Chapter 3: The Assembly of Predators

The council hall of the Unification Citadel smelled of damp oak, cheap tallow, and the cold sweat of a dozen guards standing post outside. Inside, a ten-meter black stone table bisected the room. Faded sunlight filtered through dusty stained glass, casting bruised shades of red and blue across the granite floor.

My steps felt heavy as I descended the winding staircase. The silver gown rustled softly against the stone, catching briefly on the aged, warped wooden treads. There was no music, no velvet runner. Just the scrape of my hem and the rhythmic click of my heels echoing through the quiet space.

Memories from my past life hit me like a sudden draft. Two years ago, in this very room, they hadn't offered me a chair. I had stood at the far end like an accused criminal while they passed parchment drafts back and forth, deciding which territories would bleed to hold the border. It was here they first stopped looking at me as a Luna and started treating me as an infection.

Now, five men sat around the stone slab.

At the head sat Alexander. His steel breastplate gleamed under the window light, but his jaw was locked tight. Beside him, Gabriel was buried in sheepskin maps, his long, gaunt fingers tapping an annoying, monotonous beat against the wood.

The other three Alphas filled out the rest of the table. Kaelen, Alpha of the southern crags, leaned back casually in his chair. He was built like a stone wall—shoulders nearly as broad as two men—his dark skin marked by pale, jagged scars. His muddy brown eyes tracked me without a sliver of remorse.

Across from him sat Lucius, one leg crossed lazily over his knee. Narrow-faced, with slicked-back black hair, his reddish eyes fixed on the line of my throat. A faint, mocking smile hung on his lips—the kind a hunter wears right before skinning his catch.

Then there was Silas. The youngest Alpha from the northern wastes sat restlessly on the table's edge, flipping a rusted trench dagger between his knuckles. His silver hair fell over his brow, and the sharp, metallic smell of high-altitude wind clung to his furs.

The moment my foot hit the main floor, their quiet murmurs died out. Five pairs of eyes locked onto me. Deep in my gut, the Black Soul Curse uncoiled like a heated wire. Provoked by the five conflicting presence signatures clashing in one enclosed space, the dark venom twisted. My lower abdomen cramped violently. It felt as though an invisible hand was squeezing my womb, pushing a wave of cold nausea up into the back of my throat.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted iron, keeping my eyes fixed ahead. Do not let your knees buckle. If you fall now, they’ll write you off as broken before nightfall.

"Finally," Lucius drawled. His voice was raspy, low, like dry leaves scraping over stone. "Our northern bird descends. I assumed you’d passed out again, Evelyn. Alexander said you looked like a corpse this morning."

I pulled out the single vacant chair at the far end—directly opposite Alexander. The dark wood was cold under my hands as I dragged it back.

"It’s a long ride from the northern border, Alpha Lucius," I said shortly. My voice didn't shake, but I didn't offer any warmth either. "And the damp in this keep sits heavy."

Silas let out a dry laugh and drove his dagger straight into the stone tabletop. The sharp ring made the two guards by the oak doors instinctively touch their sword hilts.

"Speaking of heavy," Silas sneered, his wild blue eyes cutting right through me. "We’ve been sitting here for two hours waiting on a girl who doesn't even command a single squad of spearmen. This treaty is a farce. We’re carving up trade routes and water rights over a piece of sheepskin signed by a woman whose only skill is wearing silk."

"Silas," Alexander cut in. His voice wasn't loud, but the low register carried enough weight to send a pulse of heat rolling off his armor. "Mind your tongue."

"Am I wrong?" Silas gouged the table edge with the point of his blade, flicking a chip of granite onto the floor. "Her family handed her over because they couldn't pay their grain quotas this winter. She’s not a Luna. She’s a hostage with a ring on her finger."

Gabriel didn't look up from his maps, though his tapping stopped. "He isn't entirely wrong, Alexander. From a tactical standpoint, Evelyn’s presence is symbolic. She lacks the political leverage to pull my garrisons back if I decide to march across the Iron River tomorrow."

The cramp in my lower belly flared again. The curse was feeding on the hostility rolling off Silas and Gabriel, demanding a reaction—demanding I draw on their energy to quiet the fire in my core.

I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, drawing in a slow, deliberate breath. The air in the room was thick with their scents: scorched metal from Alexander, crisp frost from Gabriel, wet soil from Kaelen, stale wine and blood from Lucius, and ozone from Silas.

