Third Person's POV The question hung in the air like smoke-were they truly what the crowd thought they were? No one dared answer, yet every gaze burned with curiosity and dread. Two Alphas faced each other across the ballroom-one forged of pride, the other of power. Sparks crackled invisibly between them. Damon's rage seethed beneath his skin, while Magnus regarded him with the detached calm of a predator that had already won. Magnus's eyes-silver under the torchlight-held nothing but disdain. He had no intention of acknowledging his ex-rival. Damon's entire existence, his struggle for dominance, his desperate posturing for status and titles-all of it was beneath him. Let the Eastern Alpha cling to his illusions of control; Magnus had already shattered them the moment he stepped into Moonvale's territory. "Let go," Magnus said at last, his voice a low growl that vibrated through bone and spirit alike. Damon's fingers tightened around Aysel's wrist instead. The bond scars on his arm flared faintly; his fury was instinctive, primal. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew the chaos of this night traced back to Shadowbane hands-no proof, only certainty. And yet he could not stop himself. His anger, his jealousy, his need to possess what he had already lost-they consumed him like wildfire. The pressure of his grip made Aysel wince. Before Magnus could move, she acted first. Her knee twisted slightly, then her foot lashed out in a precise, brutal arc-striking Damon squarely in the leg. The crack echoed through the hall. If not for his Alpha reflexes, he would have fallen to one knee before her. As it was, pain shot up his thigh and humiliation burned hotter than fire. He turned to her in disbelief. "Aysel..." His voice broke-raw, wounded. He could not fathom that the woman who once stood behind him would strike him now, before the entire Pack Court. The Blackwood elders rushed forward, their faces a blend of panic and disbelief. They caught their son before he could retaliate, while Aysel-freed from his grasp-walked calmly toward Magnus. Her pace was unhurried, but every step carried defiance, grace, and a quiet kind of vengeance. When she reached him, her tone softened, teasing under the weight of the stares."You're late." Magnus's lips curved faintly. His fingers brushed her wrist where Damon's hand had been, his touch cool and possessive. "Had to prepare something," he murmured, massaging away the faint bruise. Her eyes brightened, wolf-amber catching the reflection of the fireworks above. "Then I'm pleased." He smiled-slow, devastating. Not denying, not explaining. The crowd whispered, unable to look away. They thought his lateness had been for retribution-for the chaos that had destroyed the Blackwoods' engagement, for the humiliation of the Moonvale heirs. But that was only the shadow of truth. What he had truly delayed for was her gift-a secret the moon itself seemed to guard. Magnus's hand lingered, then, in a gesture that defied propriety, pressed lightly against her abdomen. It was not lust, but something older, deeper-a claiming touch of instinct and protection that made every watching wolf still. Damon's snarl caught in his throat. "Did you eat?" Magnus asked quietly, as if they were alone beneath the moon. Aysel shook her head, honest as always. Ignoring the shocked murmurs, Magnus led her to a long table near the flower-covered wall. The scent of honey, berries, and fresh bread mingled with the night air. He guided her into a seat, his hand never leaving hers. The others watched, half-in disbelief, half-in awe. This was dominance of the highest order-not violence, but presence. He was an Alpha who bent the world without raising his voice. Magnus selected several pieces of pastry, placing them before her, then lifted a glass of crimson fruit wine from a nearby tray. "Eat," he commanded softly. Aysel obeyed-graceful, serene-while the entire hall watched the Shadowbane Rafe care for her with a gentleness that radiated dangerous possession. No one spoke. No one dared. The Moonvale feast had become a coronation-and every wolf present knew that from this night on, the name Aysel Vale would echo through the packs like prophecy.