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97. The Turncoat

Tatum was thirsty. As he sat in the stinking cell his brother had left him in, he tried to ignore all the things nature demanded.

In truth, he didn’t understand why his brother hadn’t killed him yet. He’d gotten what he wanted. A seat on the throne. Tatum was of no further use to him.

Unless he was keeping him around to relish in his humiliation.

By now his people and all the territories knew of his connection with his slave. He’d been spared the worst, having been locked up for the most part. His brother had been here a couple of times to gloat.

Yet Tatum couldn’t deny that a part of him was relieved that his secret was out. He may not have liked how it got out but there was such a weight lifted off his shoulders now that it was.

After Fortune had gotten the truth out of him, he didn’t stand a chance. Takoda had succeeded in convincing the Alphas that his loyalties were divided and they could no longer trust him with the throne, the city or its secrets.

But that was the least of
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