All Chapters of My Husband’s Brother Is My Mate?!: Chapter 161 - Chapter 169

The Citadel's Great Hall had been rebuilt in six weeks.It was not the same hall. I do not think it could ever be. The old dome was gone, a heap of white rubble at the edge of the courtyard. In its place rose a new roof of plain timber beams, open and airy, with long windows of clear glass that let in a cold, clean winter light. The marble floor had been scrubbed and patched. The pillars were plain. The Moon Throne, a black block of stone, stood against the far wall with a cloth thrown over it, like a piece of furniture nobody could bear to look at.They had set a long oak table in the center.Eleven chairs behind it. One for each of the surviving Alphas of the Court. At the head, a twelfth, plainer and wider than the rest.Mine.I sat in it with my hands in my lap and my heart in my throat.It was the sixth of the month. A gray, bitter, windless morning. The hall was full, hundreds of wolves crowded along the walls, in the galleries, in the open doorways, silent and watchful. Alphas

I had the Charter in my coat.I had carried it everywhere since the valley. It lay against my heart, rolled in oilcloth, its plain black ink and its blank, cool vellum a small comfort. I had not shown it to anyone. I had not read it aloud. I had half forgotten it was there.I drew it out.It looked very small. A tube of yellowed parchment, tied with a blue ribbon. It weighed almost nothing."Is that it?" Corwen said. "Bring it here.""No."His smile thinned. "I will count to ten.""Wait.""One.""Corwen. Listen to me.""Two.""It has no magic."He stopped.I lifted the scroll. I turned it so that the winter light fell across it."Look," I said. "It does not glow. It does not hum. It does not shine. When I gave my silver to the Moon, the Charter lost its power. It is only paper. And ink. It will not break your binding, or bind your enemies, or do anything but sit on a table and look pretty."A long silence."You are lying," Corwen said."I am not.""You are trying to trick me.""I am t

We sent riders out the next morning.They went in every direction. North to the frozen marches, south to the river towns, east to the hills, west to the sea cliffs. A hundred Court messengers on a hundred fast horses, carrying a hundred copies of Hesper's proclamation, with a note stapled to each in Mara's tidy hand.Please sing. It is very simple. We promise it is not a trap.I did not think it would work.I had spent six months learning how rarely people did the right thing simply because it was right. How often they had to be threatened, or bribed, or frightened. I had seen the Court. I had seen the Alphas squabble. I did not believe that ten thousand people scattered across half a continent would sing the same song on the same night, because a girl and a clerk had suggested it."You are worrying," Rhys said."I am planning.""It looks the same on you."I threw a cushion at him.The snow came on the seventeenth day.It began as a flurry, a few thin flakes drifting past the windows.

I saw it before anyone could stop me.I was walking across the green in my white gown, with a wreath of heather in my hair and Mara's hand tucked into my elbow, smiling at nothing, when I looked up and saw the gap in the sky where the oak should have been.I stopped.It was only a stump now. A broken, blackened, splintered thing, six feet across, like a giant's molar left in the grass. The great trunk lay split in two beside it, one half still green with last year's moss, the other seared black from crown to root. The branches had been dragged aside. A faint smell of burnt wood hung in the damp air.I had stood under that tree my whole childhood.My father had proposed to my mother beneath it. He had carved their initials into its bark with a penknife, on the day she said yes. When I was small, I used to climb it, and he would stand at the bottom with his arms out, pretending he was not worried. After my mother died, I used to sit in its roots on the anniversary and read her letters a