Chapter 398 She Said I Can’t. Elara Said You WILL.

Forty seconds ago, she had been moving at Alpha speed through Shadowclaw’s corridors, fast enough to blur, fast enough that the stone walls streaked past her like paint. Now she was standing in the middle of an empty parlor, perfectly still, tears running down her face, unable to move at all.

Serena found the parlor by instinct and desperation in equal measure. An empty sitting room off the eastern corridor of Shadowclaw, unused, quiet, far enough from the arena that the sounds of destruction had faded into stone and silence.

She pushed through the door and made it four steps inside before the composure she had been performing since the arena floor shattered completely.

Elara came through the door eight seconds later, breathing hard from the sprint, and found Serena standing in the center of the room with tears running down her face and a red rash climbing her neck.

Elara scanned the room. Her eyes landed on a wine decanter sitting on a sideboard with two glasses beside it, because Shadowclaw furnished their parlors like civilized wolves and the Gods rewarded women who needed alcohol by placing it within reach.

She crossed the room, poured two glasses, and carried one to Serena.

“Elara, I c-can’t do this.”

Serena’s voice cracked on the second word. The tears were steady, rolling down her cheeks in clean lines, and the rash on her neck was deepening from pink to red with every breath.

Elara held the glass out. “Yes, you can. And you will. Don’t get emotional on me, Frostborne. I refuse to be stabbed with a fire poker by an emperor because I let his favorite weapon cry in a parlor.”

Serena took the glass. A hiccup broke through her chest, small and involuntary, the kind that came from crying too hard while trying to breathe.

“Males are banned from training their mates for a reason, and this is exactly why,” Elara said, her voice shifting into the register of a woman who had watched this exact scenario unfold in theory and was unsurprised to see it confirmed in practice. “Even if you were mated to one of them, the shift would have triggered the same response. Your wolf can barely walk, Serena. She is gorgeous and she glows like a chandelier, and she cannot walk across a flat surface without shaking. Fighting was never going to happen today. The captains knew it. Hyran knew it. Everyone knew it except the two men whose wolves decided to turn a training session into a territory dispute.”

“She was r-running in the f-f-forest both times,” Serena said, her voice thick. “She just has to warm up first.”

“That is half of why you are upset,” Elara said. She sat in the chair across from Serena and crossed her legs. “Yes, it is miserable to struggle at something when you are accustomed to excellence. For a woman who picks up languages, magic, and political strategy the way normal people pick up colds, I can only imagine the indignity of being told your wolf needs remedial conditioning and chicken.”

The corner of Serena’s mouth twitched.

“You are upset because putting your two Alpha mates in an arena together led to an altercation,” Elara continued. “And I understand the guilt you are carrying about that, but frankly, they lasted longer than I expected. There were zero punches. Just their wolves, who have the emotional regulation of toddlers and the territorial instincts of dragons. Dex and Fin kept it together. Their wolves did what wolves do.”

Serena downed her entire glass in one continuous swallow. She sniffled, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and reached for the decanter. The pour was generous. Medicinal wine.

Elara watched her drink and thought, very privately, in the sealed compartment of her mind where secrets went to survive: Thank fuck this girl has no memory of marking the Gamma, because today would be exponentially worse if she did.

That particular grenade could stay in the drawer.

“I can’t even shift by m-myself,” Serena said, sitting on an ottoman. Her shoulders were curled inward. The glass was already half empty again. “Every wolf in that arena had shifted by the time they were sixteen. I need an Alpha command to do what children do instinctively.”

Elara set her glass down on the side table. Stood. Crossed the room in three steps.

She smacked Serena across the face.

The sound was crisp, precise, and carried the specific calibration of a woman who had calculated the exact force required to interrupt a spiral without leaving a mark.

Serena’s head snapped sideways. Her eyes went wide.

“Ouch, what w-was—”

“Say it.” Elara’s voice was steel wrapped in silk. “You are going to say the words, and you are going to mean them, and I am going to stand here until you do. Say: I am Serena Frostborne, and I am not a little bitch. I am a force to be reckoned with.”

Serena stared at her.

“Say it.”

“Elara—”

“Say it or I will slap you again, and the second one will be harder, and I will enjoy it less but I will still do it because you are spiraling and I refuse to watch. Say the words.”

Serena exhaled. The exhale shook. Her eyes were still wet, her cheeks still flushed, the rash still climbing her neck. She swallowed.

“I am Serena Frostborne.” Her voice was quiet. Thin. “And I am not a little bitch. I’m a force to be reckoned with.”

“Louder.”

“I am Serena Frostborne, and I am not a little bitch because I am a force to be reckoned with.”

“There she is.” Elara’s expression softened by exactly one degree. “Now. You are going to go back down to that arena. You are going to tell both of your mates, clearly and without apology, that you cannot train under those conditions. Then you and I are going to your favorite place in the world, the library, and we are going to find a way to get you to shift on your own. Because if the answer exists, it is written down, and if it is written down, you will find it, because finding things that are written down is the one arena where Serena Frostborne has never lost. Deal?”

Serena wiped her eyes one final time. Inhaled sharply through her nose. Nodded.

“Deal.”

She looked at the side table where Elara’s glass sat, full, untouched, the wine catching the low light of the parlor.

“Are you going to drink yours?”

Elara picked up the glass. Walked it over to Serena. Placed it in her hand.

“I saved it for you. Drink it. Doctor’s orders.”

Serena took the glass and downed it with the efficiency of a woman who had stopped questioning the prescription and started trusting the pharmacist.

“Now I’m buzzed.”

“Perfect,” Elara said, clapping her hands twice. “Buzzed Serena has better posture and fewer apologies. We are going with buzzed.”