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I’ve only seen the council chambers in my school textbooks, usually depicted from the gallery, which is up so much higher than I expected. The council’s seat, a semi-circular desk big enough for twenty-five, which runs around half the huge, round room, is much taller than it looks in photos. I feel like all twenty-five council members are glaring at me in judgment from on high as I walk down the aisle, through the rows of spectators. There’s a small platform to stand on, with a rail that reminds me of the docks in old courthouses. I can’t help but turn and survey the room when I’m finally standing in my place; I need a friendly face. I spot Ryan first, in his council chair, but it’s not as though he can wave at me.
Then I see Nathan.
He sits on one side of the room, at a desk crowded with people I assume are his lawyers. Directly across sits Ashton and his legal team. I’m trapped between them.
It’s a running theme.
After not seeing Nathan for over twenty-four hours, the need I always feel when I’m around him rears its inconvenient head. His gaze locks on mine and I swear he shudders. Every muscle in my body locks with tension to prevent the same thing from happening to me. I need to appear cool and level-headed. I can’t let them think I’m afraid.
Something in his expression changes and I realize he’s noticed the dark purple bruise across my cheek, which has set some of the assembled crowd murmuring. He’s angry, and I worry for a moment that he’ll order someone at Aconitum Hall executed in revenge or something like that. Just chill out until I can present the evidence, I silently will him.
It’s too bad the bond between us doesn’t involve telepathy.
A member of Nathan’s counsel approaches me. “His Majesty respectfully submits the testimony of one Bailey Dixon, referred to within Mr. Daniels’s filing as the ‘disputed.’”
I can’t help that my jaw drops in outrage, but I hurry to correct it.
The man serving as head of the council isn’t anyone I know. He’s a hunched over, just-past-middle-aged man with pasty pale skin and an unfortunate, slicked down side part that exacerbates how thin his gray hair is. He doesn’t seem thrilled to be here.
I’m sure that’s a great sign.
The council leader nods to Nathan’s barrister. “Testimony is accepted.”
The barrister, a young, handsome man with a post-vacation tan and perfect white teeth smiles reassuringly at me. “Ms. Dixon, when did you learn that your father had signed a mating pact promising you to Mr. Daniels?”
“About a month before I was to take part in the transformation ritual for the first time,” I answer.
“Speak up!” the council leader barks.
I repeat myself, louder, and add, “That would have been January of 2017. Maybe December of 2016.”
“And you invoked the Right of Accord in February of 2017, is that correct?” the barrister asks.
“I did.”
“And did your choice to seek out this archaic law and invoke it have anything to do with that mating pact between yourself and Mr. Daniels?”
“I didn’t—” I almost say that I didn’t seek out the law, that I found it. I’m supposed to tell the truth here. But is omission really dishonesty? I decide it’s not. “I didn’t want to be Mr. Daniels’s mate.”
“And why is that?” The barrister nods and paces in front of me, glancing occasionally at Nathan. It’s hard to keep my attention focused to one place, so I decide to address the council and not try to guess at what silent communication is happening between Nathan and the barrister.
“At first, it was that I just didn’t know him very well. At all, really,” I say, quickly adding, “And after I returned to the pack, it became apparent that he doesn’t know me, either. Our personalities are not compatible.”
“Many couples don’t think they’re compatible,” the barrister says, drawing my attention back to him. I’m not sure if he’s arguing with me and I’m not sure why he would, but he asks, “What, specifically, makes you believe you couldn’t be a suitable mate for Mr. Daniels.”
“He’s violent,” I blurt, to an echo of murmurs from the assembly behind me.
“Is that what happened to your face?” the barrister asks.
“It is.” I turn and deliver my condemnation directly at Ashton. “Last night, Ashton Daniels visited me, in person, after issuing his challenge, in violation of pack law as it pertains to matters of disputed mating pacts.”
One of Ashton’s legal team stands; he’s a boring-looking near-clone of the guy who’s been questioning me. I really can’t tell werewolves in suits apart, I guess.
“Councilman Renner,” Ashton’s barrister begins, “This is a wild and baseless claim. Without supporting evidence—”
“I have supporting evidence.” I reach into my jacket pocket and produce my phone. “Audio of not only the meeting, but the assault.”
