SERA'S POV
"You have no authority to arrest me," I say, my voice deadly calm despite the fifty guards pointing weapons at my heart.
Morgana's smile is poison-sweet. "I have every authority. As High Queen, I can arrest anyone who threatens the Seven Kingdoms. And you, my dear, are a threat."
"On what grounds?"
"Conspiracy to commit treason. Illegal use of Alpha Prime power. And—" her eyes gleam with malice, "—suspicion of murdering Viktor Ashwood."
My blood runs cold. "Viktor's alive. He's fighting me tomorrow at dawn."
"Was fighting you," Morgana corrects. "He was found dead in his chambers ten minutes ago. Throat torn out. Claw marks matching an Alpha Prime wolf." She holds up a bloody piece of fabric. "And this scrap of your cloak was found at the scene."
It's a lie. It has to be.
But the fabric in her hand IS from my cloak—I recognize the Bloodmoon sigil stitched into the corner.
"I've been here all night," I say through gritted teeth. "With witnesses."
"Oh?" Morgana's gaze slides to Kael, Damon, and Asher. "You mean these three princes who broke into your chambers? Who have been secretly meeting with you? How convenient that your only alibis are the men desperate to reclaim their rejected mate."
The trap closes around me.
Kael steps forward, his power flaring. "This is a setup. Viktor was alive fifteen minutes ago—"
"Can you prove that?" Morgana asks sweetly. "Were you with him? Or were you here, conspiring with the accused?"
Damon's eyes flash with fury. "You killed Viktor yourself to frame her."
"Careful, Prince Nightshade. Accusing the High Queen of murder is treason." Morgana's smile sharpens. "Though I suppose treason runs in your little group now, doesn't it?"
Her guards advance, weapons ready.
Asher moves to stand beside me, his voice ringing with authority. "You can't do this. The ancient laws say any competitor in the Kingsbane Summit has immunity from arrest until the trials conclude."
"The trials ARE concluded," Morgana announces. "With Viktor dead, there's no opponent for Miss Ashwood to face. She's disqualified. Her immunity is void."
My mind races. Without the trial, I can't challenge Morgana for the crown. Without the crown, I can't access the royal archives where information about my father might be hidden.
And if she arrests me now, I'll never leave her dungeons alive.
"Take her," Morgana orders.
Kael, Damon, and Asher immediately move to block the guards' path.
"Stand aside," Morgana warns. "Or be arrested as accomplices."
"We're not moving," Kael growls.
The tension in the room becomes suffocating. Fifty royal guards against three alpha princes, my ten Shadowfang warriors, and me.
We're outnumbered. Outpositioned. Trapped.
Morgana's eyes gleam with victory. She's been planning this all along—kill Viktor, frame me, eliminate the Alpha Prime threat before I can challenge her power.
I'm about to unleash my power and fight our way out when Lyra appears at my side, whispering urgently: "My Queen, if you fight her here, you'll be labeled a traitor. Every kingdom will hunt you. You'll never clear your name."
She's right. If I attack the High Queen, I prove her accusations true.
But if I surrender, I'm dead.
"What do I do?" I breathe.
"Trust me," Lyra whispers. Then louder: "My Queen wishes to invoke Trial by Combat!"
The room goes silent.
Morgana's smile falters. "What?"
"Ancient law," Lyra announces clearly. "Any accused of treason may demand Trial by Combat instead of arrest. The accused chooses a champion. The accuser chooses a champion. They fight. The winner determines guilt or innocence."
It's a gamble. A desperate, dangerous gamble.
But it's also brilliant. Trial by Combat is sacred law—older than the Kingsbane Summit, older than Morgana's reign. She can't refuse without looking weak.
Morgana's face twists with rage, but she forces it into a cold smile. "Very well. Trial by Combat it is." Her eyes lock with mine. "Choose your champion, Miss Ashwood."
I don't hesitate. "I am my own champion."
Gasps echo through the room.
"You can't fight for yourself," Morgana says. "You're the accused—"
"Ancient law doesn't forbid it," Damon interrupts smoothly. "If she wants to fight her own battle, she can."
Morgana's jaw clenches. "Fine. Then I choose my champion." She gestures, and the guards part.
A massive wolf walks through—easily twice the size of a normal alpha, with black fur and red eyes that glow with unnatural power.
Not a wolf. A monster.
"This is Fenrir," Morgana announces. "My personal war-beast. Enhanced with blood magic. Undefeated in three hundred battles."
The creature's eyes lock on me, and I feel pure hatred radiating from it.
