Chapter 82

Chapter 82: Chapter 82

The east wing corridor was silent save for the soft whisper of Valeria’s robes against the stone floor. She moved through the shadows with practiced ease, her dark hair pulled back in its usual severe braid, her expression unreadable. The hour was late—most students had retreated to their dormitories, and the instructors had retired to their quarters. No one would see her. No one would ask questions.

Selene’s private quarters were at the end of the corridor, a small but luxurious suite that had been prepared specifically for the Silvermoon delegation. Valeria knocked once, twice, and the door swung open.

Selene stood in the doorway, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her amber eyes sharp and knowing. She was still dressed in her Silvermoon uniform, though she had removed the formal outer robe. A glass of wine sat on the table behind her, barely touched.

"Valeria," she said. "Come in. We have much to discuss."

Valeria stepped inside, and Selene closed the door behind her.

The room was elegantly appointed—silk curtains, a thick carpet, candles flickering on every surface. It was the kind of room reserved for visiting dignitaries, and Selene had made it her own. Her personal belongings were arranged with precision on the vanity: a silver hairbrush, a small jewelry box, a stack of letters tied with ribbon.

"I received your message," Valeria said, settling into the chair across from Selene. "You said you had information about Thorne."

"I do. But first, I want to hear what you know." Selene sat across from her, crossing her legs with elegant precision. "You’ve been at this academy longer than I have. You’ve observed Thorne up close. What have you noticed?"

Valeria hesitated. Sharing information with Selene was dangerous—the woman was a rival, a threat, someone who could just as easily turn on her as help her. But Selene was also powerful. Connected. And she had resources that Valeria didn’t.

"Thorne Astrlyn is not what he appears to be," Valeria said carefully. "I’ve suspected it for months. The way he moves. The way he avoids certain situations. The way Soren looks at him qlike he’s something precious, something worth protecting." She paused. "I found a binding cloth in Soren’s suite. The kind women use to flatten their chests."

Selene’s expression didn’t change. "Go on."

"I believe Thorne is a woman. A woman disguised as a man, attending an all-male academy. And I believe Soren knows. He’s known from the beginning." Valeria leaned forward. "But I have no proof. No evidence that would stand up to scrutiny. If I accuse the heir to the Astrlyn pack without solid evidence, I’ll be the one who suffers."

"You’re correct," Selene said. "Thorne is a woman. Her real name is Nyra Astrlyn. She’s the twin sister of the late Prince Thorne, who was murdered by his uncle months ago. She took his place to attend the academy and claim the throne."

Valeria’s eyes widened. "You’re certain?"

"Absolutely. I visited the Astrlyn pack years ago with my father. I saw the twins—the golden prince and the silver-haired princess who was hidden away like a shameful secret. The girl couldn’t shift. Couldn’t heal. She was considered a disgrace." Selene’s lips curved into a cold smile. "And now she’s here. Pretending to be her dead brother. Fooling everyone."

"Not everyone," Valeria said quietly. "Soren knows."

"Yes. And Corvin Eldritch. And Ragnar Blackfang. But her roommates—Finn Harlan, Marek Stone, Jasper Reed—they don’t know. They think she’s a man." Selene swirled her wine glass. "It’s quite an elaborate deception. I’m almost impressed."

Valeria sat back in her chair, her mind racing. A woman. The prince was a woman. It explained everything—Soren’s obsession, Corvin’s devotion, the way Thorne moved and spoke and avoided the communal showers. It explained the binding cloth. It explained the secrecy.

"So what do we do with this information?" Valeria asked.

"We expose her. Publicly. At the showcase ball, in front of the King and every dignitary in the Seven Packs." Selene’s amber eyes glittered. "The scandal will be immense. A woman attending an all-male academy. Impersonating a dead prince. Deceiving the Crown. Her pack will be disgraced. Her claim to the throne will be destroyed. And Soren—" She paused. "Soren will have no choice but to distance himself from her. He’ll be forced to honor the betrothal contract. To choose me."

"And what do you get out of this alliance?" Valeria asked. "What do I get?"

"You get Soren’s attention. His gratitude. His dependence." Selene smiled. "When Nyra is disgraced, Soren will be vulnerable. He’ll need someone to comfort him. Someone who understands him. Someone who has been there all along. That someone could be you."

