Guinevere Ashford stood. “I would like this court to explain something to me.”

She looked at the room the way a woman looks at a stage she intends to burn down.

“Agnes Viremont. Now Agnes Darkhowler. Poisoned Serena Frostborne multiple times. Documented. She drugged a Crown Prince. She faked a pregnancy. She conspired with her father, a man this entire court knows is a traitor, to replace Serena as Dexmon’s mate. She systematically destroyed a matebond.”

Guinevere held up her manacled hands.

“She got a crown.”

Four words that hit the courtroom like a battering ram. An elder in the front row shifted in his seat. Another looked at the floor. A third looked at Tiberon, and Tiberon looked at nothing, because Tiberon had already done the same math and arrived at the same answer a long time ago.

Dex’s breathing changed. Serena felt it through the matebond, the way his lungs tightened, the way his pulse spiked and then forcibly flattened itself, the specific rhythm of a man hearing something that had been bothering him for months.

Agnes got a get-out-of-jail-free card because of Garret Darkhowler. Dex was not only a victim, he also had to clean up the wreckage.

The courtroom stirred. Hale’s jaw tightened, but he did not interrupt. He didn’t interrupt because she was right. That was the part he would never say out loud, the part he would carry home with him tonight.

“I threw a teacup and chased a man naked. She poisoned a princess and manipulated a prince into a false mating, and she is sitting in Darkhowler right now wearing silk and eating breakfast.” Her voice climbed. “I am getting a sentencing. She got a king. Explain that math to me. I would love to hear the legal framework that makes Agnes Viremont’s crimes a love story and mine a capital offense.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable in a way that settled into bones.

Tiberon’s expression did not change. Bellatrix’s teacup paused midway to her lips for a fraction of a second before completing the journey.

“Agnes Viremont’s crimes were adjudicated under Darkhowler jurisdiction,” Hale said, his voice level. “Her case was reviewed, charges were considered, and the outcome was determined by the Alpha of that territory. This tribunal has no authority over proceedings that occurred in another kingdom, and the accused’s objection to a separate verdict in a separate court is noted but irrelevant to the charges before her today.”

“Irrelevant,” Guinevere repeated. “She tried to kill Serena with poison. Multiple times. I hit her with a teacup. One of us is getting executed and it is the teacup girl.”

“Agnes Viremont’s sentencing is a matter between Darkhowler and its Crown,” Hale replied. “This court will not retry another kingdom’s decisions to justify or reduce your own.”

“I am not asking you to retry her. I am asking you to acknowledge the hypocrisy of killing me for ten percent of what she did.”

Hale held her gaze. “The court acknowledges your frustration. The court does not consider it a defense.”

Serena’s chest was splitting. Because Guinevere was right. The comparison was ugly and lopsided, and the truth of it sat in the room like a stain that every person present could see and no one could clean. Agnes had done worse. Agnes had done calculated, premeditated, sustained worse. Agnes had nearly killed her.

And Agnes was free.

The tears that Serena had been fighting since Gavriel walked in broke loose in earnest, because the woman in front of her had just said the one thing that no one in this room wanted to hear, and it was true, and the truth of it was going to live in Serena’s chest long after this trial was over.

Elara’s hand tightened on her knee. Not comforting. Anchoring. The grip of a woman who could feel her friend fracturing beside her and knew that the only useful thing she could do was hold on and not let go.

Serena didn’t wipe the tears. Wiping them meant acknowledging them, and acknowledging them meant admitting that Guinevere Ashford had just broken her in front of three hundred wolves with the truth.

“Everything I did, I did because I was terrified. I was terrified of being forgotten,” Guinevere continued. “Of being irrelevant. Of watching women who had things I was told I deserved walk through doors that closed in my face.”

Her eyes found Serena again. “You were everything I was supposed to be. I hated you for it, and I am sorry for that, and I know sorry fixes exactly nothing.”

She looked at Dex. “I am sorry.”

Dex’s face was stone. His eyes were molten. He gave her nothing, because there was nothing left to give.

That was the moment Guinevere’s composure came apart.

She spun toward Gavriel Sterling, and the mask she had been holding together with wire and spite blew apart in front of the entire court.

“YOU SAID YOU WOULD GET ME OUT OF THIS.”

The courtroom flinched.

“You PROMISED me, Gavriel. We had a contract. You stood in that room and you looked me in the face and you told me you would protect me. You said you would talk to Dex. You said you would fix it.”

Gav did not flinch. He sat in his chair the way a man sits in a chair when the ground has opened beneath him and he has decided to stay seated because standing would require a version of himself that no longer existed.

“You told me you would try,” Guinevere continued, her voice climbing, breaking, rebuilding itself into something uglier with every word. “YOU admitted you loved HER, you agreed to a mutually beneficial arrangement and SIGNED A PAPER that said you would advocate for me, and now you are sitting there like a CORPSE while they are sentencing me.”

The silence after that was the kind that fills a room from the floor up, heavy and total, the silence of three hundred wolves processing the same detonation at the same speed.

More tears fell from Serena. She couldn’t hold them. They broke loose and tracked down both cheeks, and she let them, because the woman screaming across the courtroom was Gavriel’s mate, and Gavriel was sitting in that chair hollowed out, and the intersection of those two facts was more than her composure could carry.

The courtroom heard Guinevere say it. Three hundred wolves heard Guinevere Ashford announce that Gavriel Sterling had told his fated mate he loved another woman, and the other woman was sitting six rows away with tears on her face and her husband’s hand under the bench.

The matebond from Dex went cold. There was no other word for it, while Fin’s side went silent. She wasn’t sure what was worse.

Hale looked at Gavriel. “Gamma Sterling. Would you like to address the court?”

Every head in the courtroom turned to the third row.

Gavriel Sterling sat in his chair. His hands were on his thighs. His face held nothing. For a man who had built his entire identity on having a response for everything, on the sarcasm, on the deflection, on the wit that kept the world at a distance he could manage, the silence was deafening.

Serena looked at him anyway through blurred vision, through tears she’d stopped fighting, through the specific grief of watching someone she loved sit in a room where the worst thing about him had just been announced by a woman in chains who had every reason to say it and no reason to be kind about how she said it.

Gav stood.