Chapter 49
Wolfe
“Clash of Reckoning and Shadows”
My father used to say, 'The truest wrath isn't loud. It waits.'
Anger burned hot and faded; wrath waited and devoured everything. When it struck, there was no place left to hide.
I'd heard my father utter those words countless times, but I never experienced the full meaning of his wisdom until now.
Shrouded in seething shadows, I portaled directly into Dreynthor's chamber at Wendrathl House like a storm unleashed. The bastard usually stayed at the palace, but he slithered here when he wanted to entertain his whores away from his wife's watchful eyes.
Sure enough, there he was, sprawled in the center of a king-sized bed with not one or two, but five females. All of them naked and fawning over him as if he was some kind of god they worshipped.
They screamed at my sudden arrival and grabbed whatever they could to cover their bodies. Then they scurried off the bed and out of the room.
With a face like thunder, Dreynthor grabbed his robe and shrugged into it. Then he stood and shot me a venomous glare as though challenging me to a fight.
Fool. I'd allow him to think he could do so. It would be entertaining, if nothing else.
“Hello, uncle.” My voice held the menace of the devil. “Looks like you had one hell of a night.”
“What I do in my own time is none of your business,” he seethed.
He disgusted me in so many ways. He'd married a sweet female from the north who'd given him four children. She loved him so much she believed—or chose to accept—every lie he told. Dreynthor cheated on her every chance he got. But that was none of my concern. “You and I need to talk. Now.”
“You insolent fucker, you—”
“Silence.” I held up my hand and allowed my fingers to take death's skeletal shape. The sight shut him right the fuck up.
He'd only heard the rumors of my powers like most people had. Tales told by the lucky few who'd survived encountering me.
Now that he saw my curse with his own eyes, he knew I wasn't fucking around. He looked it, too. Like he was ready to shit himself.
For once, my miserable uncle looked afraid of me. Good. It was time he knew who he was dealing with.
Despite the solace I'd found in my mage last night, wrath writhed in my soul like a living, breathing thing that tasted like iron and ash.
I'd indulged in Elariya until sunrise, escaping my problems by burying myself deep inside her. I could have stayed there forever, but the moment she fell asleep, reality came crashing in. And I came here.
I took slow steps toward my uncle. At first, he stood his ground, but then he yielded like a coward, backing away step by step until his back pressed against the wall.
“This is how you wish to talk about your actions from last night? By threatening me with your Deathwalker magic? Why don't you face me like a Fae?”
A mirthless grin slithered over my lips. “If you think that's better, you really don't know me. In any event, I'm the one doing the talking here. I don't care how you wish for me to face you.”
“I understand you're angry, but I did what needed to be done. Princess Seraphina has many suitors. I was simply securing her for you.”
I cocked my head. “If I wanted Seraphina, I would have her regardless of suitors. I'm Wolfe Nightblade. I don't need you to secure a wife for me, or anything else.”
“This was important.”
“Don't fuck with me. Don't make this plan of yours seem like it was anything other than what it was—a way of control.”
“But I do control you, nephew.” He had the audacity to smile.
“Do you now?”
“I do.”
I let out a laugh without humor. “So, you think I'm going to marry the princess just because you announced it in front of King Paeulyn and a hall full of Galaythia's nobility.”
“You will not embarrass me or this kingdom, boy.” He started toward me but backed down when I hissed at him, baring my fangs.
“I'm not doing it. I'm not going to marry Princess Seraphina or anyone else you pick for me. That is my final answer.”
Fury contorted his face. “Because of your fucking mage? I should have known. That little slut—”
My hands were around his throat before he could breathe another word.
“Don't you ever call her that again,” I roared in his face and squeezed his neck so tightly I thought it would snap.
Then Death came out in full force, staring down at him with hollow eyes.
“If you so much as look at her or breathe in her direction, I will kill you. I fucking mean it. I will kill you.”
Dreynthor opened his mouth in terror, gasping, and I wished, gods, I wished I could rip the skin from his body. I could do it easily, and I would do it without regret.
His insult to the woman I'd claimed was enough.
But I held back.
Fuck. I held back for all the reasons I had before.
Killing him would stop me from finding out how he was tied to my father's death.
Killing him would stop me from finding out about his other plans for the kingdom.