"The trial begins at dawn," Morgana continues. "In the Blood Arena. Fight to the death. No weapons. No interference. Just you and Fenrir." Her smile returns. "I'll so enjoy watching him tear you apart."
She turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh, and one more thing. While you're preparing to die, you might want to know—Viktor wasn't lying about your father. He IS alive. And if you somehow survive Fenrir, you'll never find him. I've made sure of that."
She walks out, her guards following, leaving her words hanging in the air like poison.
My father is alive.
And I might die before I can save him.
Kael's hand touches my shoulder gently. "We'll figure this out. There has to be—"
"There isn't." My voice is hollow. "That creature is blood-magic enhanced. Nothing natural can kill it."
"Then we find something unnatural," Damon says fiercely. "We have until dawn. We'll—"
"You'll do nothing," I interrupt. "This is my fight."
"Sera—"
"No." I pull away from Kael's touch. "You three have done enough. You warned me. You fought for me. But this? This I have to do alone."
Asher's face shows pure anguish. "We can't just let you walk into a death trap."
"You don't have a choice."
Silence falls, heavy and desperate.
Then Lyra's voice, quiet but urgent: "My Queen, there might be a way to win. But you're not going to like it."
I turn to her. "Tell me."
"The Bloodmoon Priestess. She knows ancient magic—magic older than Morgana's blood sorcery. If anyone can help you survive Fenrir, it's her."
Hope flickers. "Where is she?"
"The Bloodmoon Temple. Three hours' ride from here."
"Then I leave now—"
"It's not that simple," Lyra interrupts. "The temple is in neutral territory, but to get there, you'd have to cross through the Darkwood. And Morgana will have assassins waiting on every path."
"I don't care. If there's a chance—"
"We'll go with you," Kael says immediately.
"No."
"Yes," Damon insists. "Three hours through hostile territory? You need backup."
"They're right," Asher adds. "Let us do this. Let us help."
I look at the three men who destroyed me five years ago. The three men who've been fighting to protect me all night. The three men whose mate bonds are still trying to heal despite everything.
My wolf Lunara howls: "Accept their help! Trust them!"
Every instinct screams not to trust them.
But I'm out of options.
"Fine," I say finally. "But if any of you slow me down, I'm leaving you behind."
Relief floods their faces.
"We leave in five minutes," I order. "Lyra, gather supplies. The rest of you—"
A wolf's howl cuts through the night.
Then another. And another.
Dozens of howls, surrounding the building.
Kael rushes to the window and curses. "Morgana's guards. At least two hundred of them. They're surrounding the entire Northern wing."
"She's not letting you leave," Damon realizes. "She's making sure you can't reach the Priestess."
We're trapped. Surrounded. With dawn approaching in four hours and no way to escape.
Asher turns to me, his face grim. "There's one way out. But you're really not going to like it."
"What?"
"The catacombs beneath this building. They run under the entire Summit grounds and connect to tunnels that lead to the Darkwood."
"Catacombs?" I stare at him. "You mean the ancient burial grounds that are supposedly cursed and filled with—"
"—restless spirits, blood wraiths, and creatures that died centuries ago but refuse to stay dead," Asher finishes. "Yes. Those catacombs."
Lyra's face goes pale. "My Queen, the stories say anyone who enters the catacombs never comes back."
"Then we'll be the first," I say grimly.
Because I have no choice.
It's the catacombs or death in the arena.
And my father is alive somewhere, waiting for me to save him.
Kael nods. "I know the entrance. This way."
We run through the corridors of his wing until we reach a hidden door behind a tapestry. Kael presses a stone, and the door grinds open, revealing stairs descending into absolute darkness.
Cold air rushes up, carrying the smell of death and decay.
"Last chance to reconsider," Damon mutters.
I step onto the first stair. "I'm not afraid of the dead."
"You should be," a voice whispers from the darkness below.
We all freeze.
A figure appears at the bottom of the stairs—translucent, glowing with pale light, wearing armor from centuries past.
A ghost.
It looks up at us with hollow eyes and speaks in a voice like wind through graves:
"The Alpha Prime returns. Finally." Its smile is terrible. "We've been waiting for you, Daughter of Ashwood. Your father sent us to find you."
My heart stops.
"My father? You've seen him? Where—"
"Come," the ghost interrupts. "Follow me into the deep places. Follow me to where the ancient power sleeps. Follow me..." Its eyes glow brighter. "...or everyone you love will die screaming before dawn."
It turns and glides deeper into the darkness.
Disappearing into the catacombs.
Taking all my answers with it.