Chapter 3 - THE WAR COUNCIL
The grand war council room of Castle Dunbarton was packed with towering northern commanders, scarred veterans, and fierce pack leaders who had never bowed to anyone except the Iron Wolf.
When the heavy iron-reinforced doors swung open, absolute silence fell over the room.
Cedric walked in, but all breath hitched in the throats of the hardened warriors when they saw who walked beside him. Isolda held her head high, her silver-blonde hair cascading down her back like liquid moonlight, and her striking amethyst eyes scanning the room with a calm, innate authority that commanded instant respect.
Commander Gideon stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Your Grace. The northern legions are fully mobilized. Five thousand elite infantry, three hundred shadow-wolves, and our cavalry are ready at the southern border. Do we lay siege to Riverlands immediately?"
Cedric pulled out the main velvet-lined chair at the head of the table, gently gesturing for Isolda to sit. She hesitated, then took her seat at the center of power. Cedric stood right behind her chair, his massive hands resting protectively on the high back, his Alpha aura blanketing the room like an iron shield.
"We do not just attack," Cedric announced, his voice carrying a lethal edge. "We dismantle them piece by piece. Tristan thought he could discard a Valoria royal like trash. We will show him what happens when the blood of the Moon Goddess awakens."
A burly northern general named Torstein crossed his thick arms, frowning slightly. "Pardon, King Cedric, but we fight for the North because of your strength. Can we truly trust that the girl—forgive me, my lady—has the power to break the Riverlands' wards? Their ancestral shields are ancient."
Before Cedric could roar in anger, Isolda stood up.
The air in the room suddenly grew heavy, charged with a shimmering, ethereal pressure that made every veteran wolf instinctively drop their gaze to the floor. The amethyst glow in her eyes intensified, swirling like deep cosmic nebulae.
"The shields of the Riverlands were forged by my ancestors three hundred years ago," Isolda said, her voice clear, musical, and echoing with supernatural resonance. "They were anchored to the royal bloodline of Valoria. Tristan thinks those wards protect him. But they only obey the true blood. When we reach his gates, his precious shields will shatter like thin glass at my single word."
May you like
Silence gripped the war room. General Torstein slowly dropped to one knee, bowing his head deep. "Forgive me, my Queen. The North marches at your command."
One by one, every commander in the room dropped to their knees, pledging their loyalty to the newly awakened queen.
