of parchment, ink, and tension.
Kaelan stood at the head of the table, a dark presence commanding the room without effort. His silver eyes flicked to her as she entered, and something unreadable passed over his face.
“Elara,” he said, gesturing to the empty chair beside him. “Sit.”
She hesitated, aware of the hostile stares from several council members. The most venomous belonged to Chancellor Veyra—Selene’s father. His lips curled in disdain as she lowered herself into the seat.
“We were discussing the border raids,” Kaelan began, his tone clipped. “Three villages were attacked last week. The humans blame rogue wolves, but I suspect…” His gaze sharpened. “A hand within our own court fans these flames.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber. Elara’s skin prickled. Treachery in the fortress itself?
“Preposterous,” Chancellor Veyra sneered. “Your Majesty, with respect, humans spread lies to cover their own weaknesses. Why would one of us strike at our own kin?”
Kaelan’s eyes narrowed. “Power. Ambition. Or perhaps to weaken me by sowing distrust.” His tone held an edge that silenced the room. “Do not assume loyalty where it has not been proven.”
Elara’s thoughts raced. Already she saw the fractures—Kaelan’s dominance kept the court in line, but beneath the surface, rivalries simmered.
When the council dismissed, Kaelan caught her by the arm before she could slip away. His grip was gentle but firm.
“You heard their whispers,” he said quietly. “Do you see now why I won’t let you walk unguarded? You are more than a prophecy, Elara. You are leverage. My enemies would use you to strike at me.”
Her chest tightened. “Then let me go. If I leave, they won’t have reason to target me.”
His expression darkened. “Do you truly believe I could let you walk out of here? The moment you left these walls, every rival pack would hunt you. You’d be dead before you reached Grey Hollow.”
She swallowed hard, his words sinking like stones. Yet she lifted her chin. “Then teach me to protect myself. Don’t cage me—arm me.”
His silver gaze held hers, storm and fire entwined. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Very well. You will begin training at dawn.”
The next morning, Elara found herself in the training yard, the chill air biting her cheeks. Soldiers sparred with blades, their movements sharp and brutal. Garrick tossed her a wooden practice sword.
“It’s heavier than it looks,” he said, grinning as she nearly dropped it.
“I noticed,” she muttered, tightening her grip.
They began with stances, Garrick correcting her posture with infuriating patience. More than once, she stumbled, earning laughter from nearby soldiers. Heat burned in her cheeks, but she gritted her teeth. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me quit.
Hours passed. By the time Kaelan appeared, her arms ached and sweat dampened her hair. He watched silently for a while, then dismissed the others with a flick of his hand.
“Again,” he ordered, drawing his own practice blade.
Elara hesitated. “You want me to fight you?”
His lips curved faintly. “Unless you’d rather spar with Garrick again.”
Her pride flared. She raised her sword. “Fine.”
Their blades clashed, the force jarring her arms. He moved with terrifying speed, every strike measured and precise. She stumbled back, breath ragged, but each time she fell, she rose again.
Finally, he disarmed her with a twist of his wrist. Her sword clattered to the ground. He pinned her against the training post, blade hovering at her throat.
Her heart thundered—but not from fear.
“Better,” he murmured, silver eyes locked on hers. “But you still hesitate. Out there, hesitation kills.”
Her breath caught as the bond pulsed between them, hot and electric. She forced herself to whisper, “Then teach me not to hesitate.”
Something flickered in his gaze—pride, desire, restraint all warring within him. Slowly, he lowered his blade and stepped back.
“You’ll learn,” he said, voice rough. “Or I’ll break you until you do.”
And though the words should have chilled her, Elara felt something dangerous ignite inside her: the first taste of power, hard-earned and hers.
That night, whispers drifted through the fortress halls. Servants spoke of shadows moving at the border, of strange alliances being formed. And somewhere in the depths of Stormfang, a figure cloaked in secrecy plotted—not only against the Alpha King, but against the girl fate had bound to him.
The storm was only beginning.