Chapter 28
Wolfe
“The Scent of Lies, the Taste of Truth”
The Great Hall of Eluundai had been designed to intimidate.
Every arch, every pillar carved from black stone, every torch flickering in their iron sconces exuded that air of absolute power. A reminder that those who ruled here commanded more than just loyalty.
The black walnut wood table at the center stretched before me, its surface so polished I could see the distorted reflections of the council members seated around it like vultures circling prey.
Dreynthor sat at the head, in Father's old chair, his broad shoulders filling the ornate seat with an authority that seemed carved from stone itself.
Even at rest, there was something formidable about my uncle—the strong jaw, the weathered face that spoke of countless battles, and dark hair shot through with silver at the temples like war paint.
I sat to his right, while Alaric and Bastian occupied the seats to his left.
After quickly briefing my unit on our return, we'd slipped into the hall just as the horns announced the session's start, our entrance perfectly timed.
No one suspected we'd ever left the realm at all nor that we'd been breaking Accords left and right just hours before.
The moment my strength returned, I'd been decisive. Garrick would guard Elariya and Arielle with his life, while the rest of us would play our roles here, masks firmly in place.
The weekly High Table meeting drew the kingdom’s most dangerous players—every High House and their watchful subordinates in one room, cloaked in civility and sharpened agendas.
Before we set out to the mortal lands, I'd hoped to make it back for this meeting.
Missing this particular gathering would have been self-annihilation.
Dreynthor's cold gray eyes would have lit up with opportunity, and I'd have returned to find my authority questioned and my plans dissected by wolves.
Fortunately, we made it back with enough time to handle the essentials, and my uncle was none the wiser.
It felt incredible to be back in Galaythia, where the ancient magic in the air renewed my strength and balanced my soul, but this part—being around Dreynthor and the council members—was not something I ever looked forward to.
I could feel the weight of expectation from every face around the table. They were all unsettled and hungry for details about our campaign against the rebels, yet it wasn't me they looked to for protection. It was him. Dreynthor.
Their eyes turned to him as if he were their true savior, when I was the one actually spilling blood to protect them from this growing threat.
We'd been here for a little over an hour, listening to their grievances and fears while Dreynthor's expression remained flat and emotionless, almost disinterested as he watched them pour out their hearts, seeking his comfort.
The irony of being both indispensable and invisible wasn't lost on me.
Lord Varian, the new Galdrmester, launched into his ideas for the magical council. I stopped listening, letting his voice fade to background noise like the distant buzz of flies.
Against my better judgment, my thoughts drifted to Elariya.
I'd wanted to take her to Vyrenth Hollow myself. I'd wanted to watch wonder replace the wariness in her eyes when she saw how beautiful the place was. I’d wanted to see her face light up the way it had this morning when we'd flown together.
But this was better. Distance was safer.
I had duties here, responsibilities that mattered more than indulging dangerous fantasies about a prisoner who should mean nothing to me.
I'd gotten too close to her again this morning. Far too close and crossed another line I had no business crossing. Every instinct screamed at me to pull back the moment I realized how dangerously blurred the boundaries had become. But I'd stayed, drawn to her.
That made me a fool. Because I knew what she was and what she wasn't supposed to be to me.
Every moment spent soaring through the skies with her body pressed against my chest drew me deeper under her spell. And I wasn't eager to start being her villain again. Not when she'd looked at me with something other than fear.
I kept telling myself one more minute. One more minute. One more minute.
Those stolen minutes turned into an hour and would have gone on longer if the rain hadn't knocked some sense into me.
Flying so high in the rain was a danger I'd welcomed many times. But I wouldn't put her at more risk when she was already so fragile from the Ruskiel's attack.
When I'd taken her back to her chamber and found myself still searching for reasons to stay, the truth crystallized with brutal clarity.
The beautiful red-haired mage had the power to shatter me completely. And like a fool, I'd thank her for the pieces.
My little mage made me wish for things I shouldn't want. A life where I was more than the monster in her story. Where I could be the man who deserved the trust I'd glimpsed in her eyes.
