A few days later, the council chamber was packed.
Every noble who could fit had squeezed onto the benches. Lord Pemberton sat at the petitioners' table, his Pure Blood League members filling three rows behind him. Across the aisle, institute supporters wore blue ribbons. League members wore white. The air hummed with tension.
Aeron stood at the head of the table, a thick parchment scroll in his hands.
"We are here to negotiate a peace accord," he announced. "Between the crown and the Pure Blood League. Between wolves who fear change and humans who demand it."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
Pemberton stood. "We are not here to surrender, Your Highness. We are here to protect our heritage."
"And we are here to protect the kingdom from civil war." Aeron's voice was cold, precise. "The fighting in the corridors must stop. The intimidation must stop. The fear must stop."
"Then stop the institute."
