They walked in silence through corridors Casteel had only glimpsed during his brief escape attempts. Servants lined the walls, bowing as they passed. Some faces showed genuine hope, others barely concealed fear. A few watched with calculating eyes that made Casteel's skin crawl.
The grand balcony overlooked the main square, where thousands of people had gathered. Their voices rose in a constant murmur, punctuated by children's cries and the occasional shout. Banners hung from every building, depicting silver wolves and crown symbols.
"So many," Casteel breathed.
"Desperate people," Nero observed, his gaze scanning the crowd with tactical precision. "They want to believe in salvation."
High Priest Doran waited for them at the entrance to the balcony, resplendent in ceremonial robes of silver and white. His smile reminded Casteel of a snake—cold, calculating, deadly.
"Remember your oaths," Doran murmured to Nero as they approached. "The people must see unity and strength today."
Nero's jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod. Casteel felt his mate's resolve hardening like steel in a forge—not submission, but strategic patience.
The moment they stepped onto the balcony, the crowd erupted. The roar was deafening, a physical force that seemed to press against Casteel's chest. Thousands of faces turned upward, hope and desperation mingling in their expressions. Children sat on parents' shoulders for a better view. Old women wept openly. Men who looked half-starved raised their fists in salute.
"The Silver Wolf comes!" Doran's voice carried across the square, amplified by some trick of the architecture. "As foretold in the ancient texts, the savior has risen among us!"
Casteel stood frozen, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of expectation directed at him. Through their bond, he felt Nero's steadying presence, a mental hand at his back.
"And beside him," Doran continued, "the Flame-Marked One, his destined mate and co-ruler, chosen by the gods themselves to complete the prophecy!"
Another wave of cheers crashed over them. Casteel forced himself to raise a hand in acknowledgment, the gesture feeling hollow and just for show. These people didn't know him—they were cheering for a myth, a legend, not a stable boy who'd spent his life shoveling manure.
"Today," Doran proclaimed, "the drought ends! The blight recedes! The gods have heard our prayers and sent us their chosen ones!"
The ceremony proceeded with ritualistic precision. Casteel knelt when directed, recited vows written by the priests,accepted the weight of a silver crown upon his brow. Nero performed his part with rigid dignity, his eyes never leaving Casteel's face even as he too knelt and was blessed.
Throughout it all, Casteel felt strangely disconnected, as if watching himself from a distance. Only Nero's presence in his mind, steady and unwavering, kept him grounded in reality.
Then came the moment Doran had been building toward. "Behold!" he cried, gesturing dramatically. "The transformation that proves divine favor!"
Casteel understood what was expected. The crowd had gathered to see the silver wolf, the physical manifestation of their salvation. But panic fluttered in his chest—he had never been able to shift at will before, only under extreme stress or, more recently, in Nero's presence.
"I don't know if I can," he whispered, too low for any but Nero to hear.
Nero's hand found his, their fingers intertwining despite the public setting. "You can," Nero murmured, his voice pitched for Casteel's ears alone. "I can feel your wolf—it's there, waiting."
Nero projected calm strength, his presence wrapping around Casteel like a protective cloak. The familiar warmth began to build in Casteel's chest, spreading outward through his limbs.
"Together," Nero breathed, and Casteel felt the truth of it. His wolf had never been truly his alone—it was bound to Nero, emerged because of Nero, strengthened by their connection. For a god-awful second Casteel imagined what would happen if…whenNero finally left him, because he would. Why would Nero stay? He knew he'd been sicker than Nero both times.
The transformation began slowly, a ripple of power that started at their joined hands. Casteel's vision sharpened, colors becoming more vivid as his senses expanded. His bones lengthened and reformed with fluid grace, silver hair sprouting across his skin as his body reshaped itself.
When the change completed, a wolf stood where Casteel had knelt—coat silver-white as moonlight, save for the crown mark between his ears that seemed to pulse with inner fire. The crowd's roar became deafening, thousands of voices raised in awe and worship.
But Casteel sensed attention wasn't on the spectacle. His gaze swept the crowd. Most expressions showed genuine wonder or desperate hope, but scattered throughout were harder looks—calculation, suspicion, and in one case, something that made his breath hiss out.
There, near the back of the square, partially concealed by a merchant's stall, stood a man staring at Nero with contempt.
Casteel sensed Nero's sudden tension.What is it?he felt the alarm from Nero as if he had shouted.
The man melted back into the crowd before Casteel could track his movement further, leaving only an impression of malice and intent. Whatever the man was planning, his presence here seemed no coincidence.
Doran raised his arms, calling for silence. "The gods have blessed us with this miracle! Let all who witness this day carry word to every corner of Abergenny—the Silver Wolf has risen, and with him, our salvation!"
The crowd roared. Casteel shifted back to human form in robes, the change leaving him slightly breathless but steady. The silver crown settled back onto his brow as if it belonged there.
"You did well," Doran murmured as they prepared to leave the balcony. "The people are convinced. Phase one is complete."