So, I composed my mind, remembered my mission, and reprised my role as the cursed Deathwalker who now had a way to get his legacy and become a king.
“I presume His Highness, our Lord Commander, has some effective measures he'd like to share.” Lord Varian's irritating as fuck voice wormed into my mind like a parasite. He was addressing me now, and in that haughty tone that always felt like a deliberate dig.
I loathed that arrogant fucker with his skunk-colored hair, twisted nose, and predatory eyes. He'd always talked down to me even though he knew I could crush the life out of his miserable body.
The scathing glare I sent tumbling his way ensured he knew exactly what I was thinking. He tried to look unfazed but failed miserably. His eyes gave him away, as did the nervous twitch in the points of his ears.
Bastard. His time on this council would end the instant I took the throne.
I looked around at everyone who was now staring back at me, eager for answers. It seemed it was finally my turn to speak, and I had my audience's undivided attention.
Irritation roiled in my gut like poison.
If they didn't revere Dreynthor as their would-be king, I would have commanded their attention from the start.
We should have been discussing security from the beginning.
Instead, he'd let them waste time griping about their fears.
Anything to garner their support and steal my authority.
I set my shoulders back, keeping my expression stern and unreadable.
“Since the incidents, I've doubled patrols in every district, with mandatory check-ins at dawn and dusk.
Door-to-door searches have been implemented in any settlement that's harbored sympathizers.
Anyone who's had contact with known rebels gets questioned thoroughly.
Soldiers have also been placed in every tavern, market square, and gathering place, so we'll know who's meeting with whom, when, and why.” I paused and took in their stunned faces.
They hadn't expected me to have done so much, the fools.
Another stab of annoyance poked at my side, but I ignored it.
“No one enters or leaves the kingdom without my knowledge.
And from tomorrow onwards, I'll be initiating a curfew.
No one moves through the outer territories after nightfall without written authorization.
Every village will have a stationed guard, and we'll establish watchtowers at strategic points along the borders.”
“A curfew sounds rather extensive.” Dreynthor stared at me with raised brows, though I could see the approval lurking beneath his calculated concern.
“Indeed, Your Grace.” I loathed calling him that with every fiber of my being. “But a curfew will enable me to protect our people more effectively. I'll be able to keep an eye on things and stop any further incidents from happening.”
He looked like he wanted to challenge me further but held off. He was no fool. Dreynthor knew a curfew was a brilliant idea.
“If I may speak,” Lord Cresta intoned from the other end of the table.
He was the oldest of the council members and had served as an advisor to my father.
“I think a curfew is a phenomenal idea. Given the situation, I'm sure everyone will find it reasonable. Especially if it only applies to the outer territories. That does seem to be where the trouble has originated.”
“Exactly,” I agreed before anyone else could comment. “Only merchants and travelers would have need to use the roads to the outer territories, so they can provide documentation to state their business.”
Everyone else at the table nodded their agreement, and whispers rippled around the room like wind through leaves.
“Looks like we're all in agreement, so I sanction the curfew,” Dreynthor announced, lifting his chin with arrogant grace.
He looked at me as if he were doing me a favor, and I responded with a tight-lipped smile, hating that I needed his endorsement for anything.
As Lord Commander, I had substantial authority over public security, but I still needed his fucking seal of approval for matters like these.
“Is there anything else you'd like to add, Your Highness?” he asked, his tone measured and deceptively mild.
“Only that my Bloodsworn and I will be personally overseeing patrols.
There are whispers of rebel camps in the Thornwood and near the old mines.
I want to ensure we go in with our strongest. We'll also be conducting security sweeps through the major trade routes, so we cover all bases.” I needed to let Dreynthor think I'd be busy enough so that if he didn't see me around, he wouldn't question it.
Until I'd performed the tracking spell, I had to do everything I could to keep him away from my plans.
“Excellent.” He so rarely paid me a compliment, it was interesting to hear one fall from his lips.