My Brother’s Fiancée is My Mate のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

The afternoon sun shone through the high windows of the Council chamber, casting shadows of figures across the marble floor. Kaelen stood, his head bowed in an act of respect.“The trail,” he said, his voice carrying the rough edge of a man pushed to his limits, “has gone cold.” He lifted his gaze, letting them see the frustration filled in his eyes. It was definitely not the rage of a failed hunter, but the total disappointment of a dedicated man facing an impossible task. “The human city… it’s a hole that swallows everything, making it hard for me to find her trail. Even a trail of her scent, I’ve questioned, I’ve tracked, I’ve followed every lead, but it seems like she does not want to be found. And for sure the city was the perfect place.”Elder Torvin leaned forward, his milky eyes narrowed. “You’re certain she is even there? She could have doubled back. She could be hiding within our own borders, relying on our assumption she fled far.”Kaelen allowed just a bit of impatience to

The routine was a cage in itself, it was always about Kaelen bringing trays with food, the unusual silence, and the false window in her room. Kaelen’s visits were like a study in restrained concern. He spoke of the pack’s instability with a furrowed brow, lamented Silas’s downward spiral with a sigh that seemed to carry genuine regret. It was a performance, but one of such steady, low-grade decency that Elara’s hatred began to blur at the edges, replaced with pity.Then, the performance deepened, to something more of a masterpiece. One evening, he entered not as the caretaker, but as a ghost of himself. His shoulders were slumped, the usual sharpness in his eyes dissolved into a hollow, wounded weariness. He didn’t speak of politics. He stood just inside the door, his gaze lost on the stone floor.“He used to carry me on his back,” Kaelen said, his voice soft, frayed. “When the training was too much, when I’d skinned my knees… Silas.” He uttered the name not with venom, but with the a

The title of Elena being a Luna was a whisper in the stone corridors of every corner of the pack, but the ceremony would be a shout among them because it was gonna be spectacular. Elena understood all the differences that existed. The Council’s reluctant recognition was a legal formality; the crowning would be a psychological conquest. It would bring about her image as Luna into the pack’s mind, making any future reversal unthinkably messy. She moved with a serene, purposeful energy that had been absent since her arrival, and her focus was of course absolute.The preparations were her first test of power, and she wielded it with a surgeon’s precision.She had arranged the venue herself, bypassing the traditional, masculine gloom of the great hall. Instead, she chose the Spring Courtyard, an enclosed garden usually reserved for rare celebrations. It was open to the sky, symbolizing a new openness. It was filled with life, it had climbing ivy, dormant flower beds she ordered to be fille

The tray Kaelen brought that evening was more elegant than the usual food. It was a roasted fowl, with honey-glazed carrots, and a small goblet of spiced wine. He set it down with an air of ceremony, a faint, unreadable smile on his lips. He’d been in his caretaking mood for days and surprisingly he didn’t change the monstrous Kaelen she knew and was used to. He was all soft-spoken concern and just calm for a couple of days. But tonight, his eyes held a different glint that made Elara kinda suspicious that something was definitely up.“You should eat well,” he said, his voice smooth. “Today was a historic day for the pack. A day of… renewal for the pack,but I'm not for you.”Elara, who had been staring at the same page of a novel for an hour, slowly lifted her gaze, but yet she said nothing, all she did was stare. Engaging in this conversation was gonna be a risk, but the silence in the room had become its own kind of trap.“The ceremony was in the Spring Courtyard,” he continued, pou

A day before the cermonyThe Alpha’s fury was a wildfire, but the Council was made of stone and ice. They did not come with guards or weapons. They came in a silent, grim procession of six elders, led by Torvin and Linnea, and filed into Silas’s study where he stood, still vibrating with the aftermath of his rage, the ghost of shattered moonstones in the air.He expected condemnation. He expected a fight. He was prepared for a fight.He was not prepared for what they delivered.Torvin did not speak of the broken circlet, or the blood on Elena’s brow. He spoke of grain yields again. And southern border tensions. And the Silvermane alliance hanging by a thread. He recited a list of pending decisions, logistical failures, and diplomatic slights—all direct results of the Alpha’s absence.“Your personal grief is understood, Silas,” Linnea said, her voice like a scalpel. “But it has become a luxury the pack can no longer afford you. You have vacated the throne in everything but name. Nature