CHAPTER FIFTEEN: The Hollow Pact

The air inside the war chamber of Silver & Vale was tense enough to snap. Shadows clung to the stone walls like restless spirits. The room smelled of old ash and iron—remnants of power plays long past. Torches crackled in iron sconces, casting flickers of orange flame that danced over carved wolf insignias and war-banners aged in dust. Every inch of this place reeked of legacy, blood, and betrayal.

Zara stood near the obsidian table, her reflection fractured in its glossy surface. The cold from the stone floor seeped into her boots. Her heart beat a rhythm that didn't match the silence around them—faster, more urgent. She could feel Maxim’s presence beside her like a forge heating to its limit. He hadn’t spoken since they entered, his golden eyes locked on the empty seat at the far end—the one meant for Victor.

"He’s late," Zara murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers trembled slightly, though she clenched them into a fist to stop it.

"Victor isn’t late," Maxim replied, his voice low, dangerous. "He’s calculating. Staging his entrance like a wolf circling prey. Every second we wait is meant to rattle us."

Just then, the chamber doors opened with a hiss that echoed off the stone like a blade being unsheathed. Victor Vale walked in with deliberate poise, his suit perfectly tailored, the shade of stormcloud silk. His expression was a mask of civility, but the undercurrent of power around him crackled, sharp as razors, snapping in the air like a coming storm.

"Brother," Victor said, nodding toward Maxim. "Zara. You look radiant, even under siege."

Zara stiffened, her jaw tightening, but said nothing. Her mind churned with the details of the last twenty-four hours—the forged documents, the framed espionage, the whispers of her being a planted spy from the South. Victor’s trap was not only set—it was already snapping shut.

Maxim folded his arms, his muscles taut, the veins in his forearms stark beneath his skin. "Let’s dispense with the pleasantries."

Victor chuckled softly, like someone who knew he already held the upper hand. "Straight to the war table. How Vale of you." He took his seat with effortless arrogance. "I assume you’ve called this council for more than just sibling bonding."

Zara stepped forward, voice clear and unwavering. "We know about the vote. The bloodline clause you slipped into the heir pact. You want to invoke a nullification on Maxim’s claim."

Victor tilted his head, mock surprise gleaming in his eyes. "Oh? You mean the clause that states an heir must be bonded to one of pure lineage before the lunar summit? That clause?"

"You wrote that clause knowing Maxim had already chosen me," Zara said. Her voice was cool, sharp. "And you planted the rumors to discredit me. You made me look like a liability to the pack."

Victor’s smile didn’t fade. "This is politics, dear. Not personal. You’ll learn that eventually."

Maxim snarled, a sound not entirely human. It curled at the edge of his throat like something ancient. "You endangered the balance. You turned our council into a battlefield."

Victor leaned back in his chair, hands steepled beneath his chin. "And yet here we are. Still pretending this house is united. So let’s do what we always do when the house begins to burn." He slid a thick envelope across the table with two fingers, the seal already cracked.

Zara glanced at Maxim, who reluctantly opened the envelope. Inside were papers inked in red, their words etched like scars across the pages.

A Hollow Pact.

Maxim read aloud. "A temporary ceasefire. You want me to cede my claim to the High Alpha seat for one lunar cycle… in exchange for dropping the charges against Zara."

"And in exchange," Victor added smoothly, "you both get to keep breathing. Publicly, anyway. You can keep playing house until the moon decides."

Zara stepped beside Maxim, refusing to flinch. "And after the cycle? What then?"

Victor’s voice darkened, gaining weight. "Then we let the moon decide. Trial by blood. You, Maxim, face me. Winner claims all—territory, title, and legacy."

Maxim’s hand clenched around the paper, veins straining beneath his skin. Zara felt his restraint humming under his skin like a held-back storm. She could practically hear the pulse of fury in him. But then he breathed out slowly, the breath of a man at war with patience, and laid the pact flat on the table.

"We sign nothing tonight," Maxim said. "We speak with the Elders."

Victor stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "The Elders already listen to fear. And fear, dear brother, speaks with my voice now."

The moment Victor left, the atmosphere seemed to exhale. The silence that followed was heavier than words. Maxim sank into the seat beside her, tension leaking from his frame.

"He knows we’re cornered," he said, voice a low growl.

Zara knelt before him, touching his clenched hand with care. "Then we fight smart. We turn the Hollow Pact into a noose he doesn’t see tightening."

His eyes met hers, fierce and full of fire. "You are too bright for this world."

Zara stood, spine straight, chin lifted. "Then let’s light the damn warpath."

Later that night, as moonlight filtered through the skylight above Silver & Vale’s upper chamber, Maxim summoned the Inner Circle. Zara stood at his right, flanked by Cyrus and Elena, both cloaked in midnight leathers with expressions carved from stone.

"Victor wants war masked as peace," Maxim said. "So we give him a peace that slices from within."

Cyrus stepped forward, his voice edged with steel. "We leak the pact. Publicly. Let the wolves know exactly what he’s demanding. Let them see the cowardice behind the mask."

Elena added, her silver eyes glinting, "And we start rallying old alliances. Quietly. Victor thinks the North is neutral. It isn’t. Not anymore."

Zara nodded, already composing lines in her mind. "I can draft a statement. One that turns the narrative. If Victor wants to try us in public court, we beat him to it. We shape the story before he can weaponize it."

Maxim’s gaze locked with hers. "You’re not just surviving this," he said, his voice softer now, reverent. "You’re redefining what it means to stand beside a wolf."

The room fell quiet for a breath, then Zara turned to face the others. "We expose him not only for his lies, but for his fear. Fear that we—outsiders, bondless, unbeholden—can still shift the tide."

As the Inner Circle dispersed into the labyrinth of corridors below, Maxim remained by her side. The firelight danced across his cheekbones, casting shadows that made him look like a statue carved by war itself.

"We have one lunar cycle," he said.

"That’s all we need," she whispered.

And yet, deep inside her, she felt it—the faintest pull in her blood. Like a tide beginning to turn. A thread weaving itself tighter around her destiny. The Hollow Pact had been offered.

But war was coming, all the same.

And this time, it would not wear armor.

It would wear truth.