Chapter 2 The Broken Pact

Seraphine's POV

What the fuck just happened?

The broken quill pieces clattered onto the stone table. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the dead silence. My brain tried to process what I'd just witnessed, but nothing made sense.

Dad's face went from shocked to furious in half a second. "Malachar, what—"

"New order." Malachar stood slowly, his massive frame casting shadows across the treaty. His amber eyes swept the room with predatory satisfaction. "The North has been weak too long under Silverwood's soft rule."

My heart hammered against my ribs. This was planned. All of it.

"We came in good faith!" Dad's voice boomed through the hall. His Alpha authority rolled out in waves that should've made everyone submit. Should've made Malachar back down.

Malachar just smiled. "Faith is for the weak, Matthias. I came for conquest."

Elder Silas stepped forward, his ancient voice trembling. "You spit on sacred law! The moon will curse—"

"The moon witnesses strength." Malachar's words were cold. "Not antiquated tradition."

I looked at Damien. His storm-gray eyes were locked on his father, expression unreadable. Cold. Empty. Like he'd shut down every emotion. His posture was perfect—shoulders back, hands clasped behind him. The dutiful heir. Not a flicker of doubt or conflict.

Nothing. He shows nothing.

"Perhaps we should take a brief recess." Dad's voice was carefully controlled now. Too controlled. "Discuss terms more—"

"There are no terms." Malachar's smile widened. "Only surrender or death."

The tension in the room snapped like a wire pulled too tight. Dad's hand moved to his blade, but Conrad was faster.

Conrad's blade was at Dad's throat before anyone could react.

No. No, no, no—

"Conrad?!" Dad's voice was disbelief and rage. "What are you—"

"Sorry, old friend." Conrad's voice held no warmth. The face I'd known since childhood was a stranger's now—cold, calculating. His eyes flashed gold for just a second. Emotion breaking through. "But tomorrow's Alpha won't be your daughter. It'll be me."

The words hit like a physical blow. Conrad. Dad's Beta. His most trusted—

"You fucking traitor!" I screamed.

Conrad didn't even look at me. His eyes stayed locked on Dad, still flickering with that golden gleam. "Twenty years I've served you, Matthias. Twenty years watching you groom a female to lead. You made me train her. Made me bow to a girl who can never be Alpha."

"She's my blood—" Dad started.

"And that's your tragedy!" Conrad's blade pressed harder. A line of blood appeared on Dad's throat. His eyes blazed pure gold now—rage barely contained. "You have no son. No male heir. Just two daughters. One you tried to mold into something she can never be. The other too soft to lead."

There it is. The truth I always knew.

Around the room, other warriors moved. Half our own turned their blades on their brothers. The coordinated precision was sickening. How long had they planned this? How many were in on it?

"You could've chosen a successor," Conrad continued, voice rising. "A strong male to lead Silverwood forward. But no—you clung to the fantasy that she could somehow break centuries of tradition. That desperation made you weak."

Malachar's howl split the air. The Alpha call that commanded absolute obedience from his pack. His eyes burned gold—not with emotion, but with pure predatory dominance.

"Damien!" Malachar's voice cut through everything. "Take command. Capture Seraphine alive. Kill the rest."

I spun to look at Damien. For one second—just one fucking second—something flickered in his eyes. Pain. Regret. Then it was gone, replaced by cold obedience.

"Yes, Father." His voice was emotionless. Dead.

Everything exploded.

Ravencrest warriors surged forward. Our warriors tried to respond, but the traitors struck from within. It wasn't a battle—it was a slaughter. Choreographed. Practiced. Perfect.

"Seraphine!" Mom's scream cut through the chaos.

I spun to see her grab Lyralei, pulling her toward the side exit. But Ravencrest warriors were already moving to block it. Three of our own—traitors—flanked them.

And Damien was moving toward them with deadly purpose.

No. Not Mom. Not Lyralei.

Move. Fucking move!

I grabbed the ceremonial knife from my belt. Decorative. Useless. Fuck.

A Ravencrest warrior came at me. Big bastard, scarred face, blade already bloody. His eyes flashed gold as he swung. I ducked—barely—felt the air move past my throat. My knife found his ribs. Not deep enough to kill but enough to make him stumble.

"You can't save them all, Seraphine!" Malachar's voice boomed over the chaos. His eyes still that steady, terrifying gold. "But you can save yourself! A female with your strategic mind would be valuable!"

Valuable. Always fucking valuable to someone.

I ran toward Mom and Lyralei. The side exit was fifteen feet away. Might as well have been a mile.

Three warriors blocked my path. Two Ravencrest, one Silverwood traitor—Marcus, who'd taught me to fight when I was twelve. His face was blank as he raised his blade. No gold in his eyes. Just cold determination.

"Marcus, what the fuck—"

"Alpha Conrad's orders." His voice was flat. "Take the Alpha's daughter alive. She'll make a useful bargaining chip."

They rushed me together. I dodged left, too slow. A blade caught my jacket, tearing fabric. Another swing came for my head. I dropped, rolled, came up slashing. My knife opened someone's arm. Not Marcus. The man howled, eyes flaring gold with pain and rage.

Marcus's fist caught my jaw. Stars exploded. I tasted blood, stumbled back into the wall. He came at me again—

Garrett—one of our loyal warriors—crashed into Marcus like a fucking avalanche. They went down in a tangle of limbs and steel. Garrett's eyes blazed gold with fury. "Run, Sera! I'll cover—"

A blade punched through Garrett's back. He choked, blood bubbling from his mouth. The gold faded from his eyes as life left them.

No. Garrett. No.

I looked up. Damien stood there, blade dripping. His face was stone. Empty. His storm-gray eyes met mine for half a second before moving past me.

You killed him. You fucking killed Garrett.

"Seraphine!" Mom's voice snapped me back.

She was fighting off two Ravencrest warriors, Lyralei behind her. Mom's eyes blazed gold—pure protective rage. She'd managed to grab a blade from somewhere, was holding them off through sheer desperate strength.

But Damien was already there.

He moved like liquid death. One strike disarmed Mom. Another sent her stumbling back. She tried to recover, tried to fight, but he was faster. Stronger. Trained since birth for this.

His fist connected with her stomach. She doubled over, gasping. Blood on her lips.

"Mom!" Lyralei screamed, trying to help.

Damien's hand shot out, grabbed Lyralei by the throat. Lifted her off the ground. Her eyes flashed gold—terror and oxygen deprivation. She clawed at his hand, kicking.

"Let her go!" Mom lunged at him.