Chapter 17: The Proposal Refusal~

KAEL'S POV~

Dain went very still against his pillar. He knew what was coming too. And from the twist of his mouth and the ugliness of it, he hated it.

“You have served this crown without fail,” Rorik continued, his voice echoing off. “You ended the Bloodfang Rebellion single-handedly. Three hundred rogues, and you walked out without a scratch, with their Alpha’s head in your hand. You brought White Claw to kneel without spilling pack blood. You are the blade I trust most in this realm. The only blade I trust. The only one that hasn’t turned in my hand.”

Murmurs came from the Council which sounded like Flattery. I didn’t care for flattery.

“So it is time you were rewarded,” Rorik said. “Time you took your rightful place… not beside the throne, Kael. But within the royal family. As my son.”

The room went silent.

Armea took a step forward. Her smile was wide and Her eyes gleamed with victory she hadn’t earned yet.

With a future she’d already written in her head without asking me to hold the pen.

“Marry my daughter,” Rorik said. “Bind your Lycan strength to royal werewolf blood. Give us an heir that’s half god, half king. With you as my son, no pack would dare rise against us again. The Northern Packs would kneel without a battle. The ferals would scatter into the wastes and die nameless. The realm would know peace for a century. Your century. Your name would be on every tongue.”

An heir. Half Lycan, half werewolf.

A leash disguised as a crown. A way to chain the last Lycan Enforcer to their throne, to breed me like livestock until my blood was diluted and my line was theirs and Lycans were just a story old wolves told to frighten pups.

I looked at Armea. She was beautiful in the way a dagger was beautiful , crafted to cut, cold to the touch, deadly if mishandled and empty if not wielded.

Her eyes promised power and politics, Not partnership.

She didn’t want me. She wanted what I was. What I could give her children. What my name could do for her claim when her father died. What my shadow could do for her throne.

And I thought of Annabeth.

Asleep in my house an hour ago. All Human and Fragile. Curled up in my sheets and my cardigan swallowing her whole, and she was all mine.

“Your Majesty,” I said, keeping my voice even. The cold kind. “I am honored by your faith in me. Truly. Few men are offered a place in the royal family. Fewer still are offered a princess.”

Rorik’s smile widened. He thought I’d say yes. They all did. Why wouldn’t I? More power for me. A princess. A throne. Immortality through an heir who would outlive this kingdom.

“But I must respectfully decline your generous offer.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Armea’s smile froze. Dain choked on a laugh, then covered it with a cough that fooled no one and made his eyes water with delight.

Elder Marrow’s parchment slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor, ignored. A guard near the door shifted his weight, and his armor clinked.

“Decline?” Rorik’s voice was calm. “May I ask why, Enforcer? Have we offended you? Is the princess not to your liking? Is our blood not pure enough for Lycan tastes?”

I could not tell them about Annabeth. Revealing a human mate to the werewolf royal family was a death sentence. For her. For the Red Moon pack. For anyone who’d ever given her shelter or a kind word or a second look.

They’d call it contamination And They’d burn her alive in the square and call it purification, and they’d make me watch, and still call it justice.

So I lied. Half a lie.

“I have no interest in taking a wife at this time, Your Majesty,” I said. “My duties as Enforcer require my full attention. The realm is unstable. Rogues multiply in every territory like rats. And These Northern Packs test us every New moon. They grow bold, crossing borders in daylight. I do not wish to divide my loyalties… or bring a woman into a life of constant war, of midnight summons, of enemies at the gate and assassins in the hall. It would be unfair to her. It would be unfair to any child we brought into it. I would not do that to a daughter of yours.”

Armea’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t believe me. Her nostrils flared.

“War is a werewolf’s bride, Kael,” Armea said, stepping down from the dais, Her heels clicked against marble. “Surely a Lycan of your…stature… could handle both a war and a wife. Unless…”

She stopped two feet from me. Her perfume fragrance strong.

“…Unless your heart already belongs to another. Unless there is someone else. someone you’ve already chosen.”

My blood went still.

I didn’t move. Didn’t blink or breathe. Didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction, of a tell, or a flinch. “Perhaps. But I choose not to act on it. I choose the realm and kingdom. I choose duty over desire. As a Lycan should. As my father did. As mine will, if I ever sire one.”

The word choose hung in the air between us. Lycans chose. Werewolves obeyed. Alphas commanded. Omegas knelt. The difference was everything. The difference was why they feared us, Why they needed us but also Why they hated us.

Rorik studied me, his antler crown throwing shadows across his face like bars while The room waited. Dain was smiling now, a real smile, cruel and delighted and ugly. Probably happy I had rejected this offer.

Then Rorik smiled. But this smile didn’t touch his eyes.

“A pity,” he said quietly. “A great pity indeed. The realm could have used your… loyalty… in more personal ways, Kael. But we respect your dedication to duty. Of course we do. How could we not? You are our ENFORCER.”

The way he said Enforcer was a reminder that titles could be stripped.

“Armea, daughter,” Rorik said, not looking at her. Not fatherly but Kingly. “It seems the Enforcer has other priorities. Priorities we must all respect, for the good of the realm. Run along now. We have state matters to finish. Men’s matters.”

Armea’s face went blank, then red all in three seconds, Her hands fisted at her sides.

She curtsied. “Of course, Father. Enforcer.”

When she rose and looked me dead in the eye, her own eyes promised this wasn't over, it had retribution written all over.

She swept out. The door slammed behind her hard enough to rattle the portraits, to make dust fall from the ceiling and make the flame in the torches flicker.

Rorik descended the last step of the dais until we stood eye to eye. He was tall for a werewolf. Broad shouldered and was Once a warrior king. Still, I looked down at him. An inch.

“You are dismissed, Enforcer,” he said. “For now. We will speak again soon. About the upcoming Moon Gathering celebration. About the security and of course About… other things that would benefit us both in the future.”

I nodded and bowed. One knee down. Mocking his mockery. Showing respect while giving none. Honoring the crown while despising the head that wore it. “Your Majesty.”

I turned and walked out of the throne room.

I Didn’t look at Dain. But I could feel his glare burning into my back, hot and hateful and impotent as I left.

I Didn’t stop until I was past the throne room doors. Until my guards fell in around me, forming a wall of black suits and blade and loyalty between me and the palace, between me and the throne, between me and the war I could feel coming.

And Only then did I let myself exhale.

Only then did I let myself think of Annabeth clearly again. Of the vow I’d carved into my heart this morning in the kitchen while she wasn’t looking to Always make her happy and Always keep her safe. Whatever it may cost. And Whoever I have to kill.

And I hoped, goddess I hoped, I hadn’t just signed her death warrant by refusing a princess in front of a king and a council and a prince who wanted me dead.

Because Rorik I knew, didn’t forgive.

And Armea didn’t forget.

And Dain, the brat didn’t even need a reason.

~