Page 10

T he Council Hall's main chamber was a study in calculated grandeur.

Three stories tall, with a domed ceiling that caught whispers and sent them spiraling into echoes, the space wasn't designed for comfort.

It was designed to remind petitioners exactly where they stood: small beneath the weight of law and tradition.

Pale blue light filtered through stained glass windows set high in the walls—abstract patterns of alder tree leaves and roots. Beneath my feet, the marble floor held intricate inlays of silver and copper, forming protective wards that hummed with a soft, constant energy.

The Council bench stood on a raised dais at the far end of the chamber.

Three ornate chairs, each carved from a different wood to represent the balance of powers in Everwood—oak for strength, alder for wisdom, and ash for resilience.

Behind them hung the city's banner: deep green with silver threading that caught the light as it stirred in an unfelt breeze.

Ellie slept against my chest as we approached, her tiny breaths warm and steady against my collarbone.

I adjusted her sling, drawing comfort from her weight—the most constant thing in my world.

Uldrek walked beside me, his footsteps measured to match mine despite his longer stride.

The Council liaisons led us to a semi-circular platform directly before the bench, then stepped away to stand at attention on either side.

I understood the message in the arrangement: we were the center of attention and also utterly exposed.

Three figures occupied the bench, watching our approach with varying degrees of interest. On the left sat a man with silver-streaked dark hair and the distinctive blue-tinged skin of a water elemental lineage.

His robes marked him as a civic mage—one of Everwood's magical protectors.

In the center, a woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a severe knot, her expression carefully neutral, a ledger open before her.

And on the right, a younger man with the sharp features and perfect posture of someone determined to embody the letter of every law.

The woman spoke first, her voice carrying easily through the chamber without seeming to rise in volume—an enchantment, perhaps, or simply years of practice.

"This council convenes to address the verification petition concerning Isolde—" She paused, consulting her ledger. "Forgive me. Issy Fairbairn and her claimed mate-bond with Uldrek Wolfsbane."

She looked up, pinning me with a gaze that wasn't unkind but held no warmth either. "Before we proceed, identity verification is required. Please approach the sigil plate, Miss Fairbairn."

I stepped forward to the small pedestal that had risen from the floor directly before the bench.

Atop it sat a circular plate of polished silver inscribed with runes that glowed faintly blue.

I recognized it as similar to the one at the Hearth Office—a soulbound sigil reader designed to confirm identity regardless of the name given.

I laid my palm flat against the cool metal. Immediately, the runes brightened, shifting from blue to a deep violet as they spiraled inward, reading the unique magical pattern that lived beneath my skin.

The civic mage on the left leaned forward, studying the plate. "Signature confirmed," he said. "Identity matches the Veiled Filing recorded with the Hearth Office."

I returned to Uldrek's side, cradling Ellie closer.

"Thank you, Councilor Riven," the central woman said.

"The record stands verified." She turned her attention to both of us.

"I am Councilor Elyse Thornwood, chief magistrate of the Civic Harmony bench.

To my right is Councilor Pellen, and to my left, as you've heard, is Councilor Riven.

This proceeding is not adversarial, merely clarificatory. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said softly.

"Yes," Uldrek echoed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate with the wards beneath us.

Thornwood nodded. "Miss Fairbairn, our records indicate you filed for sovereign protection sixteen days ago under the Veiled Sanctuary provisions. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Councilor."

"And four days ago, you publicly claimed a mate bond with Uldrek Wolfsbane. Is this also correct?"

"Yes." My voice was steadier now, though I could feel the weight of their scrutiny like a physical pressure.

Thornwood made a note in her ledger. "Mr. Wolfsbane, you were present when this claim was made?"

"I was," Uldrek answered.

"And you consented to the claim?"

His eyebrow arched slightly. "I did. Still do."

Councilor Pellen spoke for the first time, his voice precise and clipped. "If this is a natural orc bond, as you've both attested, why has the claiming not been completed?"

The question hung in the air between us. I realized, with a sudden sinking sensation, that I didn't know how to answer. I'd claimed Uldrek as my mate in desperation, with no understanding of what such a bond truly entailed among orcs. I looked to Uldrek, hoping he would fill the silence.

