CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WINTER
Winter’s chest tightened as he watched the carriage leave with Sterling and Cyan.
They were in good hands, but he still didn’t relish the thought that he wouldn’t be there if something went wrong.
She had her bow, of course, which would only help in certain circumstances.
What if his father caught wind of them leaving and sent a dozen wolves to drag them back?
She and Lijah would only be able to take out so many…
“They’ll be all right,” Amalli said softly. “I can feel it.”
The prince scoffed. Feelings didn’t mean a damn thing.
“Go back inside and pretend Cyan never left. Bring him food and sing to him, or whatever you usually did.” Nothing could be suspicious if his father had a spy come sniffing around.
There was already a chance that someone saw Cyan enter the carriage, but if they’d gotten lucky, it would buy him some time.
“Of course,” she agreed.
Winter shifted into wolf form and took off toward the castle until he reached the back of his father’s home to dress in the pair of trousers he’d left within one of the bushes.
He didn’t go through the kitchen entrance, where meals were being prepared, but a servant’s door used for guards and deliveries.
The prince sauntered the castle halls, relaxing his facial expression into the mask he wore so well to keep anyone from seeing that anything was amiss.
His mother was the one who’d taught him to do that at an early age, yet he’d used it not only against his father, but everyone.
Winter’s steps remained unhurried, his hands tucked leisurely into the pockets of his trousers.
Other wolves ventured about the castle to get started on breakfast or back to their rooms after a night spent working up a sweat in someone’s bed.
The prince tucked away the memory of him and Sterling in the carriage, his cock buried in her sweet heat as he fucked her from behind.
He already missed her, but a wicked prince needed to stay focused on the vicious task at hand.
Winter entered his room without acknowledging anyone, the standard Prince of Carnage way.
After a quick bath and change of clothing, he wolfed down the sausage and peppers a servant had left in his room.
He then sat on his bed, back against the headboard, and carved pieces from a block of wood as he waited for time to pass.
The king had to die, and Winter had no problem being the one to end the bastard’s life, yet he had to be careful.
Yes, he was wicked. Yes, he would become the king as soon as his father was gone.
But, if he wanted the pack to follow him without the hassle of potential coups, it couldn’t look like patricide.
There were too many who were loyal to his father.
Most out of fear, which gave Winter an upper hand.
After a long while, he lifted the pillow Sterling had slept on the night before and inhaled her lingering apple scent.
Soon, she and Cyan would be out of Bloodstorm and settled in the Shaderain Court until he could safely bring them home again.
If he could bring them home. There was a chance the prince would die instead of the king.
By now, Winter was certain his father was in the dining hall for his late breakfast. Valco was a creature of habit when it came to his daily routine, which meant he’d left his room ten minutes ago and would be there for at least half an hour.
Winter leapt from the mattress and stalked through the halls to his father’s bedchamber. The guard stationed outside didn’t move to stop him as he passed. He could pose a problem when Valco returned, but if Winter killed him now, suspicion would consume his father.
“Oh,” piped a maid, Elvina. “Good morning, Your Highness.”
He narrowed his eyes—she wasn’t part of his plan. “What are you doing here?”
She adjusted the silk pillows on the bed, her cheeks turning red. “I prepare the king’s bath every morning while he’s at breakfast.”
The soft sound of running water echoed in the attached bathing chamber. “Looks like you’re finished. Get out,” he drawled, his tone a warning.
She curtsied hastily and darted from the room. Winter sifted through the papers scattered across his father’s desk. Correspondence, ciphers, all the usual things he’d expect to see. Including a map with tiny marks displaying all of the towns he and Sterling were meant to travel to.
They were supposed to begin in the north and circle back to the castle, visiting the smaller towns between them for a night or two of rest. But the red line trailing between two of those smaller settlements was new.
It hadn’t been there when his father detailed the journey to him.
He lifted the map and studied the marking closer.
The area was one of the more hazardous parts of the road in the center of two mountains, full of jagged rocks and caves where outcast wolves lived.
He scowled and tucked the map back where he’d found it. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter because he and Sterling wouldn’t be partaking in this spectacle.
“Your Majesty,” greeted the guard outside the door.
Fuck. The king was back earlier than expected. Winter slinked into the bathing chamber where the water neared the top of the clawfoot tub. Before he had a chance to turn off the faucet, two voices filled the bedroom.
“Where did the little fucker go?” Valco demanded.
“That’s still being looked into,” said the second voice. Reve had been one of Caston’s assistants. And, since Caston was now dead, Reve must’ve already replaced him. “Your spies say he returned alone.”
“Good.” The scratch of a quill on parchment filled the short silence. “Once Red Riding Hood dies in the valley, my son’s time will come. I should’ve killed him when he was still inside his mother’s womb.” Rage slammed into Winter at the confession, but he held his wolf back.
There was a pause. “You’re … going to have Prince Winter killed as well?”
“I have no use for offspring who don’t obey. Berriston will be of age soon, and he’s still an heir, bastard son or not. Once Winter’s death is confirmed, he’ll be brought here and do as he’s told. Now go.”
