The silence after Isabella's declaration was unbearable.
You will do so over my blood.
The words still vibrated through the chamber, etched into stone, into memory, into fate itself.
All eyes turned to Ryan.
Alpha King.
Mate.
Judge.
The bond screamed.
Not gently.
Not pleading.
It begged.
Ryan's wolf surged against his control, clawing at his ribs, howling at the thought of refusal. Every instinct demanded he step forward, claim her, burn the world if he had to.
But Ryan did not move.
The High Elder rose slowly. "Alpha King Ryan Steel," he said, voice sharp with expectation. "You have heard the Blood Queen's claim. State your position before this court."
Isabella stood utterly still.
She did not look at Ryan.
She didn't need to.
She could feel his hesitation.
That—more than anything—was the first cut.
Ryan swallowed.
The chamber waited.
"I acknowledge the Blood Queen's power," he began carefully. Murmurs rippled. "And her… significance."
Isabella's fingers curled against her palm.
Significance.
Not mate.
Not bond.
Ryan continued, voice steady, practiced. "But this court was convened to ensure the survival of the realm. The alliance with Crimson Peak predates Queen Isabella's arrival and was ratified by law."
A fissure split the air.
The bond shuddered.
Isabella finally turned.
Her eyes met his.
Hope flickered there—just for a heartbeat.
Then he spoke the words that killed it.
"I will proceed with the sanctioned union."
The world stopped.
Isabella's breath left her lungs like she had been struck.
Gasps erupted, sharp and panicked.
Leona exhaled slowly, relief hidden behind practiced composure, and stepped forward. "Your Majesty—"
Ryan raised a hand to silence her, eyes never leaving Isabella. "This decision is not personal," he said tightly. "It is necessary."
Necessary.
The bond screamed.
Pain ripped through Isabella's chest, white-hot and blinding. Magic lashed outward uncontrolled—sigils flickering wildly, stone cracking beneath her feet before she dragged it back by sheer force of will.
Her voice, when she spoke, was deadly calm.
"You looked at me," she said, each word precise, "and chose convenience."
Ryan flinched. "I chose stability."
"You chose fear."
The Blood Throne dimmed.
The court felt it.
Something ancient recoiled.
Isabella straightened, shoulders back, crown gleaming coldly beneath the chamber lights. Whatever vulnerability had existed moments ago burned away, leaving something sharp and untouchable behind.
"So be it," she said.
The words did not shake.
They sealed.
She turned to the Elders. "Let it be known," she said clearly, "that the Alpha King denies a blood-bound mate in favor of Council decree."
Murmurs exploded—shock, horror, disbelief.
The High Elder snapped, "Mind your—"
"No," Isabella interrupted, power flaring just enough to remind them who she was. "You will remember this moment."
She turned back to Ryan.
This time there was no pain left in her eyes.
Only distance.
"The bond will not break," she said softly. "But I will."
Ryan stepped forward instinctively. "Isabella—"
She raised her hand.
And this time—
He could not move.
Not because she commanded him.
But because the bond recoiled, burning, rejecting his touch.
"You do not get to keep me," she continued, voice like frost over fire, "while denying me before the world."
Leona watched, uneasy now. "My Queen, surely—"
Isabella laughed.
Once.
It was hollow.
"You wear silver and red," she said, eyes flicking to Leona, "but understand this—I will never bow to you."
She turned toward the throne.
Not the Blood Throne.
She walked past it.
Past Ryan.
Toward the exit.
Every step tore at the bond, ripping threads loose, leaving agony in its wake. The chamber shook—not from her magic, but from the absence of it as she withdrew.
At the doors, she stopped.
Without turning back, she said, "You chose a crown over a queen."
Then—quietly, cruelly—
"May it cost you everything."
The doors slammed shut.
The Blood Court went dark.
Ryan stood frozen, chest burning, bond screaming in fury and loss.
Leona reached for his arm. "Your Majesty—"
"Don't," he snapped, yanking away.
Too late.
The damage was done.
Because somewhere beyond those doors, Isabella was no longer arming herself for war—
She was withdrawing.
And the most dangerous thing in the world…
Is not a queen who fights for you.
It is one who decides you are no longer worth saving.