Lucien's POV Ford's lips quivered, but not a single word left his mouth. His entire body trembled as though gripped by an invisible frost, eyes glazed over, spirit hollowed out. Whatever dignity remained in him had long since shattered-just like his mind. The damage was done. Not to his flesh, but to the one thing wolves never fully recover from. His spirit. I took slow, measured steps toward the wreckage that lay before me-my once-proud father and the woman he chose over blood. My shoes clicked softly against the marble, the sound crisp and elegant amidst the silence. I stood over them like the reaper over a battlefield, hands clasped behind my back. "I suppose it's lucky my men intervened," I said, voice light as a breeze. "From what I can see, Lady Seraphina attempted to harm herself in a fit of emotional rage. Likely to punish her beloved mate." I offered a slight smile, almost gentlemanly. "Fortunately, we stopped her. Otherwise... who knows what tragedy might have unfolded?" My smile didn't reach my eyes. It never did. Around the room, I could feel their stares-eyes wide with disbelief, throats too dry to speak. Oh, they knew. They knew the truth, every last one of them. But none had seen it with their own eyes. None had evidence. And in the world we lived in, without evidence, there was no accusation. The rumors had followed me for years-"Lucien Duskgrave, the cold-blooded prince of Stormridge." Tonight, those whispers evolved into truth. Reality had shown itself, brutal and blinding. And every soul present realized one thing: I wasn't the kind of Alpha you crossed.I tilted my chin and swept my gaze across the hall-slowly, deliberately, letting my eyes meet every face. Each noble dropped their gaze the moment our eyes locked. As if my gaze alone could summon fate. Let them think that. Let them fear that. Let it settle deep into their bones that Lucien Duskgrave-heir to Stormridge, born under blood moon prophecy-was not a male to provoke. I raised one hand lazily, as if brushing away dust. "Take them back to Northreach," I said. My guards obeyed without hesitation. They stepped forward and seized Ford and Seraphina again-no gentleness this time. They dragged them like discarded refuse, like prey unworthy of a second look. Seraphina's broken body slid across the floor, leaving behind a streak of crimson that glistened under the chandeliers. Ford? He didn't resist. He couldn't. His eyes were still wide, unfocused, head lolling between his shoulders like a puppet with its strings cut. The double doors shut behind them, swallowing their shame into the night. And the banquet fell silent once more. But not for long. Every gaze slowly, inexorably, turned to the two still kneeling before me. Scarlett Vale and Ronan Duskcliff. The traitors. Scarlett trembled so hard her shoulders jerked with every breath. Her once-glossy hair was gone-shorn completely, her scalp raw and exposed to the air. It had been Riley's command.Not mine. She had grabbed Riley's hair during a petty outburst. She thought it would go unnoticed. It didn't. But even that wasn't her real crime. No, her real offense was far more vile. She destroyed Riley's moon embroidery. A masterpiece-months of effort and devotion, stitched by hand under candlelight and starlight. Every thread had been laced with patience, pain, and quiet power. It wasn't just art. It was a piece of Riley's soul. Scarlett found it. Tore it apart with scissors. She knew exactly what she was doing. And that's why she was kneeling here now. I saw her lips moving-mouthing silent prayers to the Moon Goddess, to fate, to anything that might delay the inevitable. She had good reason. If a hair-pull warranted a shaved scalp, what did desecrating my mate's sacred work deserve? She knew the answer. That was why her breathing came in shallow gasps. Why her knees knocked against the floor. Why she shook like a leaf trapped in frost. Beside her, Ronan looked no better. The once-proud heir of Duskcliff House was sweating through his silk. His shirt clung to him, soaked and rumpled. I could see it in his eyes-the dawning horror that his little power plays and smug manipulations had landed him far beyond the line of no return. He had supported Scarlett's schemes. He had fed them. And now he would answer for them. I approached them slowly.The sound of my steps-sharp, echoing-rang through the banquet hall like war drums. Tap. Tap. Tap. I stopped just short of them. They didn't dare look up. "You think yourselves wolves?" I asked, voice smooth and cold. "You think your games make you clever?" Scarlett whimpered. Ronan lowered his head. "You tried to humiliate my chosen mate. You destroyed what she created. And you conspired to fracture the unity of Stormridge Pack." I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my communication crystal-a direct channel to the Enforcers of the Lycan Tribunal. Their version of law. I tapped a rune, and the glow pulsed gently in my palm. "This is Lucien Duskgrave," I said. "Alpha Regent of Stormridge. I'm reporting two nobles-Scarlett Vale and Ronan Duskcliff-for willful destruction of a Luna-bound artifact and conspiracy against Pack unity." A cold silence followed. Then the voice on the other end answered: "Acknowledged. Warrant confirmed. Tribunal enforcers will arrive within the hour." I ended the call. Then let my eyes drift back to the traitors kneeling before me. "I could punish you now," I said softly. "I could make you bleed for every stitch Riley had to sew. For every tear she hid when she found what you did." Scarlett choked on a sob. Ronan flinched. "But I won't," I continued. "Because I want the entire Tribunal to see the truth. I want the Elders to pass judgment in front of all four Territories." I stepped back. "And when they do-I will be there when your names are erased from the Pack Registry."