Berriston? He was barely sixteen. With all the women his father fucked, it was no surprise the prince had a few half-siblings, but none of them were ever going to be accepted by the pack.
Their mothers were either human or common and no real threat to a true-born heir.
His father had lost his mind if he expected anyone to allow this insignificant child to inherit the court.
The door opened and shut just as the water spilled over the edge of the tub. “Elvina,” the king growled and stomped into the bathing chamber, turning off the valve. “What the fuck, you little whore!”
“I sent her away,” the prince said, speaking slowly.
Valco straightened, his shoulders rigid. “Winter,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
“Well, I’m certainly not your bastard son.” He pushed away from the wall and prowled toward the king. “But don’t worry. I’ll pay him a visit on your behalf.”
The king moved fast, leaping at Winter, slamming him backward into the wall. His head cracked against the wood and his vision went black for a moment. The smell of eggs and sausage permeated from his father’s breath as he leaned in, pressing his forearm against the prince’s throat.
Winter’s wolf snarled and growled inside him before ripping free.
His bones snapped and transformed, his skin giving way to a thick coat of black fur.
The force of the transformation knocked his father back and his boot slipped in the water.
He fell, twisting to try and catch himself, and cracked the side of his head against the edge of the tub.
Winter’s wolf loomed over him, lips pulled back in a sneer, but the king didn’t move as his blood oozed into the spilled water.
The prince lowered his head tentatively until he could hear the thump thump thump of Valco’s heart. If only killing him would’ve been so simple… The king was a stubborn prick.
A low, angry growl slipped from Winter’s lips as his wolf eyed the vulnerable prey before them.
“Your Majesty?” the guard called through the door. Two footfalls sounded from the bedroom. “Is everything all right?”
Nosy fuck. The guard had to die before he alerted anyone. Winter’s wolf’s nails clicked against the floor as he barreled from the bathing chamber and bounded straight at the guard.
“Gua—” he screamed and tried to bolt through the door, closing himself into the hallway. But Winter was faster. His teeth dug into the guard’s neck, and he dragged him inside. Tendons tore, flesh giving way. The guard writhed as Winter pinned him to the floor until he fell still.
Winter released the nuisance and shifted out of his wolf form, slamming the door. “Sorry about that,” he purred to the corpse, and stepped over him. He lifted the parchment his father had written on before the tub overflowed and scanned the lines.
Make it look like the prince killed her. Bring him back to me alive and in shackles.
That bastard planned to make it look as if Winter murdered his mate. He clenched his jaw and balled the paper in his hand while returning to the bathing chamber. His father was on his hands and knees, limbs shaking in his attempt to stand.
“You’re awake,” Winter cooed. He paused for a moment to revel in his struggle, then tossed the parchment at him. “Care to explain this?”
The king let out a laugh that sounded more like a croak. “You’ll hang in front of the bitch’s village for killing her. Cement my commitment to uniting the court.”
“Will I?” Winter said slowly as the king finally managed to sit upright on his heels. “Weak,” he snapped, then kicked Valco in the face.
The king fell sideways with a pained groan. “This is…” He wheezed. “Treason.”
“Treason is now whatever I say it is,” Winter promised. He grabbed the king by the back of his embroidered jacket. “When you fucked Talia, I still did your bidding and played the good son.”
“You were never a good son,” he roared, striving to pry Winter off him.
“If you say so. But what kind of father betrays their offspring at every turn, hmm?” Winter gave a mirthless laugh. “I suppose the same one that plans to murder them.”
“You’re a fucking disgrace,” Valco spat.
Winter cracked his father’s face into the porcelain just hard enough to shut him up. “I am what you made me.”
The king’s body shifted, his bones contorting to defend himself against Winter.
No, you don’t, the prince thought as he slammed the king’s head into the tiled ground, knocking him unconscious again before his father’s wolf fully emerged.
He wasn’t a fool—his father’s wolf was much larger than his own, which was why he’d planned to use the element of surprise to get the job done.
Winter hauled the body up and leaned the king’s torso over the edge of the tub.
He shoved his head into the water and held it there as bubbles drifted toward the surface.
A few involuntary twitches of his father’s body made the prince tense, half expecting the wolf to emerge in a final, desperate attempt to save Valco, and his grip tightened.
Once all movement ceased, Winter continued to submerge his father, regardless that no life remained within the king. For his mother.
He released him and watched as the king’s body fell to the bloody tile. Not an ounce of regret arose, only … relief.
Winter gathered his father’s clean trousers from the counter since his own clothing was torn on the floor from when he’d shifted. He stood over the body, dragging in deep breaths. He was king now. He was free.
A smile crept over his face. This was the moment he’d been waiting years for. His father, dead at his feet.
“Winter?” a hushed voice filtered into the room.
He looked over his shoulder at Sterling, meeting her wide eyes, and he arched a brow. “I solved our problem. But enlighten me—why are you here and not in Shaderain?”