Chapter 10 - The Council’s Shadow
The Great Hall of Dunstanburg was bathed in the amber glow of a hundred torches reflected off polished mahogany and heavy stone pillars.
At the center of the raised dais, the dual thrones—one of which had remained stubbornly empty, draped in black velvet for sixty months—stood side by side once more. The black cloth lay crumpled in a heap at the base of the left chair, kicked aside by Cedric’s boot earlier that morning.
Lord Chancellor Vance, an elderly wolf whose silver hair and sharp political instincts had survived three different reigns, stepped forward from the assembly of councilors. His eyes darted nervously toward Evangeline before settling on the Alpha King.
"My King," Vance began, his voice echoing cautiously off the vaulted ceiling. "The return of Her Grace is... an unprecedented miracle. The kingdom rejoices at the restoration of the royal line. However, the political landscape of Europe has shifted drastically during her absence."
Evangeline’s eyes narrowed slightly. She leaned back against the high wooden carved arms of her throne, her posture regal and unyielding. "Shifted, Chancellor? Or did the southern and eastern factions simply assume the crown was ripe for the plucking while the King was distracted by grief?"
Vance blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sharp, analytical edge in her voice. He had expected a broken, traumatized captive who would cower behind her mate; instead, he found the cold, brilliant diplomat who had once negotiated treaties across half the continent.
"The Venetian syndicates are restless," Vance recovered quickly, adjusting his velvet robes. "And surviving factions of the Romanov loyalists are attempting to rally in the eastern mountains under a new warlord, General Orlov. They claim the bloodline is tainted by foreign occupation, and they demand a formal tribunal before Her Grace is permitted to resume her seat on the privy council."
Before Cedric could rise from his seat, his golden eyes flashing with a lethal, possessive fury, Evangeline raised a single hand.
She stood up slowly, her dark blue velvet gown sweeping across the dais as she stepped to the edge of the stone platform. Her presence filled the Great Hall, heavy, commanding, and impossible to ignore.
"A tribunal?" Evangeline’s voice cut through the cavernous room like a cold winter blade. "Tell General Orlov that I spent five years chained in a Russian dungeon, forced to unlearn my own name, and carved with the marks of cowards. If he wishes to challenge my right to sit in my own home, he does not need a tribunal. He needs to bring his army to my doorstep—just like the last ones did."
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A heavy, stunned silence settled over the councilors. Even Lord Vance lowered his head, stepping back into the shadows without another word.
Cedric watched her from his throne, a slow, proud smile breaking across his stern face. The ghost was completely gone. The queen had returned.
