ROMAN'S CHOICE

CHAPTER 40

"I will not apologize," Roman said to the full council, his voice carrying without needing to rise. "Not for choosing to love someone. If that makes me unfit to lead, then call the vote. But I will not pretend that loving Mira Vale makes me incapable of being Alpha."

I heard every word.

The council chamber had been built so a speaker's voice could carry through the corridor when the doors were open. I stood pressed against the oak, my palms flat against the wood, afraid that even the smallest movement might make me miss something.

Love.

He'd said it aloud.

To them.

"That is a remarkable statement," Wren replied, her voice cool and clear. "Especially from a man who has refused a lawful summons."

"I answered your summons."

"You refused its purpose. The council asked you to address the nature and future of your relationship with the surrogate. Instead, you've turned this hearing into a declaration of affection."

"Because that's what you wanted to put on trial."

"We wanted to establish whether your personal interests have compromised your judgment."

"And I am prepared to answer for my decisions as Alpha. I won't submit my feelings for public approval."

A chair scraped against the stone floor.

"It was a reasonable demand," Wren continued. "End the relationship or submit to a vote on your fitness to lead."

"Why?"

"Because an Alpha cannot allow desire to interfere with duty."

"I haven't."

"You've allowed a surrogate to unsettle this council and divide its members."

"She hasn't divided anyone. You have."

A murmur rose from the chamber.

"Careful, Alpha."

"Name the failure," Roman said. "Name one day Blackthorn was less safe because of Mira."

"The scout who crossed our northern border"

"Crossed without her knowledge or invitation. My trackers are following the trail. My patrol captains can confirm that my attention has been on the northern line every night this week."

"Your attention should never have been divided in the first place."

"It wasn't."

"Then the arrangement itself"

"Is between Mira and me."

An older voice interrupted him.

"The council approved a surrogate arrangement, Alpha. Not a courtship. We agreed to a contract intended to secure the future of this pack. We did not agree to this."

"Then the council may raise legitimate concerns about the contract," Roman replied. "It may propose lawful amendments. What it cannot do is demand that I deny my feelings simply because they make some of you uncomfortable."

A startled sound came from somewhere in the chamber.

"You are arrogant," Wren said.

"I'm accountable. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"I will answer for every decision I make as Alpha. I will enforce our laws. I will protect this pack. But I won't pretend that loving Mira makes me incapable of doing those things."

"And if the pack's safety conflicts with her wishes?"

"The pack's safety comes first. I've never claimed otherwise."

"Then you admit that you may have to choose."

"No. I admit that my responsibilities remain unchanged." His voice hardened. "You are the one insisting that I must choose between them. You've created a conflict where none has been demonstrated."

I closed my eyes.

My heart was pounding so hard that I could feel it in my fingertips.

"You are afraid," Wren said, her voice quieter now. "I can hear it. You're afraid of losing her, and that fear has already begun to cloud your judgment."

"I was afraid for two years."

Silence followed.

"I made too many decisions out of that fear," Roman continued. "I kept people at a distance because I thought that if I allowed myself to care about nothing, I would have nothing left to lose. I called it discipline. I called it responsibility."

He paused.

"It wasn't either. It was grief."

My throat tightened.

"I won't let Lyra's death decide who I'm allowed to love. And I won't let it decide what you are allowed to become, either."

No one spoke.

Then Wren answered.

"Why should we trust you?"

"Judge me by what I do. Not by whom I've stopped hiding."

"That's a clever line."

"It isn't a line."

"Then what is it?"

"The truth."

I could picture him standing before them, shoulders squared, the Blackthorn crest at his throat. I could picture the same man who had once struggled to admit that he wanted me beside him, now refusing to let an entire council decide that I was something he should be ashamed of.

"You haven't proven that Mira poses a risk," Roman continued. "You've offered suspicion, assumptions, and fear. Not evidence."

"Fear?"

"Yes. Yours."

The chamber erupted in overlapping voices.

"How dare you?" Wren demanded.

"Tell me what threatens this pack so much that you need to remove me from my position before I've committed a single offense."

