Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Lucian
I stride through the palace hallway, my boots hitting the marble with more force than necessary. This whole cross-mating decree was a waste of time. My father should have just sent me to deal with the packs that have been siding with Draven.
It would have been wiser to make an example of one pack. The others would have fallen in line. However, King Alaric is a merciful king. At least, that’s how my father likes to portray himself. He’s a cunning man, shrewd to the bone, which is why he’s still ruling at the age he is.
The throne should have come to me two years ago, but he can’t seem to let go of the power.
“Prince Lucian!”
Seth Rowan, my childhood friend and one of my right-hand men, is hurrying toward me, his red hair in disarray. He’s hobbling, most likely due to the sparring session we had this morning where I nearly broke his leg. It’s his fault for being cocky. I refuse to feel guilty.
I slow down but don’t stop walking, and then I feel his hand slam onto my shoulder as he wheezes, “Are you deaf, Lucian? I’ve been calling your name!”
“I heard you. You should move faster.”
His eyes narrow. “I would if you didn’t practically dislocate my leg this morning. Healer Erin says it’s going to take two days to heal. Thanks for nothing.”
I come to a halt. “Suck it up. You have to train the recruits this evening.”
Seth is also the commander of one platoon of the army. As the crown prince of the Wolf Kingdom, I am commander-in-chief of the entire army; there are four platoons in total, and Seth and Leon, my other right hand man, oversee two of them.
“I don’t think the training session will be happening.”
The look on my longtime friend’s face has me frowning. “What do you mean?”
“Your father’s looking for you. And he’s not happy.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. My father is never happy with me. The two of us are always clashing. “Leon’s waiting for me in my office with some information. I’ll come after—”
“I wouldn’t put off the King. He’s pissed.”
I sigh. “Alright. You go meet Leon. I’ll see what Father wants.”
I make my way to the throne room, my irritation growing with each step. The massive double doors are flanked by two guards who immediately straighten when they see me approaching.
“Is he in there?” I ask, not slowing my pace.
“Yes, Your Highness,” one of them replies, quickly moving to open the doors.
The throne room is as imposing as always, with its soaring ceilings, marble columns, and stained-glass windows that cast colorful patterns across the polished floor.
At the far end, King Alaric sits on the ancient wolf throne, carved from a single piece of obsidian centuries ago.
Even from this distance, I can see the tension in his shoulders.
Despite his age, my father is still an imposing figure.
His silver hair is pulled back severely, and his gray eyes—so similar to my own cobalt blue ones—track my movement as I approach.
While my hair is jet black like my mother’s, his has long since turned the color of steel.
Age has weakened his body, but his mind remains sharp as ever.
The power he wields no longer comes from physical strength but from decades of cunning and political maneuvering.
“You summoned me,” I say, stopping at the appropriate distance and offering the minimal bow required by protocol.
“Sit,” he commands, gesturing to one of the chairs positioned before the throne.
I don’t move. “I prefer to stand.”
His jaw tightens, the effort of maintaining his authoritative posture evident in the slight tremor of his hands. “I said, sit.”
“And I said, I prefer to stand.” My voice remains level, but I can feel my own temper starting to simmer. “What do you want, Father?”
King Alaric rises from the throne slowly, more carefully than he used to, his movements betraying the arthritis that plagues his joints. When he speaks, his voice still carries the weight of absolute authority, even if his body no longer can. “We have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“The kind that makes me look weak in front of the packs.” His eyes flash with anger. “The female from the Silver Stone Pack never arrived at Blue Crest territory.”
I frown. “What do you mean she never arrived? The exchange was supposed to happen today.”
“According to Alpha Gareth, she ran away.” Father’s voice drips with disgust as he grips the arm of his throne for support. “Like a coward. Out of fear, he claims.”
“So, send another female from his pack. Problem solved.”
“It’s not that simple!” The King’s voice echoes through the throne room, though it lacks the booming quality it once had. “The decree specifically called for the strongest female from each pack. Not just any female—the most powerful one they had to offer.”
I feel my frown deepen. “And?”
