Chapter 207

Asher

I loved the Council Chamber. It was full of the scent of old wood and the faint tang of nervous sweat under the stink of authority. Yes, I’d always liked this room.

The King’s chair sat empty at the head of the long table, its shadow stretching toward me in a way that I took as an invitation. For months, that emptiness had been the gossip of the Court. Damon had left chasing after Lila in the north, and now, his kingdom waited for someone to fill the void.

It would be me, but the art of control lies in patience.

“Gentlemen,” I said finally, my voice echoing off the high ceilings, smooth and confident. “We’ve all felt the strain of my cousin, His Majesty’s… extended absence.”

Heads lifted, wary. Even now, no one wanted to speak so openly about Damon. The Lycan King’s name still carried some weight in this chamber.

I let the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable. Then, with a sigh soft enough to sound genuine, I continued. “The King’s grief was once our own. We mourned with him when he lost his Luna… twice. But existing only in mourning cannot rule a Kingdom.”

A low murmur rippled through the table. Jackson frowned. “Careful, my lord. Those are dangerous words.”

“Dangerous only if they’re untrue,” I replied gently. “We’ve all seen the signs: his erratic disappearances, his disregard for counsel, his fixation on the dead. He’s left the realm vulnerable, and the wolves beyond our borders are not blind.”

A few councilors exchanged glances. The youngest cleared his throat. “If the King has truly lost his way, what would you suggest?”

Ah. There it was. The opening I have been waiting for.

“I suggest nothing,” I said, spreading my hands in mock humility. “I am loyal to the crown, not the man who wears it, regardless of our blood connection. But the people… the people need stability. If we present a united front, and someone to guide the council until His Majesty returns, we may yet preserve order.”

Jackson’s gaze sharpened. “You mean you.”

I smiled, careful and practiced at playing the game. “I mean us. I would only act as caretaker. Temporarily.”

I knew by the narrowing of Jackson’s eyes, he knew I meant to keep the seat of control. He would become a problem, but that was for later.

Another voice spoke up, “And if the King doesn’t return?”

I folded my hands. “Then the Moon herself has spoken. A kingdom cannot wait forever.”

The murmurs grew louder, the scent of fear sweetening the air. I could almost taste it, the mix of uncertainty and relief mingling together.

They wanted someone to tell them what to believe. I would give them that.

“I will draft a decree,” an Elder said slowly, reluctant but resigned. “Temporary oversight until the King’s safe return.”

“Of course,” I said, inclining my head. “For the good of the realm.”

They nodded one by one, the decision spreading through the room. No one noticed the flicker of satisfaction I couldn’t quite hide.

When the meeting adjourned, I lingered as the others shuffled out. I walked to the head of the table and let my fingertips brush the back of Damon’s empty chair. Cold, solid. Waiting for me.

Unfit, I thought. That’s what they would call him soon enough. The Tyrant King who went mad without his Luna while his kingdom rotted.

“No female was ever worth this ruin,” I murmured under my breath. “And yet he burns the world for her.”

I turned, leaving the chamber. The guards bowed as I passed; no one noticed how my hands trembled; not from guilt, but anticipation.

By the time the council doors shut behind me, I already knew what came next. If the King wouldn’t return, I’d make sure he couldn’t. I started with the council, and my next stop was Damon’s chambers.

It took but a moment to walk there, and the guards let me in without an issue. It helped they were my Rogues planted into the palace.

The air here was heavy with dust and disuse. A cracked window let in a thin blade of moonlight, cutting across the floor.

I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, the latch clicking softly.

Damon’s scent still lingered faintly, wild and sharp as the beast he was. It made my jaw tighten. Two years, and even his absence still managed to fill a room.

The desk sat where it always had, immaculate in its disorder. Maps. Old letters. Half-dried ink. And at the center of it all, a single hairpin.

I reached for it slowly. The faintest glint of silver caught my eye.

I turned the pin in my fingers, the edges cutting faintly into my palm. She’d worn this once, at some event or other that blurred into the next. Back when she used to smile and talk with me.

A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “You were supposed to be mine.”

The words sounded ridiculous out loud, childish almost, but they felt good so I let them hang in the empty air.

For years, I’d told myself that aligning with her, pursuing her, was strategy – a way to claim the alliances that would have sealed my place on the throne. But I’d wanted her. The light, the fire, the calm she carried even when everything burned around her.

And Damon had crushed it. Possessed her, ruined her, and then lost her.

I thought I’d won when she vanished. I thought maybe the Gods had leveled the field at last. But she’d escaped me too, and somehow that felt worse.

The one thing I couldn’t control, her scent, had changed beyond tracking. Like the universe itself had chosen to hide her.

I closed my hand around the hairpin until it cracked, thin shards slicing into my skin. The pain grounded me.

“You ruined everything,” I whispered, to her, to Damon, to the ghosts that refused to leave me alone.

The fireless hearth stared back, dark and empty. With a flick of my wrist, I threw the broken hairpin into it. The shards scattered before they vanished into the ash.

For a moment, I just stood there, watching the space where it fell. Then I exhaled and reached for the bell pull beside the desk.

A guard entered moments later, bowing low. “My Lord?”

“Send word to the northern Rogues,” I said, keeping my tone calm, deliberate. “His Majesty’s party was sighted near the glen. I want trackers dispatched immediately.”

The guard hesitated, confused. “To… assist him, my Lord?”

I smiled faintly. “A clean death is assistance indeed. If he’s gone mad, put him down. Quietly.”

The guard blinked, then nodded, relief masking his confusion. “As you command... my King”

When he was gone, I poured a glass of wine from Damon’s untouched decanter. The scent was aged and bitter, much like how my heart felt. I raised it in the direction of the empty throne, somewhere across the palace.

“To the King,” I said softly. “And to the order his death will bring.”

I drained it in one swallow, the burn settling low and warm in my gut.

The room felt different now, somehow. I walked to the chest in the corner and ran my thumb along the carved wolf on its front.

Damon had always hated that emblem, said it reminded him too much of the beast he could become. But to me, it looked like power. Unapologetic and ready for the taking.

I sat down slowly, feeling the responsibility of it settle across my shoulders like a mantle. The crown would fit me soon enough.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and smiled for the first time in months.

“He’ll die in the snow,” I whispered. “And when he does, I’ll build something better and take back what should have been mine. The Crown… and Lila.”