Without realizing it, my body began pulling in the thin, stray wisps of elemental energy hanging in the room. The sharp pain in my gut dulled, settling into a cool, manageable ache as Gabriel’s cold and Kaelen’s heavy earth aura neutralized the dark heat inside me.

My lungs expanded properly again. I opened my eyes and looked straight at Silas.

"Alpha Silas is right," I said quietly.

The table went still. Lucius stopped swinging his leg, and Kaelen raised one thick, scarred eyebrow.

"I didn't bring an army," I continued, resting both hands flat on the scarred oak. "And I don't have gold mines in the North to buy your favor. But if this alliance crumbles and you go back to tearing at each other's throats, your territory will be the first to starve when the frost sets in."

Silas narrowed his eyes. "Is that a threat?"

"It’s an inventory," I replied, glancing toward the trade maps under Gabriel’s hands. "Northern grain yields dropped thirty percent this season because of the blight. Without the southern wheat from Kaelen’s lands and open passage through Alexander’s valley, your people will be eating birch bark before the third moon."

I turned my gaze to Gabriel, then Lucius.

"This pact wasn't drafted because you love me, or because you care about my bloodline. It was signed because the five of you hate each other too much to trust anyone else with the high passes," I said, keeping my tone flat, almost clinical. "I am the neutral mark on your map. If I die, or if you push me out of this room, those border guarantees you're arguing over aren't worth the parchment they're written on."

Silence settled over the hall, broken only by the draft whistling against the stained glass.

Lucius leaned back, a low chuckle rattling in his chest. "Fascinating," he murmured, his crimson eyes gleaming with genuine amusement. "The little northern hen actually has a beak."

Kaelen slapped his thigh, a boom of laughter shaking his chair. "She’s not wrong, Silas. Better a Luna who reads crop ledgers than one who cries when the snow gets deep."

Alexander didn't smile, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. He looked at me with an unreadable expression—surprised, perhaps, though he buried it quickly behind his usual stern demeanor.

"The border patrols will be divided as originally planned," Alexander said, his voice bringing the room back to order. "Gabriel takes the eastern watch, Kaelen holds the south, Silas stays on the ridge passes. Lucius and I will handle the main river gates."

Silas yanked his blade out of the table with a rough jerk. He stood up, sheathing the dagger into his belt without taking his eyes off me.

"We’ll see how long that sharp mouth keeps you warm when the snow buries the roads, Evelyn," he spat, turning on his heel and walking out. The heavy iron-studded doors slammed shut behind him.

One by one, the other Alphas signed the patrol drafs and filed out. Kaelen gave me a curt nod as he passed, while Lucius lingered behind my chair, leaning down until I could smell the faint spice of his coat near my neck.

"Don't look so severe, Luna," Lucius whispered silkily before stepping away. "The fun hasn't even started."

When only Alexander and Gabriel remained, I let my back settle against the chair, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion pressing down on my temples.

Gabriel rolled up his sheepskin maps, giving me a long, calculating look. "You put on a good performance, Evelyn. But your knowledge of northern grain yields is remarkably precise for someone who supposedly spent her youth locked in a manor library."

"A Luna learns what she needs to stay alive, Alpha Gabriel," I answered coldly.

He offered no reply, merely nodding to Alexander before gliding out of the room as silently as he had entered. Then there were two. Alexander stood up and walked around the long table, stopping right beside my chair. He planted one broad hand on the wooden backrest, stepping into my space.

"You surprised them today," Alexander said quietly, looking down into my eyes. "But don't push Silas like that again. He doesn't reason the way Gabriel does."

"I only stated the terms," I said, looking up at him.

Alexander stared at my face for a moment, his hand reaching out—not to touch my skin, but to smooth down a crooked lapel on my dress. The heat radiating off his knuckles made a flush of warmth spread across my collarbone, clearing the remaining knot of sickness in my stomach.

"Get some rest," Alexander commanded softly. "We have the formal dinner tonight. They’ll be watching you twice as hard."

He turned and walked away. I remained seated alone at the massive stone table, staring at the small gouge Silas’s blade had left in the wood.

The curse in my belly had gone quiet for now. But I knew this was only a temporary fix. Siphoning their residual magic from across a room was just stalling for time to actually break this dark thing inside me, I would need to get much closer to them than a meeting table allowed.

**