I stride through the castle’s imposing doors, my footsteps ringing out against the stone floors with a sense of grim purpose. I don’t slow my pace, don’t pause to admire the grandeur of the vaulted halls and ornate tapestries adorning the walls. My only thought is to deal with this insurrection from the lords as swiftly and decisively as possible so I can return my focus to what truly matters – scouring every inch of the kingdom for Amelia until she is safely back in my arms.
The guards flanking the throne room’s entrance snap to attention as I approach, their movements crisp and precise as they pull the heavy wooden doors open in deference to my presence. As I cross the threshold, the low murmur of conversation dies away, an expectant hush falling over the assembled nobility like a shroud.
I don’t spare them more than a cursory glance as I make my way to the center of the throne room. Their faces are a blur of simpering obsequience as they rise as one and bow in greeting, a chorus of respectful “Your Majesty” filling the tense silence. With a curt nod, I motion for them to retake their seats, my gaze sweeping over the gathered lords as I wait to see who among them has been chosen to voice their dissent.
The sound of approaching footsteps has me tensing, my eyes narrowing as I track the movement. A figure separates itself from the crowd, striding forward. As he draws closer, stepping into a shaft of pale morning light filtering in through the high windows, I feel a spark of rage ignites low in my belly. Lord Easterlin.
“Your Majesty,” He intones with an elegant bow, his expression one of polite deference. But I can see the glint of smug satisfaction lurking in the depths of his cold, reptilian eyes.
“Lord Easterlin,” I reply, unable to keep the surprise from coloring my tone as I take in his presence. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
A sly smile curves his thin lips as he straightens, holding my gaze with an intensity that has my hackles rising. “And why is that, Your Majesty?” he asks, his voice a study in innocence that only serves to further stoke the flames of my simmering temper.
I can feel the anger welling up inside me like a tidal wave, my jaw clenching hard enough to grind my teeth to dust as I struggle to maintain my composure. This bastard, this sadistic snake in the grass, he knows exactly why his presence here fills me with such visceral loathing. Because if not for the ancient laws binding my hands, laws put in place by my forefathers to prevent tyrants from abusing their power, he would be rotting in the deepest, darkest cell of my dungeons right now.
Instead, he stands before me untouchable, his smug arrogance a slap in the face as he no doubt revels in the knowledge that I cannot move against him. Not until I have irrefutable proof that he’s disobeyed my direct orders and harmed Amelia. Only then will I be able to strip him of his titles and holdings to unleash the full force of my fury upon him.
But until that moment, he is protected by the very laws meant to safeguard my people from a despot’s wrath. And the fact that he’s using them as a shield, hiding behind their sanctity while plotting gods know what atrocities, fills me with a rage so potent it’s a physical force, burning through my veins like wildfire.
“You seem angry, Your Majesty,” Easterlin observes, his tone one of feigned concern as he regards me with those soulless, unblinking eyes. “Is something wrong?”
The mocking lilt to his words is like a match to dry kindling, igniting the powder keg of my temper. I can feel the beast inside me stirring, a bestial snarl building in the back of my throat as my hands curl into white-knuckled fists at my sides. It would be so easy, so deliciously satisfying, to reach out and tear that smug expression from his face, to feel his fragile bones crumbling beneath my grip as I-
“You’ll get him one day,” Eric’s low murmur in my ear cuts through the crimson haze of fury clouding my vision. “But that day isn’t today, my friend.”
I grit my teeth hard enough to crack enamel, my nails biting bloody crescents into my palms as I wrestle my darker impulses back under control. Eric is right, damn him. As much as I might wish otherwise, as much as every instinct screams at me to make Easterlin pay for the unspeakable crimes I know he’s committed, I cannot act. Not yet.
“Nothing is wrong, thank you for asking, Lord Easterlin,” I manage to grind out through a jaw so tightly clenched the words emerge as little more than a gravelly rasp.
Turning on my heel, I stalk towards the raised dais at the far end of the hall, each footfall feeling heavier than the last beneath the weight of my barely restrained fury. I can feel Easterlin’s eyes boring into my back and can practically taste the smug satisfaction rolling off him in waves as he basks in this small victory.
But I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, of seeing how deeply his barbs have cut. Squaring my shoulders, I take my place on the ornately carved throne, my uncle and Eric arraying themselves at my right and left hands, respectively. For a brief moment, my gaze is drawn to the empty seat beside Eric, a smaller throne clearly meant for a queen to occupy.
An image flashes through my mind unbidden – Amelia seated there, her beautiful face alight with joy and love as she gazes up at me.
I blink hard, forcing the fantasy away with a violent shake of my head. Where in the seven hells did that come from? Yes, things between us have changed, but to imagine her as my queen, beaming at me with such open adoration… it’s something I’ve never considered before.
