True enough—after all, I once served as a Pack Chronicle Keeper, and my greatest skill was stirring the winds of rumor until they became storms.
Unfortunately, the first time I lost control and exposed her shameful rut-bond with Dorian Frostclaw, she threatened to have me scent-suppressed and cast out from the profession entirely, claiming I had violated pack privacy laws and damaged her standing. The pack council sided with her.
Now finding anyone willing to help me was nearly impossible.
I cast a sidelong glance at her, long past feeling any wounded pride from being falsely accused.
My hands continued wrapping the anniversary offering for Noah—a small bundle of herbs and moon-blessed tokens for his rune-stone.
"You should know that your disgraceful affairs aren't limited to what's already been revealed. If I wanted to expose more, you'd bleed territory and resources far worse than before."
She stood frozen in the doorway for a long while.
Finally, her voice emerged, almost helpless.
"After this, I'll sever things with him completely. But promise me—we'll live properly from now on, yes? Once the pup comes, we'll be a happy family."
During my pregnancy, she had said such things nearly every day.
Yet it never stopped her from remaining tangled with Dorian Frostclaw.
Sometimes she pitied his status as an unacknowledged offspring. Other times she felt sorry that he had no pack to call his own, no family to lean on.
In short, she had ten thousand reasons why she couldn't help being drawn to him, why she had to help him rise through the ranks.
She remained blocking the doorway as though she wouldn't leave until I answered.
Watching her shadow swallow the morning light, I gave a hollow response just to be rid of her.
It wasn't until the next morning, when an uncensored scent-vision recording of my supposed betrayal spread across every territory network, that I understood what she meant by "after this."
Selene Valeheart had released a public proclamation.
In the recording, she wept before the pack councils, her voice breaking as she declared that her own brother-by-bond had discovered me rutting with another during her pregnancy. She claimed I had struck first with false rumors about her to cover my own guilt.
Dorian Frostclaw appeared beside her, his expression heavy with grief. He said he had only tried to counsel me against hurting Selene's feelings, but I had mistaken his concern for a threat to expose my infidelity—and so I had lashed out in revenge.
Every wolf across the territories howled for Selene to sever our bond immediately, to cast out this low-born climber who had clawed his way into the Valeheart Pack through mating alone.
But she put on a mask of devotion.
"No matter what sins Kael commits in this lifetime, I cannot stop loving him."
Watching her false performance, I couldn't hold back. I retched.
Selene heard from outside the den chamber and rushed in.
"What's wrong?"
I frowned, seeing Dorian trailing behind her like a shadow. I shook off her reaching hand.
"Nothing. Just found you revolting, that's all. To protect your rut-partner's crimes, you'd destroy your own mate's reputation without hesitation. Selene Valeheart, your love is truly magnificent."
Her face went pale as bone. Her mouth opened to explain.
But Dorian suddenly dropped to his knees.
"Forgive me, brother. This is all my fault! Sister-mate only used you as a shield because of me. But she's still recovering from the birth—she was afraid you'd be angry and came to explain despite her weakened state. Please don't blame her."
Selene's eyes filled with tender concern for him. She turned an accusing glare on me.
"I came specifically to tell you about this. Those recordings were scent-glamour forgeries I created. When it comes down to it, he shares your blood—sacrificing yourself to help him is only right. I'm helping him because I'm helping you maintain your bloodline ties. Why must you be so aggressive toward him?"
"Besides, you're a scent-suppressed outcast now. Reputation means nothing to you. What outsiders say won't change my feelings—I know it's fake, and that's enough. But he's different. He has no pack, no family to fall back on. He survives by his standing in the chronicle circles. If his image is destroyed, everything falls apart."
Listening to her grand justifications, I felt nothing but disgust.
A scent-suppressed outcast—and whose doing was that?
Back then, she hadn't just forced the pack council to revoke my position. She had spread word through every chronicle keeper's den across the territories: anyone who employed me would be making an enemy of her.
I was turned away from every interview. When I finally found a small private recording den willing to take me, she filed malicious complaints against them.
In the end, all my chronicle-keeping credentials were stripped away. I became a pariah that every wolf in the profession spat upon.
