Chapter 188

Iris

Ezra’s words take me by surprise. My eyes flick to the torn spot on his suit jacket where his Beta pin belongs—it’s as if it was removed by force.

“You… want my… help?” I ask, tilting my head.

Ezra takes a step forward. “He’s not acting like himself, Iris. Something is wrong.”

I’m not sure what to say. As much as I trust Ezra, he is Arthur’s Beta. Did Arthur put him up to this, I wonder? Some kind of tactic to make me do something crazy? Another opportunity, perhaps, to publicly humiliate me?

“Perhaps you should sit,” my mother suggests, gesturing toward the seat beside me.

Ezra follows her gesture, and we all sit back down. Now that he’s closer, I can see the lines etched deep into Ezra’s face—he looks worried. Very worried. I glance up behind him, noticing Emi standing in the doorway, my silent sentinel. She exchanges a quiet look with me that seems to share in my concern. He’s telling the truth.

“What’s wrong with Arthur?” I finally ask after a moment of silence.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Ezra admits, accepting a cup of tea from my mother. His hand trembles slightly as he takes a sip and sets it back down—trembles so much, in fact, that tea sloshes out of the cup and onto the coffee table, making him cringe. This is unlike him. Ezra is always so put together and composed, not… this. “He’s been acting strange ever since the Solstice Ceremony. Like he’s in a daze all the time.”

“A daze?” my mother repeats.

“Yes. He’s… distant. Distracted. Sometimes he’ll be talking and then just trail off mid-sentence, like he’s forgotten what he was saying. Other times, he stares at nothing for minutes at a time.”

I remember the way Arthur looked that night at the gala, his eyes fluttering shut when Veronica kissed him, glowing that eerie red. His wolf took over then. Is his wolf still in control?

“And that’s not even the worst of it,” Ezra continues. “He’s hardly even doing his presidential duties. Important meetings get postponed. Legislation sits unsigned on his desk. Reports go unread. Instead, he’s going on shopping with Veronica every other minute, paying for expensive dinners…”

I wince at the very mention of her name and look away, fisting my hand into my sweater.

My mother frowns. “That doesn’t sound like Arthur at all. He’s always been so dedicated to his position.”

“I know,” Ezra says. “That’s why I’m worried. It’s like… it’s like he’s been drugged or something. But I can’t prove anything, and any time I’ve tried to suggest something’s wrong, he…” Ezra’s fingers touch the torn lapel of his suit, right where his Beta pin used to be.

“He fired you?” I gasp.

Ezra nods grimly. “Said he wanted me out of his sight for good.” He turns to me. “I’ve been his Beta for years, Iris. Since before he was even President. We’ve been through everything together, and now suddenly I’m disposable?”

His desperation strikes a chord in me. It makes no sense. Arthur treasures the people he cares about above all else. He would never dispose of his Beta so casually, especially not Ezra, who’s been a loyal supporter and friend for years.

But a small, vindictive part of me can’t help but think: Good. Let him suffer a little. Let him feel what it’s like to lose someone important to him.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “But what does any of this have to do with me? What do you want me to do about it?”

Ezra suddenly grips my hands, taking me by surprise. “Talk to him, Iris. Please. You’re his mate—”

“Ex-mate,” I correct sharply, ripping my hands away. “He made that clear when he put my engagement ring on Veronica’s finger.”

“I don’t know if that was his choice,” Ezra insists. “Not really. Something else is going on. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s like… it’s like he’s not even in control of himself.”

I scoff, shaking my head. Perhaps I’ve grown too jaded, but I’ve been burned too many times at this point to buy the whole “I had no choice” nonsense.

“Maybe he’s just drunk,” I suggest bitterly. “You know he used to turn to the bottle when he couldn’t sleep. And he can’t sleep without me by his side, or so he claimed.”

Ezra shakes his head. “He’s not drunk. I’ve seen Arthur drunk plenty of times. This is different.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s not my problem anymore,” I say, standing up. “I’m sorry he fired you, Ezra. I really am. But I can’t help you. I have to do what’s best for my son, and—”

“If Ordan crumbles, if Arthur faces public humiliation and destruction for shirking his duties and squandering his money, will that be good for your son?”

