chapter 4: The crippled king

Kael’s POV

The council had the look of men who already thought they’d won.

I wheeled myself to the head of the table and stopped. Every seat was filled. Extra advisors stood along the walls. They had all shown up early, dressed carefully, like people attending something they expected to enjoy.

Elder Corvus didn’t even wait for me to speak.

“There’s less than an hour left, Alpha. You have no bride. No one is willing to marry a crippled king who can’t shift.”

A few of the others nodded. One or two had the decency to look uncomfortable. Most didn’t.

I let the silence sit for a moment. Then I gave him a small smile.

“Being in this chair has made all of you very comfortable disrespecting me.”

Corvus spread his hands on the table. “It’s not disrespect if it’s the truth. You agreed to the terms yourself. In front of the full court. Two months to find a bride or step down. The two months end today.”

He used my name without the title on purpose. I filed that away.

“Elder Corvus,” I said, keeping my voice pleasant. “How long have you sat on this council?”

“Forty-one years.”

“Forty-one years. You served my grandfather. You served my father. In all that time, how often did you speak to either of them the way you just spoke to me?”

No one answered.

“That’s what I thought.” I moved slowly along the edge of the table, looking at each of them in turn. Some held my gaze. Most found somewhere else to look. “Let me make something clear. I am in this chair because someone put me here. Not because I am weak. Not because I am finished. Because someone was afraid of what I could do standing up, and they made a calculation.” I stopped and let my eyes travel over every face. “That someone is still out there. And when I find out which of you helped them, this wheelchair will be the least of your problems.”

Elder Fayne shifted in his seat. I noted it.

Elder Marsh, the smoother one, leaned forward. “No one is questioning your strength, Your Majesty. The issue is practical. The kingdom needs stability. The succession laws are clear. A king without a queen cannot hold the throne past the given term. This isn’t personal.”

“Everything in this room is personal,” I said. “Don’t insult me by pretending otherwise.”

Corvus glanced at the clock on the wall. The satisfaction on his face was poorly hidden.

“It is currently eleven fifty-five,” he said. “The deadline is noon.”

Five minutes.

I could feel the room breathing differently. These men had been waiting two months for this moment. Some of them had probably drafted the succession papers the same week I first sat in this chair.

Marsh’s voice turned almost gentle. “The documents are ready. We didn’t prepare them with pleasure. But the kingdom cannot stay in limbo while—”

“While I what?” I asked quietly. The old edge came back into my voice, the one that used to make people step back. A few of them still reacted to it. “While I refuse to die on your schedule?”

Corvus met my eyes. He was the only one who did. “The terms were agreed. The time is up. There is no bride. Step down with dignity, Kael. Let history remember a king who kept his word.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then the council removes you. And history remembers something else.”

The clock ticked.

Eleven fifty-eight.

I looked at the rolled documents sitting at Corvus’s elbow. I looked at the men who had served my family for decades and were now ready to throw me away because I could no longer stand. I looked at my own hands on the wheels of the chair.

Three years ago, those hands had been enough to make this entire room silent. Three years ago, not one of them would have dared to breathe wrong in my direction.

I was not going to give them what they wanted.

“I have nothing to say to any of you,” I said, “until noon.”

Corvus opened his mouth.

“Until noon,” I repeated, and turned the chair slightly away from the table.

Eleven fifty-nine.

Corvus reached for the documents.

The chamber doors opened.

Every head in the room turned.

Two of my guards stood in the entrance, still dusty from the road. Behind them was a woman.

She was small. She stood like someone whose body was in serious pain and who had decided that pain was irrelevant. Her face was swollen and bruised, one cheek split. Even under the cloak someone had put around her, I could see the careful, rigid way she held her back.

She didn’t look at the elders. She didn’t look at the chair. She didn’t look at the succession papers in Corvus’s hand.

She looked at me.

My lead guard stepped forward.

“Alpha,” he said, voice clear across the silent chamber. “We’ve found a bride for you.”

The clock struck noon.

No one moved.

I held the woman’s gaze for a long moment. Something in her eyes was steady. Not broken. Not begging. Just steady.

I turned back to Elder Corvus and the rest of the council. The smile that pulled at my mouth was small and sharp.

“Put the documents away,” I said quietly. “This meeting is over.”