He did, his expression calm but his eyes fierce. "Because we didn't fake a ritual just to satisfy Council curiosity. We felt the bond. It's not about ceremony—it's instinct.”

Councilor Riven leaned forward, his expression thoughtful rather than skeptical. "So you believe you are mates by natural law—even without completion?"

Uldrek's gaze didn't waver. "I do." He paused, and for a moment, his eyes slid toward me without quite meeting my gaze. "I recognized her. And she recognized me. That was enough for us."

I glanced between them, then at Uldrek, his face unreadable. Was there something else? Some part of the bond I hadn’t done—hadn’t even known to ask about? My claim had been instinct, survival. But theirs… theirs had rules. Structure. Ritual.

And suddenly, I wasn’t sure what I’d invoked at all.

"Miss Fairbairn," Thornwood said, turning her attention to me. "How do you respond to this? Was this a calculated legal maneuver or something else entirely?"

I swallowed hard, searching for words that were both true and useful. How could I explain something I barely understood myself?

"We didn't plan it," I said finally, my voice soft but steady.

"I wasn't thinking about legal status or loopholes.

I was afraid." I paused, weighing what to say next.

"And I reached for the only thing that felt solid.

" I took a breath, feeling the words form more truthfully than I'd expected. "And he didn't let go."

Ellie stirred against my chest, making a small sound before settling back into sleep. The movement drew Thornwood's gaze, her expression softening almost imperceptibly.

"I see," she said. She exchanged glances with her fellow councilors, a silent communication passing between them.

Councilor Pellen cleared his throat. "While the emotional aspect is.

.. compelling," he said, in a tone that suggested he found it anything but, "the law requires more than feeling.

Without formal claiming, this bond exists in a gray area that the Order of Renewal could challenge.

And they have indicated they may do so."

My heart stuttered. "They've been here? Spoken to you?"

"A representative made inquiries," Thornwood confirmed, her tone careful. "The details of your filing remain sealed, as per Hearth protocol. However, they are within their rights to challenge an incomplete bond claim."

Uldrek's jaw tightened visibly, though his voice remained level. "What about her rights? She filed for sovereign protection."

"Which the Council respects," Riven said, his tone gentler than his colleagues. "But you must understand the complexity. A Natural Bond claim supersedes prior legal connections only if it is complete and magically verifiable."

Thornwood spoke again. "You have three days to formalize the bond.”

"And if we choose not to rush this ritual that you're suddenly so concerned about?" Uldrek's voice was still calm, but there was an edge beneath it now.

"Then the protection afforded by the Natural Bond exception would be nullified," Pellen said flatly. "And because that claim replaced her original filing, her sovereign protection would be considered forfeited.”

Which meant Gavriel could reach for me again—and this time, there’d be no law to stop him.

"Three days," Thornwood repeated more gently. "Return to this council with proof of formal claiming, and your protection under Everwood law will be secured."

We didn't speak until we were well away from the Council Hall, walking side by side through the narrow streets that wound away from the Heart District.

The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the cobblestones and bathing the western-facing buildings in golden light.

Ellie still slept, undisturbed by the council proceedings or their implications.

Uldrek guided us toward a small garden tucked between two larger buildings—a quiet spot with stone benches and a trellis heavy with late-blooming moonvine. No one else was present; most of Everwood was returning home for the evening meal, the streets growing quieter as the workday ended.

We sat on one of the benches, facing each other. Uldrek waited, his expression unreadable, giving me space to speak first.

"What did they mean?" I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "About completing the bond?"

Uldrek sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Orc claiming rituals are physical," he said bluntly. "A bite. Blood exchange. A kind of... resonance. It leaves a mark.”

"A bite," I repeated, trying to process this.

He nodded. "Usually on the shoulder. Near the heart. Just deep enough to draw blood. The bond sinks into the body there, leaves a trace both of us can feel."

It had started as survival. Now, it was something else—something that would live on my skin, inside of me. I closed my eyes briefly, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on me.