"You know nothing about what is at stake!"

"Then explain it."

"I don't owe you an explanation for every concern I raise."

"No. But if you're asking the council to judge my fitness to lead, you owe them evidence."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

When Wren spoke again, her voice had lost its practiced coolness.

"I buried a mate."

I stopped breathing.

"I buried him while I was sitting in a council chamber, arguing over a border dispute. I was discussing boundaries, patrol routes, and a vote that could have waited until morning."

Her voice faltered.

"And while I was here, someone who wanted to hurt us found the one person I loved enough to make me careless."

"Wren," someone murmured.

"I learned what attachment costs. A leader who loves gives her enemies a map. They learn what matters to you, where you are vulnerable, and what you will sacrifice to protect the people you cannot bear to lose."

Her breath caught.

"I've watched it happen for years. I've watched good leaders make terrible decisions because someone they loved was in danger. I've watched them hesitate when they should have acted."

The chamber remained silent.

"You think I enjoy this?" she asked. "You think I want to stand here and argue about whom Roman Draven loves? I'm trying to prevent another burial."

For the first time since the hearing began, I heard something beneath Wren's authority that I recognized.

Grief.

Not the grief Roman carried, but something close enough that I could understand why she had built an entire philosophy around never allowing herself to feel that helpless again.

Roman's reply came more quietly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I don't want your pity."

"It isn't pity. I understand more than you think."

"Then you should understand why I'm right."

"I understand why you're afraid." He paused. "That doesn't make you right."

"It makes me careful."

"It makes you hurt. And you've turned that hurt against someone who hasn't given you a reason to punish her."

A sharp breath escaped Wren.

When she spoke again, the tremor was gone. Iron had replaced it.

"My grief does not invalidate my concerns. Nor does yours validate your choices."

"No," Roman said. "It doesn't."

"Then we are agreed."

"On that."

A chair moved.

"I call the question," Wren announced.

The room stirred. Papers shifted. Someone cleared their throat.

"I move that the council hold a formal vote on Alpha Draven's fitness to lead."

"Seconded," a man replied immediately.

My fingers curled against the oak.

The vote was happening.

Whatever Roman had said, whatever truth he had forced into the room, Wren was determined to make the council decide whether he deserved to remain Alpha.

"Before the vote," Corvin said, "I would like to speak."

"Wren's voice cut across the chamber. "Elder Corvin, this is not the time for a personal defense of the Alpha."

"I wasn't aware you had the authority to decide when a council member may speak."

A few uneasy murmurs followed.

Corvin continued before anyone could interrupt him.

"I've watched Alpha Draven lead Blackthorn for ten years. I've watched him lose his temper and recover before making a decision he would regret. I've watched him carry grief he rarely discussed, and I've watched him make difficult choices when none of the options pleased everyone."

"This is sentiment," Wren said.

"No. It's a record."

His voice sharpened.

"You asked whether his private relationship has compromised his judgment. I have not seen evidence of that. I've seen him answer questions about the northern border with facts. I've seen him continue his duties while this council has spent more time discussing his feelings than examining his decisions."

"Would you defend him blindly?"

"I would defend him accurately."

"And if his feelings eventually endanger this pack? Will you accept responsibility?"

"I will hold him accountable for genuine failures. I will question his decisions when the evidence warrants it." Corvin paused. "But I will not vote to remove an Alpha because this council dislikes whom he loves."

The chamber erupted in murmurs again.

Someone said Corvin's name under their breath, sounding genuinely surprised.

"That is a very public position," Wren said coldly.

"I intended it to be."

"You may regret it."

"I may."

"Then let us vote."

My breath caught in my throat.

I listened as the clerk began calling the names of the council members eligible to vote.

"Those in favor of removing Alpha Draven from his position?"

Voices answered one after another.

"Against?"

More voices.

The clerk paused to record an abstention, then continued.

I counted heartbeats because I couldn't count the votes from the corridor.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Inside, someone objected to a recorded response. Another voice demanded clarification. A hand struck the table, and the clerk called for order.

Then came the words I had been dreading.

