Moonfall | Book Two

CHAPTER 22

The Throne Room was in complete silence as Aria stood in the centre of the room, her auburn hair falling in waves down to the waist of her black cloak. On her head, she wore a black veiled hat, but even the sheer covering could not hide her large black eyes. The two witches who always accompanied their Priestess stood a few feet behind her, one on her right and the other on her left.

They had arrived only moments ago, but because Michael had been preparing for this very moment for two days—days spent agonizing over the memory of being stabbed and left for dead by Aria, and knowing she had set Gabriel's death in motion—he wished to get this meeting over with as quickly as possible.

"Aria, welcome." His mother broke the silence.

All eyes in the room, including his own, were drawn to the top of the dais where she stood to his father's left. But while everybody was probably captivated by her smile, Michael's gaze was drawn to the balled fists tucked at her sides.

Facing Aria and forcing a smile upon her face had to have been absolute torture for her.

"Thank you, Reina. And thanks be to you, Aaron, for coming to a decision so quickly."

"Your gratitude should be directed towards the future heir."

His father nodded down at him, and that was Michael's cue to move from the base of the dais, where he had been standing between Lukas and Damien, and walk up the stairs to join his Father's side.

Even with his back turned to the room, Michael knew every gaze in the room had shifted to him, but the only one he felt was Aria's.

After standing to his father's right, he faced the room, wanting Aria to look at him as he looked straight back at her and denied her request. He opened his mouth to do just that, but the words he had rehearsed over and over would not come out.

Not when his eyes met her black ones and it instantly reminded him of her cold gaze when she plunged a knife into him and left him bleeding out in the Woodlands.

Not when he thought of Gabriel six feet under in the burial grounds because Aria had forced him to feed on Fae blood.

Not when he thought of Ellette, alone and dying in the Woodlands, separated from her family because Aria's plans to start a war forced the Fae to flee to a new realm.

There was so much the witch had done, so many lives she had ruined and families she had broken, yet she remained intact, emboldened by her audacity to stand before the Wolves she had wronged and make a request.

"Michael?" His mother's voice saved him from falling deeper into his thoughts.

He looked her way for only a second—long enough to gain courage from the single nod she gave him once their eyes met—then back at Aria. He cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"The second son?" Her gaze shifted to his left. "I do not understand, Aaron."

"What is there to understand?" Came his father's harsh reply.

"You are to have him decide on such dire matters?"

"He is this pack's future Alpha. I am simply providing him with an opportunity to address matters that pertain to the wellbeing of the pack. Do I not have that right?"

"Forgive me, but being the future Alpha does not make his word law."

"No, but being the present Alpha does make mine so. And if I say my son is to decide, then he shall decide."

He could not remember the last time he heard his father refer to him as his son—privately or publicly. It stirred something deep within, but he could not dwell upon it. Especially not when Aria's gaze locked on him once more.