CHAPTER 8: THE HUNGRY SEAT

Rowan’s POV

The summons came before we even cleared the mage’s corridor.

A guard fell into step beside Ansel. “The council requests the princes’ presence. Immediately.”

I glanced back. Raven stood where we’d left her, framed in the candlelight of Maya’s chamber, that baffled look still on her face.

I said nothing. Some things weren’t mine to poke at. Not yet. The pull she had on me was amazing. I could feel it from ther;, she was no doubt our mate.

“Take her to her room,” I told the guard. “With two escorts. Full courtesy.”

He blinked at me…as if a prisoner needed courtesy…then bowed and moved off. Asher watched her go too, I noticed. None of us commented on the baffled look. We had bigger teeth closing around us.

The council chamber smelled of old wax and older ambition.

Eleven men rose as we entered. At their head stood Councilor Damian, silver-bearded, eyes like a hawk that had spotted a dying rabbit. He didn’t waste a breath.

“You found your mate,” he thundered, “and didn’t think it wise to tell us before going ahead with the ritual? How do you plan to rule after your father if you can’t even keep your own council informed?”

A growl rolled out of Asher’s throat before the man finished the sentence. His temper wasn't a thing to cross. The only thing protecting this man is his age.

“She is ours,” he said, each word bitten off. “Not the council’s. If I choose to show her to you, good. If not…stay out of it.”

Damian bristled. His knuckles whitened on the table’s edge, but he was no fool. You don’t lash out at three alphas and keep your seat.

“Fine,” he snapped. “But you will tell us where she is from. A mate bond to all three of you is unprecedented. The kingdom deserves to know whose blood is about to sit on that throne.”

Ansel’s jaw worked. I watched him weigh it…the truth against the chaos. He chose the truth, because Ansel always believed order could survive honesty. He was wrong often enough that I worried about him.

“Her name is Raven Blackwood,” he said. “Eldest daughter of Alpha Blackwood.”

Murmurs. Someone knew the name. Of course someone knew the name.

“She was to be mated to their Alpha, Matthew,” Ansel continued, flat as a report. 

“On the day of her wedding, her pack discovered her sister’s wolf had awakened…rare, white. Raven had not awakened. She was declared wolfless, expelled from the pack, her bond cut by her own father.” 

A pause. “At the border, under the trauma of the severing, her wolf surfaced. We heard her howl. We found her in the forest wearing silver and blood.”

Silence held the room for exactly three seconds.

“A rogue?” Damian’s voice cracked like a whip. He was on his feet again. “You performed the blessing ritual…the first rite toward the throne…on a rogue? Do you not feel insulted? The royal bloodline, the cursed crown, three hundred years of lineage, and you bring home a cast-off omega with no pack, no name, no…”

“Careful,” I said.

I hadn’t raised my voice. I rarely did. But Damian stopped, because of all three of us, the council feared me the most, and they could never say why. 

“She has a name,” I said quietly. “Blackwood is an old line. And she has a pack. Ours.”

“She will be Queen,” Damian pressed, quieter now but no less sharp. “Queens are not made from discards, princes. The neighboring packs will laugh at…”

“They can laugh,” Asher cut in, “from a respectful distance.”

The argument was just finding its rhythm…I could feel the whole council leaning in, tasting blood, tasting time, because that’s what this was really about. Our father had weeks. An empty throne with three claimants and one unsealed bond was an invitation, and every man at that table knew it.

Then the doors opened.

A royal guard stepped in, armor gleaming, and bowed deep. “My princes. The Alpha requests his sons’ presence in his chambers. Now.”

The council chamber went still. Even Damian sat down.

No one argued with a dying king’s summons.

Father’s room smelled of herbs and sickness, and underneath it all, the faint, stubborn scent of him…cedar and cold air, the smell of the man who’d taught us to track and kill before we could write our names.

He was propped against the headboard, and the sight of him still hurt. Three months ago he’d been a mountain. Now the mountain had worn itself down to a ridge of stone. But his eyes…his eyes were still his, amber like Ansel’s, sharp as ever.

“Close the door,” he said.

We did. Three sons standing at the foot of a shrinking bed.

“The council’s braying already?” He gave a dry, rattling laugh. “I could hear Damian through two walls. His voice is louder than his wisdom.”

“You heard,” Ansel said. It wasn’t a question.

“That you’ve found her? That she’s a discarded daughter, awakened in exile, bonded to all three of my sons at once?” 

Father’s gaze moved across us slowly. “I hear everything, boys. A dying man hears more than a living one. People forget to whisper around you.”

Asher shifted. “Then you know we…”

“Performed the blessing already. Good.” Father’s hand, spotted and thin, gestured impatiently. “The goddess blessed it, or Maya wouldn’t have finished the rite. That’s all the legitimacy that matters. Damian and his eleven vultures can choke on it.”

He pushed himself higher against the pillows, and for a moment the old alpha bled through the sick man…the look of him filling the bed the way he used to fill a war room.

“Now listen to me, and listen well.” His voice dropped, and we all leaned in. “You found her. Good. Then act fast. The mating bond is a seed, not a tree. It needs sealing before it can hold weight…and the crown needs a sealed bond before the curse will break.”

“The colder the seat gets,” he said, “the hungrier they get.”

His eyes found each of ours in turn…Ansel, Asher, me.

“Damian. The eastern packs. Our own generals, maybe. There are men in this kingdom who have spent years quietly hoping I’d die with no heir chosen, so the throne could be fought over instead of inherited. A war of three princes would suit them beautifully.” 

He coughed, and the sound was wrong, reminding me he was dying. I moved toward the water; he waved me off. “One of you, bond with her. Fully. Soon. We need to sit on the throne again.”