"Four votes in favor of removal. Four against."

My knees weakened.

"Elder Venn?"

"For removal," a voice answered after a pause. "With regret."

"Five in favor."

I pressed my forehead against the door.

Please.

"Elder Corvin?"

"Against removal."

"Five in favor. Five against."

The clerk consulted the record.

"The motion requires six affirmative votes to pass. The motion fails."

For a moment, there was no sound.

Then the chamber erupted.

Voices rose in protest and relief. A chair scraped backward. Someone demanded that the result be reviewed, while another elder insisted that the procedure had been followed correctly.

Roman had kept his seat.

But the council was divided, and everyone in that room knew it.

I backed away from the door, my hands trembling. My legs finally gave out, and I slid against the corridor wall until I was sitting on the cold stone, my palms covering my mouth.

I had never felt so relieved and so frightened at the same time.

Tessa had once told me I made myself small whenever I feared taking up too much space.

I had never made myself smaller than I did then.

The doors opened.

The elders began filing out, one after another. Some looked furious. Others avoided eye contact. Two glanced at me before turning away, as if they had decided I was easier to ignore than acknowledge.

Wren emerged last.

She stopped when she saw me.

For a moment, her eyes met mine, and something unguarded crossed her face. Her grief was still there, buried beneath the authority she wore like armor.

Then her expression closed.

She walked past without a word.

Corvin followed. He exchanged a brief nod with Roman, who had remained inside until the other elders had begun to leave.

It was a small gesture.

It was enough.

Then Roman stepped into the corridor.

He looked exhausted. The rigid control he had carried into the chamber had cracked, leaving behind a man who seemed to have aged several years in the space of a single hearing.

I scrambled to my feet.

"Roman."

"Mira."

"What happened?"

"I kept my seat."

"I heard."

"Five votes to five. It needed six."

"I heard that, too."

He studied my face.

"You heard everything?"

"Enough."

He swallowed.

"Then you heard what it cost."

"Yes."

"The council is divided. Wren isn't finished, and the elders who supported her will be watching every decision I make."

"I know."

"I've made you a target."

"You made me visible." I held his gaze. "Those aren't the same thing."

"They're closer than I'd like."

"Roman."

He looked at me, his expression steady but tired, the last of his defenses slipping away.

"I chose you," he said. "Publicly. There's no taking that back now."

I stepped toward him.

"Did you mean it?"

His brow furrowed.

"Every word."

"Even when you said you wouldn't choose between your authority and me?"

"I meant that, too." He drew a slow breath. "My responsibilities haven't disappeared. I still have a pack to protect, decisions to make, and people who depend on me. I won't abandon those responsibilities for you."

"I wouldn't ask you to."

"I know." His voice softened. "But I won't abandon you just to prove to them that I can be Alpha, either."

Something inside me loosened.

All morning, I had feared that he would find a clever way to protect his position without truly choosing me. Instead, he had stood before the council and accepted the consequences of telling the truth.

He hadn't promised me an easy future.

He had given me an honest one.

I crossed the remaining distance and stepped into his arms.

He held me tightly, one hand settling against the back of my head. For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

I felt his heartbeat through his formal coat.

Fast.

Uneven.

He was shaking, too.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Don't thank me."

"I'm going to."

"Then do it quietly."

A laugh escaped me, breaking halfway into something dangerously close to tears.

His arms tightened.

For once, he didn't tell me not to cry. He didn't try to turn the moment into a problem he could solve.

He simply held me.

Down the corridor, a door closed softly.

Someone had been watching us.

I lifted my head, but the corridor beyond Roman's shoulder was empty.

Everyone would know about us now. The council would talk, the servants would whisper, and Wren would find another way to challenge the decision she had failed to overturn.

Roman had won the vote.

He hadn't won the council.

And as I rested my forehead against his chest, I understood that the price of his choice might be higher than either of us had imagined.

Because somewhere beyond the council chamber, someone had just learned exactly how much Mira Vale mattered to Alpha Roman Draven.

And not everyone would consider that a reason to leave me alone.