Shoving those dangerous thoughts aside for the moment, I turn my attention back to the matter at hand. Callum has taken up a position in the center of the room, the other lords arrayed in their seats on either side of the aisle, their expressions ranging from open hostility to grudging neutrality. With a subtle clearing of his throat, Callum commands the room’s focus.
“There are some… rumors circulating of late, Your Majesty,” he begins, his tone one of careful neutrality that doesn’t fool me for an instant. “Rumors that we, your loyal council, fear may be more than just idle gossip.”
“You called an emergency meeting because of a rumor?” I ask, unable to keep the mocking edge from my voice as I arch a single brow in his direction.
To his credit, Callum doesn’t rise to the bait, though I can see his jaw tighten fractionally at the implied insult. “Of course not, my king,” he replies smoothly, spreading his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “We simply fear this particular rumor, if proven true, could have… far-reaching consequences for the stability of the kingdom. Consequences we would be remiss in our duty not to address.”
A muscle ticks in my cheek as I bite back the scathing retort hovering on the tip of my tongue. He’s baiting me, trying to goad me into an emotional outburst that he can then use to further undermine my authority in the eyes of the other lords. Well, two can play at that game.
“Is that so?” I ask, letting my voice take on a bored, almost indifferent tone as I lean back in my throne and regard him with an air of faint amusement. “By all means then, Lord Easterlin, enlighten us. What is this rumor you find so troubling?”
For a moment, I think he’s going to demur to try and draw out the suspense a bit longer. But then that sly, serpentine smile curves his lips once more as he meets my gaze head-on, his following words dropping like a lead weight into the tense silence.
“The rumor is… that you have fallen in love with the werewolf princess.”
A startled bark of laughter bursts from my lips before I can stop it, the unexpected absurdity of his accusation catching me completely off guard. I can feel the weight of dozens of eyes upon me as I throw my head back, giving full vent to my mirth as gales of harsh, mocking laughter roll through the throne room.
“It’s funny, I know, Your Majesty,” Easterlin says with a slight chuckle of his own, though his eyes remain as cold and devoid of humor as a snake’s. “Preposterous, even. But-”
I cut off my laughter abruptly, fixing him with a look that could flay the flesh from bone as I wait for him to continue digging his own grave.
“But what, Lord Easterlin?” I ask, my voice deceptively mild despite the steel underpinning each word.
He doesn’t flinch from my stare, doesn’t so much as blink as he delivers the killing blow with a casualness that turns my stomach.
“But we have reason to believe it may be true.”
A tense silence falls over the throne room, the weight of Easterlin’s words seeming to suck all the air from the vast room. I can feel the eyes of the other lords boring into me, their judgment and condemnation a physical force pressing down on my shoulders.
But I don’t let it show, don’t give them an inch. Settling back against the carved iron throne, I regard Easterlin with an expression of faint curiosity, as if he’s just presented me with a mildly interesting puzzle to solve rather than leveled an accusation that could see me deposed.
“Is that so?” I murmur, letting the words hang in the charged air between us as I take my time formulating a response.
When I continue, my tone is one of polite interest, utterly devoid of the roiling tempest of emotions churning just beneath the surface. “And what, pray tell, could have possibly led you to such an… interesting conclusion?”
Easterlin’s smile widens a fraction, his eyes glittering with a sickening sort of glee as he senses the trap closing around me. “Why, your actions regarding the princess, of course,” he replies, spreading his hands in a magnanimous gesture. “She failed to provide the information you sought, the key to locating and eliminating the last remnants of the werewolf Royal bloodline. Yet instead of punishing her for her disobedience, you kept her close, afforded her a level of protection and privilege unbefitting a prisoner.”
He pauses, letting his words sink in as he sweeps his gaze over the assembled lords, ensuring he has their undivided attention before continuing.
“And now, she has once again gone missing under… mysterious circumstances,” he says, putting a subtle emphasis on that last phrase that has my hackles rising. “Yet instead of washing your hands of her, of accepting that she was nothing more than a means to an end that has outlived its usefulness, you have mobilized the entirety of your forces to scour every inch of the kingdom in search of her.”
Leaning forward, he pins me with a look of feigned concern, his following words soft but carrying the weight of damnation.
“We all know the princess herself is useless to you now, Your Majesty. So tell me, what other reason could you possibly have for such… excessive efforts, if not the misguided affections of a lovesick fool?”
The throne room has gone deathly still, every eye trained on me as I consider how best to respond to Easterlin’s thinly-veiled accusations. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, taste the anticipation in the air like a living thing as the lords wait with bated breath to see how their king will react.