“And Alpha Gareth claims their strongest female—this woman who ran—was their most gifted healer. The most magically powerful female in his entire pack.” Father’s hands clench into fists, the knuckles turning white with the effort.
“Alpha Darius of the Blue Crest Pack is furious. He’s calling it an insult to his pack’s honor.
He was promised their most valuable asset, and instead, he got nothing. ”
“Then tell Alpha Gareth to find her and deliver her as promised.”
“Don’t you understand?” Father takes a step forward, leaning heavily on his walking stick that he tries to disguise as a ceremonial staff.
“They’ve tried. She’s gone. And you can’t just substitute one pack member for another when we’re talking about their strongest female.
The entire point of the cross-mating decree was to foster alliances through the exchange of each pack’s most powerful asset.
A secondary female won’t do—it would be seen as an insult, as if they’re giving Blue Crest their scraps instead of their best.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “So, punish Gareth for failing to control his most important pack member.”
“I intend to. But first, I want that female found.” Father begins pacing, his movements slower and more deliberate than they once were.
“Alpha Gareth claims she has vanished completely. Run off into the Wyvern Woods, most likely dead by now. But that’s not the point, Lucian.
The point is that my decree has been defied. ”
A cold sensation settles in my stomach. “What are you saying?”
Father stops pacing and fixes me with a stare that could cut glass, though he needs to brace himself against a marble column to do it. “I’m saying you’re going to track down their strongest female and bring her back here. To me.”
“Absolutely not.” The words come out sharper than I intended. “I have more important things to do than chase after some scatterbrained woman who got cold feet.”
“More important than following your king’s direct orders?”
“More important than wasting my time on something that should be handled by Alpha Gareth’s own trackers.” I step closer to the old man, my own anger rising. “There are murmurs of uprising among the packs siding with Draven. Real threats to the kingdom that need to be addressed.”
“The Draven situation is under control.”
“Is it?” I challenge him. “Because last I checked, three more packs have declared their allegiance to his faction. They’re growing bolder, Father. More organized. This is not the time to be distracted by runaway brides.”
King Alaric’s expression darkens dangerously, though the effort of maintaining his intimidating presence shows in the slight shake of his frame. “As long as I sit on this throne, you will do as I command. This is not a request, Lucian. It’s an order.”
“This is ridiculous—”
“This is about respect!” He raises his voice as much as his aging lungs allow, the sound reverberating through the chamber despite being less powerful than it once was.
“About showing every pack in this kingdom that defying the crown has consequences. If word spreads that the strongest pack members can ignore royal decrees without punishment, how long before the others start questioning everything I say?”
I clench my fists, fighting the urge to say something I’ll regret. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. One frightened woman does not constitute a threat to royal authority.”
“One frightened woman who happens to be the most powerful female in her entire pack,” Father corrects, his breathing slightly labored from the exertion of the argument.
“One frightened woman who made me look weak in front of Alpha Darius. One frightened woman who has caused a diplomatic incident between two packs because she was too cowardly to fulfill her duty.”
“Then, send someone else to find her. Send a tracker. Send a—”
“I’m sending you.” His voice cuts through my protests smoothly, but he still has to steady himself against the throne.
“Because this requires someone with authority. Someone who can make it clear that defying the crown is unacceptable, especially when that defiance comes from someone who should have been setting an example for the rest of her pack.”
“I refuse.”
For a moment, the throne room falls completely silent. When Father speaks again, his voice is deadly quiet, conserving what energy he has left.
“You refuse?”
“I have more pressing matters that require my attention. The military needs—”
“The military will survive without you for a few days.” He slowly lowers himself back onto his throne, the movement careful and calculated. “But your position as heir may not survive continued insubordination.”
The threat is too real. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” My father’s smile is cold and calculating even as his hands shake slightly with weariness. “I’ve been patient with your attitude, Lucian. Your constant questioning of my decisions, your barely concealed contempt for my methods. But I am still your king, and you are still my subject.”
“I’m your son—”
“You’re my heir. And heirs who can’t follow orders don’t remain heirs for long.”