Valeria was silent for a long moment. The plan was ruthless. It was dangerous. It was exactly the kind of thing she excelled at.

"And if the King doesn’t believe us?" she asked. "If Nyra finds a way to talk her way out of it?"

"She won’t. I’ve already sent a letter to my father, hinting at ’irregularities’ at Shadowmoon. By the time the showcase begins, the King will be primed to expect something scandalous. When we reveal the truth, he’ll be ready to believe it." Selene extended her hand. "Do we have an agreement?"

Valeria looked at Selene’s outstretched hand. Then she took it.

"We have an agreement."

Their handshake was cold and firm the alliance of two women who wanted the same man and were willing to destroy anyone who stood in their way.

"Good," Selene said. "Now let’s discuss the details."

The academy was transforming.

Three days before the showcase, the final preparations had begun in earnest. Banners in the crimson and gold of the royal colors were hung from every tower. The grand hall was draped in silk and lit with hundreds of candles. The training grounds were being converted into an arena for the combat exhibitions. Servants scurried through the corridors with armfuls of flowers and silverware and freshly pressed linens. The air hummed with anticipation.

Students from both academies had thrown themselves into their final practices. The combat teams drilled their formations until they could perform them in their sleep. The potions students perfected their demonstrations. The strategic warfare teams ran through their simulations again and again. Everyone wanted to be ready. Everyone wanted to shine.

Nyra was in the training hall when the messenger came for Soren.

He was a young page, no more than twelve, and he looked terrified as he approached the Sword Sovereign mid-drill. "Lord Thornridge? Lady Isolde requests your presence in the council chamber. You and Lady Selene. Immediately."

Soren’s blade paused mid-swing. "Both of us?"

"Yes, my lord. She said it was urgent."

Soren exchanged a glance with Nyra, who was practicing nearby. She shrugged, though her silver eyes flickered with something that might have been unease. "Go. I’ll be here when you get back."

He nodded and followed the page out of the training hall.

The council chamber was already occupied when Soren arrived. Lady Isolde stood at the head of the table, her silver hair gleaming in the candlelight, her expression serene. Selene was already there, seated in one of the high-backed chairs, her posture perfect, her amber eyes calm. She smiled when Soren entered—a slow, knowing smile that made his jaw tighten.

"Lord Thornridge," Lady Isolde said. "Thank you for coming so promptly. Please, sit."

"I’d rather stand." He crossed his arms. "What’s this about?"

Lady Isolde’s pale eyes regarded him with cool assessment. "As you know, the showcase ball is a tradition that dates back centuries. One of its most important elements is the pageantry of the King and Queen—a ceremonial performance in which the finest male and female students from each academy compete in a series of displays. Combat, dance, and courtly presentation."

"I’m aware of the tradition."

"Then you’ll understand why I’ve selected you and Lady Selene to represent Shadowmoon and Silvermoon in this year’s pageantry."

Soren’s expression didn’t change, but something cold settled in his chest. "No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said no. Find someone else."

Lady Isolde’s expression flickered—the first sign of irritation she had shown. "Lord Thornridge, this is not a request. It is a command. From the King himself."

She slid a parchment across the table. Soren picked it up and read it. The royal seal was unmistakable. The handwriting was his father’s.

By order of His Majesty, King Aldric Thornridge, Sovereign of the Seven Packs and Protector of the Realm, the pageantry of the King and Queen of the showcase shall be performed by the heir to the Crown and his betrothed, Lady Selene of the Silverwood Pack. This is not a request. It is a decree.

Soren’s hand tightened around the parchment. His father had planned this. His father had known about the pageantry, had known about Selene’s attendance, had orchestrated this entire spectacle to remind Soren of his duty.

"Well?" Lady Isolde asked. "Do you still refuse?"

"I have no choice," Soren said, his voice flat. "The King has made his wishes clear."

"Excellent." Lady Isolde smiled. "Rehearsals begin tomorrow at dawn. I expect both of you to be present."

Selene rose from her chair and glided to Soren’s side. She slipped her hand through his arm with practiced ease, her touch possessive. "This will be wonderful, darling. Just like old times."

Soren didn’t respond. He turned and walked out of the council chamber, Selene’s hand still on his arm.