Chapter 16: The Royal Gambit~

THE LYCAN ENFORCER~

KAEL’S POV ~

On arrival to the palace, Werewolf arrogance was evident in these walls like it's been, for centuries, layered over the scent of fear they pretended they didn’t carry.

I walked through the gates with six of my own guards at my back, ignoring the four Royal Guards who’d “escorted” me from the mansion. They bristled at being reduced to scenery but I didn’t care.

The palace halls were draped in gold and black, Portraits of dead werewolf kings lined the walls, their painted eyes too bold for men who’d never won a war without Lycan claws leading the charge. Lycans had bled to put those crowns on their heads. Now their descendants forgot. Now they thought paper and ink made them gods.

Torches glowed against the pillars and The closer I got to the throne room, the colder the air became. Or maybe that was just me.

Two guards hauled the doors open. The hinges shrieked like dying things.

The throne room was full.

King Rorik sat on his throne of fused swords, a monument to victories Lycans won while his kind hid behind walls and treaties and called it strategy. To his left, twelve Council elders. Werewolves, all of them. Sixty, seventy years old. They thought age made them powerful. I’ve killed things older than their bloodlines and slept well after.

And lounging against a pillar like he’d rather be in a brothel, bored and sneering, was Prince Dain. The King's Son.

Red hair. Mischievous eyes. Spoiled rotten and rotting from the inside.

He hated me. Hated my title. Hated that his father trusted a Lycan over his own heir. Hated that when I entered a room, wolves stopped breathing and their wolves went belly-up.

But hate wasn’t enough to make him stupid. Not yet. Dain feared me. All werewolves did. Even the unruly, entitled ones. Especially them. Because they knew exactly how easily I could end them.

His jaw ticked when I entered and His fingers twitched toward the dagger at his hip, then stopped. His instinct to challenge warred with the instinct to survive.

He never spoke first. Not to me. Not unless he wanted to die without his tongue.

“Enforcer Kael,” Rorik boomed, spreading his arms like we were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in decades instead of a king and the executioner who kept his throne from toppling. “Thank you for honoring us with your presence so swiftly. We are in your debt.”

I dropped to one knee. Not because I had to. Because it kept the wolves calm. Fear made them stupid. Calm made them predictable. Predictable made them easy to kill if it came to that.

“Your Majesty.”

“Rise. We have matters of state to discuss. The realm requires Lycan insight. As it always has.”

I stood. My guards stayed at the door, hands resting on their blades, saying nothing but watched.

“The border is shaking with these Northern Packs growing bolder day by day, the last enforcer couldn't even solve the case before retirement,” Rorik began, steepling his fingers. His antler crown threw shadows across his face, making him look like the stag he pretended to be instead of the scavenger he was. “Three villages burned last moon with their Crops taken. Women stolen. Children unaccounted for. They test us, Kael. They test me and I don't like it. What does your instinct say? What does the Lycan in you smell on the wind?”

“Posturing,” I said. My voice carried without effort. The room was built for it, for kings to sound like gods. “The Northern Alpha is young. Unblooded. Twenty-three. Barely weaned off his father’s teat. He won’t strike here. Not yet. He’s testing your response time, measuring how fast you mobilize. How far you’ll chase. How much silver you’ll spend to protect dirt farmers. Weak kings invite war by looking weak. Strong ones prevent it with a show of teeth, early and bloody.”

A few elders shifted. One, Elder Marrow, scribbled on parchment with a quill that shook. His ink blotted. Dain’s lip curled up like he’d tasted something foul.

“And if we show teeth?” Marrow asked, “Will the Lycans bite for us, Enforcer? As in the old days? As your ancestor did for our fathers?”

“Lycans bite for order,” I said, looking at him until he dropped his eyes to his desk, until his wolf whined where only I could hear it. “Not for kings who cannot hold their own borders. We are not your dogs, Elder. We never were.”

The room chilled. Literally. Frost crept along the stone near my boots, lacing the grout in white. A few guards exhaled and their breath fogged.

Rorik chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It never did. “Always so direct, Kael. That’s why I trusted the last Lycan Enforcer. And why I trust you even more above all others in this court. Above my own son, goddess forgive me for saying it aloud.”

Dain went rigid. Glaring at me hatefully.

