CHAPTER 6

THE COST OF POWER

The fire in Silas’s chamber hissed and the burning cedarwood snapped, sending orange sparks against the weathered wooden floors, along with bursts of aroma and heat from the fireplace into the air.

The room wasn’t grand—more practical than opulent, with aging tapestries and brown brick walls dulled by years of smoke.

A narrow window rattled under the weight of the night wind, its shutters creaking with each gust.

Silas stood by the hearth, hands braced on the mantel, though the fire offered little warmth.

He hadn’t eaten since morning. The food on the table had gone cold, untouched. His stomach grumbled, but his thoughts were louder. Thoughts of the future. His future.

The Silvercrown Pack was gone. Burned and scattered to the wind.

But the crown hadn’t acknowledged him. Not yet. And without that, none of his efforts meant anything.

Behind him, Genevieve reclined on a modest chaise, her scarlet night dress slipping down one shoulder with intentional ease. Her green eyes followed him, lazy and feline-like.

“You’re restless,” she said without looking away, her tone tinged with boredom. “Shouldn’t this be your moment?”

Silas didn’t turn around. “It will be. When I find a way for Cassius to name me Alpha over the empty silvercrown territory.”

Genevieve clicked her tongue. “You will. We’ve positioned everything perfectly. The gold, and the allies in court who will whisper your name in King Cassius’s ear. What do you worry yourself?”

He let's out a sharp breath, turning to face her. "King Cassius is not a man easily impressed."

“Then put your self within his line of sight.” She stretched like a sleepy cat on the chaise, relaxing with the ease of someone who’d never been denied anything. “You’ve done the hard part already.”

“Have I?” he asked, voice low. “Because It feels like there's much more to do.”

Genevieve tilted her head, studying him. “If you take part of court activities, you can get close to him and gain his favor." she said. “He would soon know your name.”

“Time is running out.” He said pacing the length of the fireplace. “I won't sit and watch some else take my territory.”

“Never.”

“You’re close,” Genevieve assured, mindlessly checking out her nails. “This is politics. Influence always takes longer than force.”

Silas’s jaw clenched. He hated when she was right. Politics was a game of patience but he's had run thin.

He had risked so much towards this goal. The rank. The recognition. He wanted it all. And he wanted it now.

He remained silent, the wheels of his brain spinning with thought.

Genevieve watched him suspiciously. "You're thinking about her."

Silas scoffed. "Don’t be ridiculous."

"Vivienne," she said, as if testing him.

His jaw tightened, irritation coursing through him.

Why would he waste his time thinking of that woman? She was nothing. A stepping stone, and a means to an end. The gold she had fetched was necessary—not just necessary, but vital—to securing his place before the Alpha King.

"I don't think about things that are useless." he said coldly.

Genevieve's lips curved into a slow smile. "Good.”

She stood, walked past him, to fill two glasses with brandy from a glass decanter on the mahogany center table.

“That's the kind of ruthlessness that kings are made from.” she said handing him a glass.

“I'm not a king” Silas mumbled, taking a sip of the drink.

“No,” Genevieve murmured, stepping closer. “But you want to be an Alpha and that requires sacrifice.”

I will not be ignored," Silas said, his voice low.

"No," Genevieve murmured. "You won’t."

There was a glint of something in her gaze—satisfaction, pleasure. Not with him, but with what they had done.

Vivienne was gone. Which was what Genevieve had wanted.

That was very clear.

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his jawline, her voice low and sultry. "You know, I always admired this about you. Your ambition. Your ability to do what others are too weak to do."

Silas smirked faintly. "You admire me?"

Genevieve’s laughter was quiet, indulgent. "I admire power, Silas. And you are very, very close to having all of it."

Her lips brushed against his, teasing. Silas didn’t resist. He kissed her then. Not out of longing, but out of habit.

Their arrangement was transactional. Touch for influence, sex for secrets. Neither of them believed in love, but sometimes they played pretend.

Power.

That was all that mattered.

And yet—

As her lips moved coldly against his, his mind betrayed him.

Vivienne’s face surfaced in his mind.

He broke away first.

Genevieve said nothing, but he wondered if she had noticed.

---

The pain came suddenly.

Silas bolted upright in the middle of the night, the thin sheet pooled around his waist.

His body seized with a sharp, splitting pain like something vital was being torn loose from his chest. He clawed at his heart, gasping.

His breath caught. His lungs burned, as he tried to breathe, tried to understand—

But there was no understanding this.

Panic flared in him like wildfire through every nerve. His back arched. As a sound—half-growl, half-scream—ripped out of his throat.

Genevieve stirred beside him, groaning in annoyance as she propped herself up on her elbow. “Silas?”

He didn’t answer.

She blinked blearily at the sight of him—shirt drenched, hair slick with sweat, fists clenched around the sheets like he was drowning in them.

“Silas, what the hell is wrong with you?” She sat up now, properly alarmed.

Another wave of pain slammed into him. He doubled over, clutching at his ribs, vision swimming.

Genevieve’s tone shifted. “Silas, was it something you drank or ate? Look at me.”

He couldn’t.

His hands shook violently. His whole body trembled.

Genevieve reached for him, then froze halfway. Her eyes locked studying him, before her mind went through a series of emotions.

First it was confusion then a tinge of fear that settled into recognition before morphing into disgust.

“This…” she whispered, more to herself than him. “This seems to be…”

She didn’t finish.

He was too far gone to ask.

But she stood now, stepping back slightly from the bed, her robe falling into place around her like armor.

Her eyes narrowed. “Silas… you told me you weren’t bonded to her.”

“I’m not,” he croaked, barely getting the words out. “I never marked her.”

“Then why does it look like your soul is tearing itself apart?”

Silas squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to think. To breathe. He hadn’t bonded with Vivienne. It was impossible.

And he'd seen bond separations. this pain looked similar. It was deep. Endless.

Genevieve stared at him from across the room now. Not with worry but with something colder.

Doubt.

“She didn’t even have a wolf,” Silas said again, more to himself. “She was—”

Weak.

He didn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t because something was wrong. Something had changed.

Genevieve watched him struggle, her face unreadable now.

And though she didn’t say it, he saw it in her body language:

She no longer believed him.

Silas collapsed back against the bed, panting, the pain still clawing through him. Sweat rolled down his temples. The world spun.

She didn’t speak again. Didn’t touch him.

She simply turned away and walked back toward the hearth, her silhouette quiet in the firelight.

And as the pain twisted tighter, as Silas trembled and clenched his sides and prayed for it to stop, one truth screamed inside his head:

He had sold Vivienne like she was nothing. She should have been broken.

So why did it feel like she was the one breaking him?

why, now, did it feel like wronging her was the only thing that could ever destroy him?

The ache in his chest didn’t ease. It only grew heavier, coiling deeper into his ribs like posion.

He didn’t want to ask these questions but they lingered in his mind all the same.

Across the room, Genevieve watched in silence… and for the first time ever, she didn’t look certain.