My mouth snaps shut, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

“He’s right, darling,” my mother chimes in softly. “You don’t have to forgive Arthur, but the country needs him to be functional.”

No. I don’t want to get involved. I don’t want to see Arthur, especially not with Veronica hanging off of his arm like some kind of trophy wife. I don’t want to put myself through that pain again.

But… my mother and Ezra are right. If Arthur is truly neglecting his duties, it could have serious consequences for the entire country. For ordinary people who have done nothing wrong, who don’t deserve to suffer because their leader is having some kind of… episode.

For a short time, I was supposed to be Ordan’s Luna. It was my duty to care for the people of Ordan, and although perhaps I didn’t do the best job I could have at times, I did care.

I still care.

“Fine,” I finally grit out. “I’ll talk to him. Once. For Ordan’s sake. Not for him.”

Relief washes over Ezra’s face. “Thank you. We should go now, before he leaves the office for the day.”

The drive to Arthur’s Presidential office flies by faster than I expected, partially thanks to Ezra’s risky driving. By the time we pull into the parking garage, my stomach is a bundle of nerves and I feel like I might be sick—whether from anxiety over having to see Arthur again or motion sickness from the car ride, I’m not entirely sure. Maybe both.

“You should know,” Ezra says as he finds a parking space, “Veronica will likely be there. She’s been around almost constantly lately. She’s… very attached to him.”

My jaw clenches. “Well, they are engaged. She has a right to be there.”

Ezra shoots me a glance. “You don’t believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” I reply. “It’s the reality we’re living in now.”

We park and make our way to the elevator. Ezra uses his keycard to access the presidential floor—apparently he still has clearance, despite being fired. The guards nod at him respectfully as we pass, and I wonder if they even know he’s no longer the Beta.

A moment later, the elevator doors slide open, and we step into the brightly-lit corridor leading to Arthur’s office. It’s just as opulent as I remember, although… even more so now. There’s all new artwork lining the walls, new sculptures sitting on pedestals, and plush chairs sitting outside every office.

The place looks an awful lot like a certain pianist’s penthouse.

I glance at Ezra with raised eyebrows as he leads me toward Arthur’s office. He nods in response, confirming my suspicions.

Veronica has access to Arthur’s checkbook.

Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for seeing her. I’d rather see Selina at this point than her, which is both hilarious and sad, but unfortunately I have to. For Ordan’s sake. For Miles’ sake.

Ezra knocks on the frosted glass door. Through the glass, I can see a large mass around where Arthur’s desk should be; a moment later, the mass separates, turning into two people’s silhouettes. My stomach clenches. It seems we interrupted a makeout session.

Finally, a muffled “Come in” calls out. Ezra nods to me, and I push open the door.

The office, just like the rest of the building, seems to have been completely revamped. Arthur’s glass-topped desk has been replaced with a rich mahogany. The chairs are made of supple, shining leather. There’s an enormous imported rug sprawled across the floor, and a huge abstract painting hanging on the one wall space that isn’t completely windows.

The painting isn’t mine.

I don’t know where the painting of us on horseback is. And the thought of where it might be now is so jarring that I almost turn back.

But there, perched on the edge of his desk, is Veronica. She’s wearing a tight red dress, her golden hair cascading over one shoulder. When she sees me, her lips curve into a smile—only this time, now that she has what she wants, there’s no facade of kindness over it.

Now, it’s purely serpentine.

“Iris,” she coos, curling her arm around Arthur’s shoulder possessively. “What an unexpected surprise.”

As she speaks, she deliberately turns her hand, making sure the citrine ring on her finger catches the light. My ring. The one that should have been mine.

And suddenly, she’s there again. The she-wolf, blood dripping from her jaws, a red snake hanging limp from her mouth. She’s standing behind them, fangs bared, ears pinned back flat.

“Destroy her,” she hisses.