Chapter 17: The council meeting

"Flirt?" the man echoed with a slow smile. "Oh no, *mi amour*, I'm not here to flirt."

Lena's smirk began to fade as his gaze turned cold, sharp like the edge of a blade. He stepped closer, just enough to make her instinctively tense, though she refused to move.

"I just want to know," he continued softly, "what's so special about you that the Night King hasn't torn out your heart yet."

Her eyes narrowed.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her like she was some ancient relic he was trying to decode. "He's never kept a human this close before," he murmured. "Not without a reason. And certainly not without leaving a mark."

Lena kept her expression unreadable. "Maybe I'm just charming."

That amused glint flickered in his eyes again. "Or maybe you're just another game."

He took her hand before she could stop him—cold fingers brushing against hers. His lips barely grazed her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

"My name is Caelum," he whispered.

"Tell the Night King I said hello."

Then, just like smoke, he disappeared into the crowd.

The grand hall was shrouded in a heavy, ancient silence as the members of the Night King's council gathered around the long obsidian table. The Night king sat at the head, his crimson eyes gleaming with quiet authority. His posture was rigid, the weight of centuries pressing on his shoulders, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze tonight—something restless, something beyond the normal machinations of his dark reign.

Around the table sat the faces of his most trusted advisors—each a figure of power, each one with their own agenda.

Lord Mortair, head of the Arcane Division, stood tall with his icy gray eyes. His robes shimmered with runes of power, each spell etched into the fabric like a quiet warning. He was the first to speak, breaking the silence.

"My King," Mortair began, his voice measured, "we have come to a critical point. The peace between the vampire covens is fragile. To ensure stability, we need your full attention on the upcoming negotiations with the Aeltherra High Council."

The Night king sharp gaze shifted to him. His fingers drummed once against the cold, smooth stone of the table, a sound like distant thunder. "The peace is maintained because I say it is, Mortair. The Aeltherra Council will fall in line like the rest. What's more pressing?"

Mortair's lips thinned, but he didn't back down. "The human girl. You've allowed a mortal to live within these walls. This risks destabilizing more than just our alliances—it could jeopardize the magic that binds our kingdom."

The tension in the room thickened. Lady Vaerra, who had been silently observing, leaned forward. Her eyes glittered coldly, her lips curling into a faint smile. "Indeed, my lord. We don't question your judgment, but mortals—humans—are unpredictable creatures. They can't be trusted. They don't belong here."

The murmurs around the table were cautious, but the unease was palpable. The Night King's presence had always been a symbol of absolute control, but this decision—to keep a human within his palace—was unlike anything they had seen in centuries. Vampires and humans didn't mix. It was unnatural. It was dangerous.

"What is your point, Vaerra?" The Night King voice was low, but there was a fire beneath the words. He was not used to being questioned—least of all by his council.

Vaerra's gaze flicked towards him, unapologetic. "She's a threat, whether you realize it or not. The wards that protect this castle are tied to blood—*your* blood. Allowing a foreign element, one as unpredictable as a human, inside those protections could lead to a breach. We've seen it before."

"The wards are *stronger* than they have ever been," The Night King responded coldly. "You should know that better than anyone. They will not be compromised by a mortal."

There was a long pause before Duke Oren, a man known for his political cunning, spoke up. His voice was calm, measured. "Perhaps it is not the wards that concern us, but what this *human* could mean to your rule, The Night King."

The Night King eyes narrowed. "Speak plainly, Oren."

The Duke leaned forward, his fingers lightly tapping on the surface of the table. "What if this… *girl* is a pawn? A weapon disguised as a lover, or a *servant*? What if her presence here is a means to manipulate you, to control you from the inside out?"

The words landed with a heavy thud.

A few of the council members shifted uncomfortably, but they remained silent. No one had the courage to challenge Oren's words directly.

The Night King voice broke the stillness. "You're suggesting she's an agent of the humans? Or worse… *the Aeltherra Council*?"