These aren’t my words–they’re carefully crafted phrases from the council’s speechwriters, designed to present the illusion of partnership while obscuring the reality of our strained negotiations.
“Together, we will face the threats that loom on our borders,” I continue, each syllable perfect and empty. “Our combined resources will ensure prosperity for all our citizens. This is the dawn of a new era.”
I step back, the requisite applause washing over me like a wave I can’t feel. My gaze finds Siena’s for just a moment, and something passes between us–a flicker of understanding, perhaps. She knows these aren’t my words. She always could see through me.
And then it’s Siena’s turn.
She steps forward, shoulders squared, the silver emblem of Windhowl catching the light as she moves. The crowd hushes in anticipation.
“My father once told me,” she begins, her voice clear and confident, “that a pack is not defined by its territory, but by the bonds between its members. Windhowl has been tested–by nature, by circumstance, by those who doubted our resilience.”
Her eyes briefly meet mine before continuing to sweep the gathered crowd.
“We have lost. We have grieved. We have rebuilt,” she says, each word carrying the weight of truth. “When the mountain storms destroyed our eastern settlements, you didn’t just rebuild houses–you strengthened them. When the trading routes were blocked, you didn’t just find new paths–you forged better ones.”
A murmur of agreement ripples through the audience. I watch as she connects with them in a way I never could, despite
