Chapter 7 - The Council of Elders
The Grand Hall of Aethelgard was packed to capacity. Every elder, lord, and pack alpha from the northern and central territories sat around the obsidian stone dais, their murmurs creating a low, rumbling drone that echoed off the vaulted ceilings.
At the center of the dais stood Caden, his royal crown resting proudly upon his brow, and beside him sat Chantal upon the restored Valois-Montfort throne—a masterpiece of dark iron and intertwined gold filigree that had been unsealed from the royal vaults just hours earlier.
Elder Theron, the oldest and most conservative voice among the northern pack leaders, stood up, leaning heavily on his carved gnarled staff.
"King Caden," Theron began, his voice dry and gravelly. "We acknowledge that the Valois-Montfort bloodline was wrongfully treated three centuries ago. We acknowledge Lady Chantal's royal heritage and her triumph at the Silver Pass. But tradition dictates that a reigning queen must undergo the Rite of the Moonlit Crown—a trial of spiritual and physical endurance before the full pack assembly—to prove her fitness to rule."
A heavy silence fell over the hall. Every eye turned toward Chantal. The Rite of the Moonlit Crown was notoriously brutal; it required the sovereign to commune directly with the ancestral spirits in the sacred caverns beneath Aethelgard, where many past monarchs had lost their sanity or their lives.
Caden’s jaw tightened. He stepped forward, opening his mouth to reject the dangerous trial on the spot, but Chantal placed a small, warm hand over his gauntlet, stopping him. She stood up from the throne.
May you like
"I accept the Rite," Chantal said clearly, her voice ringing effortlessly through the vast hall.
Elder Theron nodded approvingly. "Then tonight, when the full moon reaches its zenith, the gates of the ancestral cavern will open."
