Chapter 33 · Breaching the High Seat

Garrett had a silver spike jammed under Elder Maeve’s chin, and the entire hall went dead quiet.

Quiet enough to hear her pearls click against her collarbone.

"One more step," Garrett snarled. "Just one. And the old bitch bleeds out on her own stones."

I took the step.

He blinked. Nobody in this rotten pack ever stepped toward a hostage. They begged. They backed up. The metal dug deep, and a dark bead of blood traced Maeve’s throat down into her lace.

"You want to gut an Elder in front of her council?" I kept my voice bone-dry. "Go ahead. Tell them what happens to you at sunrise."

"Shut up."

"No." Another half-step. "You want the High Seat. You’ve drooled over it since you were fourteen and your daddy died freezing in the dirt for someone else’s border. Fine. But the stone runes won't take a usurper dripping her blood. S slit her throat. Every wolf in this room will smell the butcher on you. They’ll bow. They’ll smile. Then they’ll wait for someone younger to put a knife between your ribs."

His jaw twitched.