Killing him—like this—would sever my claim to the throne forever. And my bastard uncle knew that. He knew how important claiming my birthright was to me, and how deeply I honored my father’s dream of me becoming the next king.
Dreynthor may still have the power to take all my assets and seize the little control he allowed me with the Kings Guard, but I needed to keep him alive until I got what I needed to end him.
Even now as I stared at him, I felt his guilt for my father's death. But I couldn't prove it. So, for now, all I could do was this. Terrify the fuck out of him.
That said…I’d kill him for her. For Elariya. If I had to.
“Now, as I was saying, uncle.” I stepped closer, my voice becoming something otherworldly, gravelly and hollow. “I'm not marrying the princess, so don't make any more plans for me.”
I released him and he doubled over into a fit of coughs. The color returned to his face, but he was breathing so hard he couldn't catch his breath.
We stared at each other. He looked at me as if he was still trying to process what he was seeing.
And I stared back at him, like Death, so he could get a good look and remember what would haunt him if he crossed me again.
I changed back into my Fae form but held on to my skeletal smile until the last minute.
Then I was myself again and Dreynthor almost looked more terrified of my normal face.
“Your duty is to your kingdom,” he coughed. “You know how effective a union with Thalyrius would have been against the rebels.”
It was time to give him a rude awakening. I was no closer to proving his involvement or identifying the power behind the rebels, but the situation demanded I reveal what I'd discovered. He'd gone too far and I needed to put a stop to his shit.
“A marriage union wouldn't stop them.”
“We've gone over this countless times. Even you agreed it would scare them into compliance.”
“That was before I found evidence that they were connected to my father's death.”
Dreynthor went utterly still, his breathing so shallow I wondered if his heart had stopped. The terror and surprise were both reactions expected from the innocent or the guilty. I couldn't tell which category he belonged to, but my instincts still screamed guilt.
“What are you saying to me?” He searched my eyes, probing past the sternness.
“I'm saying war is on our doorstep, uncle. War. The rebels had a hand in killing my father, so they were always plotting to overthrow the kingdom. And they're using dark magic that bears no signature. That means they're planning big things.”
“Show me the evidence.”
I gathered the memory from Kyphuus and wove it together in the air until it materialized before us. I amplified the scent of the magical residue so he could feel it.
He did immediately, and when he started checking the air to track the signature and found none, the color drained from his face like someone had opened a vein.
“Impossible,” he rasped, his eyes widening with disbelief.
“The same untraceable magic appeared at the time of my father's death.” That was all I was going to tell him. I wouldn't make him any wiser about Elariya's father’s connection.
“Are you certain of this?”
“Yes. So what we need to be doing is preparing for war.”
“If that's the case, you should still marry the princess. A union with Thalyrius will still make us stronger. Having an alliance is one thing but marriage bonds you as kin.”
“No.” My voice shook the room.
“But—”
“The kingdoms will fight side by side as they always have.”
“King Paeulyn is not going to be happy you rejected his daughter. It is a great insult. That could sway things.”
“That's your fucking problem. You fix it.” I leaned in and leveled him with a hard stare. “Next time think before you act. You don't want to make an enemy out of me, uncle. Remember the warriors answer to me. Not you.”
His face contorted with anger and defeat. Finally, the table had turned.
He could threaten me all he wanted but during wartime the army's allegiance was bound by blood. My blood as my father's heir. The curse wouldn't matter.
“You may sit on my father's throne in your pretty little cloak, waving around his scepter as you throw around your orders, but remember this... I am your king. I don't need a fucking crown.”
I'd never spoken to him like that before. Never. But now I had a reason—my mage.
I backed away and turned to go.
“I hope your mage is worth it. You're playing a dangerous game, nephew.”
I faced him again with that skeletal smile on my face. “So are you, uncle. So are you.”
With that said, my shadows surrounded me, and I left.
There was no doubt that bastard would think of every which way to retaliate and punish me, but I'd be ready for him. No matter what he threw at me, I'd be ready.
From here onwards, whatever would be would be, but I wouldn't change my mind one way or the other.
I would burn the kingdom to ashes if anyone tried to take Elariya Grayson from me.
It turned out I was her Hades after all.
What kind of fool was I that I didn't see?
I'd always been in love with her.