Chapter 12
During the recess, I found Kael alone.
He was in a small chamber off the main courtroom—a waiting room with stone walls and harsh lighting. He sat hunched forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor.
When I entered, he looked up. His eyes were red. His wolf—I could feel it—was in agony, howling at a bond that had been completely severed.
"Serena." Just my name. Nothing else.
I sat across from him. Not close. Not touching. A deliberate, professional distance.
"I didn't come to gloat," I said. "I came to understand one thing."
He waited.
"When Mira called our children cursed—when your mother dragged me to the cellar—when they chained me in that clearing—" I paused, steadying my breath. "Did any part of you know? Even suspect?"
The silence lasted so long I thought he wouldn't answer.
"I suspected about the cellar." His voice was raw. "My mother said you were being housed in the east wing for your safety. I didn't question it. I should have gone to see you myself, but Mira—she always needed something. There was always a crisis." He looked at his hands. "I told myself I was protecting everyone. I was only protecting myself from having to choose."
"And the clearing?"
"I was gone. I swear on everything I am—I didn't know until today. Until your brother's testimony." He looked up, and there were tears on his face. "If I had known, I would have—"
"What?" I leaned forward. "What would you have done, Kael? The same thing you always did? Come to me with apologies and promises while doing nothing to change anything?"
He flinched.
"You weren't weak," I said, and my voice held no anger—just fact. Cold, clear fact. "You were a coward. There's a difference. A weak man can't protect the people he loves. A coward chooses not to."
He didn't argue. He didn't defend himself. He simply sat there, absorbing it like a man who knew he deserved every word.
"Our sons," he whispered. "Ash and Cade. Do they—what are they like?"
I shouldn't have answered. But something in me—some final remnant of the girl who'd loved him—spoke.
"Ash is bold. He was the first to walk, the first to growl. He leads Cade into trouble daily." A ghost of a smile touched my lips. "Cade is thoughtful. Quiet. He watches everything and understands more than anyone expects. He has your eyes."
Kael's composure broke. He covered his face with both hands, shoulders shaking.
I watched him cry. And I felt—nothing. Not satisfaction. Not pity. Nothing.
"I won't fight the ruling," he said finally, wiping his face. "Whatever the Council decides. I know I don't deserve them."
"You don't."
"But if there's ever—" He stopped himself. Took a breath. "If they ever want to know who their father was—"
"Then it will be their choice. When they're old enough." I stood. "Not yours. Not mine. Theirs."
He nodded, broken, accepting.
I turned to leave but paused at the door. "One more thing. Your mother. If she ever crosses into Volkov territory, my brothers will not show the mercy I'm showing you today."
"I understand."
I walked out and closed the door on Kael Blackwood for the last time.
When the Council reconvened, the ruling was swift and unanimous.
"The Dominion Claim is denied. Full and permanent custody is awarded to Princess Serena Volkov. Alpha Kael Blackwood is found unfit for guardianship based on abandonment, negligence, and complicity in abuse. No visitation rights are granted. Any future petition must be initiated by the children themselves upon reaching majority."
The gavel fell.
Behind me, Viktor exhaled. Roman clapped a hand on my shoulder. Nikolai was already on the phone—calling home, telling our father.
Across the courtroom, Vivian stood abruptly and left without looking at anyone. Mira remained seated, frozen, the full weight of her exposure pressing her into her chair. Her son—the rogue hybrid—squirmed in her arms, oblivious to the world that was about to reject him the way she'd made it reject mine.
Kael didn't move. He sat perfectly still, staring at the bench where the Arbiters had been, as if waiting for someone to tell him this was reversible.
It wasn't.
I gathered my things and walked toward the exit where my brothers waited.
"Serena." Kael's voice—small, wrecked—carried across the emptying courtroom.
I didn't turn around.
He was in a small chamber off the main courtroom—a waiting room with stone walls and harsh lighting. He sat hunched forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor.
When I entered, he looked up. His eyes were red. His wolf—I could feel it—was in agony, howling at a bond that had been completely severed.
"Serena." Just my name. Nothing else.
I sat across from him. Not close. Not touching. A deliberate, professional distance.
"I didn't come to gloat," I said. "I came to understand one thing."
He waited.
"When Mira called our children cursed—when your mother dragged me to the cellar—when they chained me in that clearing—" I paused, steadying my breath. "Did any part of you know? Even suspect?"
The silence lasted so long I thought he wouldn't answer.
"I suspected about the cellar." His voice was raw. "My mother said you were being housed in the east wing for your safety. I didn't question it. I should have gone to see you myself, but Mira—she always needed something. There was always a crisis." He looked at his hands. "I told myself I was protecting everyone. I was only protecting myself from having to choose."
"And the clearing?"
"I was gone. I swear on everything I am—I didn't know until today. Until your brother's testimony." He looked up, and there were tears on his face. "If I had known, I would have—"
"What?" I leaned forward. "What would you have done, Kael? The same thing you always did? Come to me with apologies and promises while doing nothing to change anything?"
He flinched.
"You weren't weak," I said, and my voice held no anger—just fact. Cold, clear fact. "You were a coward. There's a difference. A weak man can't protect the people he loves. A coward chooses not to."
He didn't argue. He didn't defend himself. He simply sat there, absorbing it like a man who knew he deserved every word.
"Our sons," he whispered. "Ash and Cade. Do they—what are they like?"
I shouldn't have answered. But something in me—some final remnant of the girl who'd loved him—spoke.
"Ash is bold. He was the first to walk, the first to growl. He leads Cade into trouble daily." A ghost of a smile touched my lips. "Cade is thoughtful. Quiet. He watches everything and understands more than anyone expects. He has your eyes."
Kael's composure broke. He covered his face with both hands, shoulders shaking.
I watched him cry. And I felt—nothing. Not satisfaction. Not pity. Nothing.
"I won't fight the ruling," he said finally, wiping his face. "Whatever the Council decides. I know I don't deserve them."
"You don't."
"But if there's ever—" He stopped himself. Took a breath. "If they ever want to know who their father was—"
"Then it will be their choice. When they're old enough." I stood. "Not yours. Not mine. Theirs."
He nodded, broken, accepting.
I turned to leave but paused at the door. "One more thing. Your mother. If she ever crosses into Volkov territory, my brothers will not show the mercy I'm showing you today."
"I understand."
I walked out and closed the door on Kael Blackwood for the last time.
When the Council reconvened, the ruling was swift and unanimous.
"The Dominion Claim is denied. Full and permanent custody is awarded to Princess Serena Volkov. Alpha Kael Blackwood is found unfit for guardianship based on abandonment, negligence, and complicity in abuse. No visitation rights are granted. Any future petition must be initiated by the children themselves upon reaching majority."
The gavel fell.
Behind me, Viktor exhaled. Roman clapped a hand on my shoulder. Nikolai was already on the phone—calling home, telling our father.
Across the courtroom, Vivian stood abruptly and left without looking at anyone. Mira remained seated, frozen, the full weight of her exposure pressing her into her chair. Her son—the rogue hybrid—squirmed in her arms, oblivious to the world that was about to reject him the way she'd made it reject mine.
Kael didn't move. He sat perfectly still, staring at the bench where the Arbiters had been, as if waiting for someone to tell him this was reversible.
It wasn't.
I gathered my things and walked toward the exit where my brothers waited.
"Serena." Kael's voice—small, wrecked—carried across the emptying courtroom.
I didn't turn around.