Chapter 212

Asher

The storm outside the palace hadn’t stopped for days. Rain lashed against the tall windows, each gust of wind rattling the panes as though the world itself was impatient for change.

I stood at the head of the long oak table, watching the council gather one by one. The elders, the pack Alphas, the bureaucrats who’d once trembled at my brother’s shadow.

Tonight, they trembled at mine.

“Lord Regent,” Jackson greeted carefully, the title still tasting foreign and on his tongue. “You called this assembly without notice.”

“I called it because notice is a luxury,” I replied smoothly, gesturing for him to sit. “Our King has been absent for years, and not this most recent ghost hunt, but he has let his duties go since the death of his first mate and Queen.”

A low murmur rippled through the room. I let it build, feeding on the sound before I cut through it like a hot blade through butter.

“You’ve all heard the rumors,” I continued. “The King was last seen north of the mountain border, chasing a Luna who no longer exists. He’s abandoned the capital, the throne, the council…everything.”

Jackson frowned. “Rumor is not law, my lord. Until His Majesty returns –”

“If he returns,” I corrected softly. “And if he does, what will he return to? Famine? Uprising? The Packs losing faith in their King’s sanity?”

The youngest Alpha, a nervous pup from the eastern territory, cleared his throat. “You speak as though His Majesty has… lost control.”

I smiled faintly. “Has he not? He hunts shadows in the snow, attacks any who approach him, leaves blood and ruin wherever he goes. Even now, we have reports of Rogue bodies found along the northern passes torn apart. His handiwork, without a doubt.”

The lie rolled off my tongue so easily I almost believed it. The handiwork was mine when my Rogues failed in their duty.

A few elders exchanged uneasy glances. I could smell their fear, that thin, metallic tang that told me they were ready for my next move.

“Grief can drive even the strongest mind astray,” I said, lowering my voice to sound softer, almost mournful. “I loved him, too, he’s my blood. But mourning has become madness. And madness cannot lead us in strength.”

The words hung heavy in the air. The council fell quiet.

Jackson spoke again, his tone brittle. “You speak treason, to suggest… removal?”

“No,” I said quickly, feigning shock. “Never. But an extension of the Regency. A temporary oversight until His Majesty returns to himself, not merely his physical return. Someone to steady the realm in his absence is needed.”

“And that someone,” Jackson said slowly, “would be who?”

I inclined my head with practiced humility. “I offer myself, if the council wills it.”

It was almost beautiful, watching the hesitation shift to relief. They wanted to be told what to do, to hand the burden of leadership to someone else and rest easy at night.

“Forgive my bluntness, my lord,” another Elder said from the far end of the table. “But without the King’s approval…”

“He’s already given it,” I said smoothly, drawing a folded parchment from my coat. “His seal arrived this morning.”

Jackson’s eyes widened. “You have word from the King?”

I let the council see the glint of gold wax, the familiar imprint of Damon’s sigil. “A decree, appointing me to act in his stead until he is deemed fit to return. His handwriting, his mark.”

The murmurs rose again, louder this time. I saw the relief, the surrender, the desperate hope that Damon hadn’t abandoned them after all.

One by one, they nodded. Thorne first. Then Eldren, reluctantly. Then the rest. The sound of chairs scraping against stone as they stood to bow was music to my ears.

Jackson was the last, and only reluctantly did he stand.

“Then it’s decided,” I said, letting warmth creep back into my tone. “I will serve the realm, together with your council, until the King Damon is fit to lead again.”

The storm thundered outside, shaking the glass. For a brief moment, lightning flared, illuminating their faces: some uncertain, many frightened, even more of them willing.

When the flash faded, I smiled. “Let the records show,” I said softly, “that the council stands united.”

Pen scratched across parchment, sealing the motion. And just like that, the throne was mine.

“May the Goddess guide His Majesty back us in time,” I said aloud, my voice the perfect mix of reverence and regret.

But in my chest, the words burned with something else entirely. “Long live the King.”

And may he never come home.

I returned to my chambers and set down the council’s signatures still drying on the decree beside me. One sheet of parchment, years of maneuvering, and the realm was finally mine.

I poured a glass of wine, the dark red liquid catching the firelight, and leaned over the desk littered with maps and correspondence. The ink on my fingers stained the rim of the cup, a mark I didn’t bother to wipe away.

It wasn’t blood, but it would do.

The council thought I’d saved them tonight. That I’d stepped forward out of duty and love for my ‘cousin’.

Fools. Duty was for martyrs and love was for the dead.

The realm didn’t need a grieving King. It needed someone who understood that mercy and stability were luxuries built on fear.

I picked up the first of many letters waiting for my seal.

This one promised land to the southern Alpha in exchange for loyalty. The next offered a marriage alliance between a minor noble and a general’s daughter.

The wax indented beneath my ring as I pressed my seal into it. Every promise was a debt I would soon collect.

The door opened quietly after a quick knock. My agent entered, a shadow of a man who spoke only when spoken to. His cloak was soaked, boots leaving dark tracks on the floor.

“Reports from the northern border, Your Majesty,” he said, placing a bundle of scrolls on my desk. “Our informants confirm the Damon was seen near the Silver Glen. With a woman.”

The corner of my mouth twitched. “Alive, then.”

“For now.”

I reached for the reports, scanning the neat, coded handwriting. Healers, children, the small settlement was peaceful and isolated. It sounded nothing like Damon’s world.

So that’s what had become of Lila.

“How poetic,” I murmured. “He found a domestic life to his liking.”

I read the report one more time. “Send the trackers,” I said finally. “Quietly. I want no trace of this order anywhere near the council.”

My agent inclined his head. “And if they find him?”

I poured the last of the wine into my cup and looked into it, dark and bottomless as my ambition. “Make sure he doesn’t return.”

“Yes, my King.”

He slipped out without another sound, leaving only the smell of rain and steel in his wake.

When the door closed, I leaned back in the chair, exhaling slowly. The fire popped and spat, throwing sparks across the room. They danced in the air, twisting into shapes that almost looked like wolves.

“You were always too weak to truly rule,” I muttered to the flames. “Too blinded by love.”

I picked up one of the forged decrees, running my finger along the edge until it sliced skin. A thin line of red welled up, bright against the parchment. I pressed my thumb to the wound, smearing blood over Damon’s seal.

“There,” I whispered. “Now it’s perfect.”

Outside, lightning cracked across the sky, the thunder answered with haste. I crumpled the page into a tight ball and tossed it into the fire.

“Long live the King.”

The wax hissed, melting fast.