Chapter Four: Shadows in the Halls

Elara lingered long after the dining hall had emptied, tracing the rim of her goblet with one finger. The taste of honeyed cider still clung to her lips, but the sweetness sat heavy on her tongue. Around her, servants cleared platters and polished silver, their motions brisk but careful. In her first life, she had never noticed how efficient they were, how some bent their heads in silence while others exchanged quiet glances. She had been sheltered, too consumed by laughter with Kael or daydreams of her mate. Now, every detail pressed itself upon her. Whispers mattered. Glances mattered. Silence mattered.

She pushed back her chair, rising smoothly. “Leave the dishes,” she said, and the servants froze, startled. “My thanks for your work.”

They bowed quickly, grateful, before scattering. Elara let out a slow breath and turned toward the corridor. The palace stretched before her, its familiar halls alive with color and motion. Once, she had run through these corridors without care, blind to the fragility of the world she lived in. Now, her steps were measured, her eyes sharp.

Her father’s voice carried down the next hall, low and firm. Elara hesitated before turning toward it. The council chamber doors were open, and inside she caught the gleam of polished wood, the rustle of scrolls, the faint tang of ink.

Six men sat at the long table with her father at its head. Grey-haired elders, all wolves of rank, their faces lined with experience—and secrets.

Her father glanced up when she entered. Surprise flickered in his eyes. “Elara? This is council business.”

“I only wish to listen,” she said quickly, bowing her head with practiced grace. “If I am to serve the pack in time, I must learn.”

The elders shifted, some with approval, others with irritation. One in particular, Lord Garron, let out a soft scoff. “The princess would do better with embroidery than politics.”

Heat flared beneath Elara’s skin, but she kept her face smooth. In my first life, I ignored him. I let his words wash over me. And later, he sold us out to Ironfang.

She forced herself to smile faintly. Even embroidery requires a steady hand and sharp eye, my lord. Surely politics demand no less.”

A ripple of amusement went around the table. Garron’s lips thinned. Her father’s brow arched ever so slightly, but he gestured for her to sit.

“Very well. Listen, if you wish. But speak only if you have words worth saying.”

Elara inclined her head, taking a place along the wall. From there she listened as the council spoke of borders, trade routes, and the Ironfang envoy’s imminent arrival.

She watched them all—who leaned forward in eagerness, who pressed their lips thin in worry, who tapped their fingers against the table when certain names were mentioned. Garron argued for closer ties with Ironfang, citing their strength. Others hesitated, uneasy but unwilling to oppose him directly.

Her father listened, expression unreadable.

Elara’s pulse thrummed. She remembered how this began—how Garron and his allies whispered trust into her father’s ears, until Ironfang’s “partnership” became a noose.

Not this time.

She tucked her hands in her lap, nails biting into her palms. If she spoke too strongly now, they would dismiss her as a foolish girl. But she could plant seeds. She could watch and remember.

When the council adjourned, her father caught her eye as the elders filed out. “You spoke boldly,” he said, his tone neither rebuke nor praise. “Do not mistake wit for wisdom, Elara. The council will not forgive arrogance in one so young.”

“I understand, Father,” she said softly. But inside, she thought: I will not let them lead you astray again

That evening, she found her mother in the gardens. The air was heavy with the scent of roses and damp earth, the sky painted with streaks of fading gold. Her mother sat on a bench, her embroidery abandoned at her side, gaze far away.

“Mother?” Elara asked gently, sitting beside her.

Her mother blinked, then smiled, though it was softer, more fragile than usual. “Forgive me, love. My thoughts were elsewhere.”

Elara studied her profile—the fine lines of her face, the way her hands folded neatly in her lap. She had seen those hands stained with blood once, trembling as her mother tried to shield her from the invaders. She had sworn that image would never repeat.

“Are you worried about the envoy?” Elara asked carefully.

Her mother hesitated. “Diplomacy is always a dangerous game. And Ironfang’s Alpha is… ambitious.”

Ambitious. That was one word for it. Greedy. Ruthless. Treacherous. Those were others.

Elara reached for her mother’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “We will be careful. Father will not be swayed.”

Her mother’s smile returned, though faint. “You sound so certain.”

Because I’ve lived the ending already, Elara thought, but only said: “I have faith.”

They sat together until the first stars pricked the sky

That night, Elara lay awake in her chamber, staring at the canopy above her bed. Her heartbeat was steady, her mind racing. She thought of Garron’s smug face, her mother’s faint worry, her father’s unreadable silence. She thought of Ironfang riding toward them even now. In her past life, she had been blind. She had been soft.

But not this time.

Elara rolled onto her side, clenching the sheets in her fists. “You won’t take them from me again,” she whispered into the darkness. “I will be ready.”

The moonlight through her window glinted like a blade.