“And Blackpine?” Rorik continued, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “The trade routes. Merchants complain of Lycan patrols. Taxes. Seizures. Delayed caravans. Rotting goods. They say you choke commerce, Enforcer. They say you bleed them dry.”

Is he trying to accuse me of a crime now?

A crime clearly he commits himself

“They complain because my patrols catch their smugglers,” I said. “Weapons bound for rogue packs who’d like to see your throne broken. Contraband. Wolfsbane trafficked in flour sacks, enough to poison a city. And three weeks ago, we intercepted a cage on the east road. Eight werewolf children, Alpha-born, sold to the feral packs for sport. For breeding. Or would you prefer I let poison and slavers flood your cities, Your Majesty? Would you prefer I count coins while children scream?”

Dain snorted. He couldn’t help himself. “Perhaps if your patrols weren’t so thorough, merchants wouldn’t need to smuggle to turn a profit. Perhaps if you didn’t tax them to death, they wouldn’t look for other routes.” He said.

I turned my head. Slowly. To him.

Dain froze. His throat bobbed. His hand, which had been drifting toward his dagger like it always did when he was scared, fell to his side like it had been cut off at the wrist.

“Perhaps if your merchants weren’t criminals,” I said, soft. “They wouldn’t fear Lycan law. Or do you condone child trafficking, Prince Dain? Is that the kind of king you’ll be?”

His face went red. Then white. Then red again. “You dare...”

“Dain.” Rorik’s voice cracked like a whip. One word. That was all it took.

Dain stopped breathing. Stepped back. Bowed his head. But his eyes promised murder. One day. When he thought he was strong enough. When he thought I was old enough to slow down. When he thought he had enough wolves at his back to drown me.

He never would be. I never would.

We spoke for a whole twenty minutes about Trade, Borders, The upcoming Moon Gathering at the Neutral Grounds, Three Alphas who were assassinated at the last gathering, poisoned with bane in their wine, their bodies turned to ash before their seconds could howl. Rorik wanted Lycan security now. Wanted me personally to vet every guest, every servant, every cup.

“You know these atrocities are done by werewolves,” I said when he finished, when he was done pretending he hadn’t invited his own enemies to dinner. “ Your own nobles put bane in their wine. Your own cousins. Perhaps the problem is not the security, Your Majesty. Perhaps the problem is who you invite to your table. Perhaps the problem is that you break bread with vipers.”

The room shifted. Dain obviously didn't like my utterance and was trying to smile through the anger.

But All of it was meaningless to me because I could feel it, the real reason for this summons today sitting beneath every word said. The way Rorik’s eyes kept flicking to the side door. The way the elders wouldn’t meet my gaze. The way Dain kept smirking sometimes like he knew a secret I didn't.

Then the side door finally opened.

She glided in.

Princess Armea.

Red gown clinging to her like a second skin, cut low enough to be an insult to the Council and high enough to be a promise to me. Platinum hair pinned with diamond wolves that caught the torchlight and threw it back in sharp, cold shards. Mischievous eyes like her brother’s, but colder and Calculating. Not a drop of warmth in them. Not a drop of anything human.

She’d been throwing herself at me for some time. At galas. At war councils. At funerals, As if I’d put a child in her just to watch him be used as a pawn.

She stopped beside her father’s throne. Too close. Her gaze dragged over me, slow and proprietary. Like she already owned me and was just waiting for the paperwork.

“Hello Kael. Good to see you again,” she purred, loud enough for every elder, every guard, every spy in the room to hear. Her voice was designed to carry. “We’ve missed you here, Enforcer. The palace feels… unsafe… without you to guard it. Without your strength between us and the dark world.”

We. As if she spoke for the kingdom. As if she had any claim to me beyond her own delusions and her father’s ambition.

Rorik smiled. The kind of smile that preceded executions. The kind he wore before ordering the Purge of Blackpine, where they burned a village to “send a message” to rebels.

“Ah, yes,” he said, standing. He descended one step of the dais. Then another. “Which brings us to the true reason we called you here, Kael. A matter of the future. Of legacy. Of securing this kingdom for the next hundred years, against all threats foreign and domestic. Of ending this cycle of war and rebellion once and for all.”

I think I already knew what the true reason was.

~~