The Impostor's Treason

The sight of Lord Silas the mighty, feared commander of the Royal Armory, groveling face-down in the mud should have been enough to silence anyone.

But Victor’s arrogance was a disease that completely blinded him to reality.

"Dad, are you out of your mind?!" Victor shrieked from the depths of the Blood-Thorn patch. He thrashed wildly, the razor-sharp briars tearing deeper into his expensive clothes and flesh, but his bruised ego overshadowed his physical agony. "Get up! What are you doing?! Do you honestly think some rusty, dirt-poor blacksmith is a royal prince?!"

Regina, her face scratched and bleeding from the burning sap of the thorns, immediately joined in. Her shrill voice grated against the cold morning air. "You have got to be kidding me! Lord Silas, open your eyes! This punk is just a pro at faking the high life. He is nothing but a peasant!"

Silas slowly lifted his head from the mud. His face was pale, his eyes wide with terror as he stared at the midnight-black armor adorning Lycan’s massive frame.

"Shut up!" Silas roared, his voice trembling as he pointed a mud-caked finger toward Lycan’s chest. "You blind fools! Look at the crest! The First King of the Silver Wolves forged that armor with his own spirit! It is the Crown Prince’s personal emblem. It is a one-of-a-kind royal artifact! It cannot be faked!"

From her place on the dirt floor, weighed down by heavy iron chains, my stepmother let out a vicious, mocking cackle.

"A royal artifact? Please!" she shouted, her face twisting with absolute venom. "He is just a low-life blacksmith! I already did some digging into his background before I forced Amy to marry him. He has no family, no wealth, and no pack! He is a nobody!"

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might break through my ribs. I slowly pushed myself out of the armchair, my legs shaking as I took a tentative step toward the man I had called my husband for the last six months.

I looked at the imposing, terrifying god of war standing in my living room. The dark iron crown. The glowing crimson eyes. The suffocating, dominant aura that demanded the entire world bow at his feet.

Was this the man who had cooked me breakfast? The man who had gently kissed my forehead every night?

I walked up to him, my small hands reaching out to gently touch the cold, impenetrable steel of his royal chest plate.

"Lycan..." I whispered, my voice trembling with a mixture of awe and heartbreak. "Is it true? Are you... are you truly the Silver Wolf Prince?"

Lycan looked down at me, the terrifying crimson light in his eyes immediately flickering back to a soft, devastated amber. He opened his mouth to answer me, but the words caught in his throat. A bead of cold sweat rolled down the side of his sharp jawline.

He wanted to tell me the truth. I could see the desperate confession burning in his eyes. But I could also see the crippling guilt. He had lied to me about his identity from the very first day we met. He had hidden his crown, his wealth, and his power, terrified that if I knew who he really was, I would look at him with the same fear everyone else did. He didn't want to hurt me, and in his silence, his hesitation spoke volumes.

Regina didn't miss a beat. Like a vulture spotting weakness, she let out a triumphant, hysterical laugh from the thorn bushes.

"Oh, look!" Regina sneered, pointing a bloody finger at him. "See? He couldn't even answer her! Look at him sweating all over! If he was really the most powerful Prince in the realm, why on earth would he be living in this dump of a blacksmith shop? He is a complete fraud!"

Victor’s eyes lit up with malicious realization. "Dad! She is right! That crest has got to be a fake! You are the core supplier for the Royal Army. You are a high-ranking noble! You have got to have seen Prince Lycan yourself, right? Does this peasant actually look like the Crown Prince?"

Silas paused, his eyes darting frantically over Lycan’s face. He slowly pushed himself up from the mud, brushing the dirt from his velvet cloak. His terror was slowly morphing into calculating suspicion.

"I... I just got back from a five-year deployment at the northern border," Silas muttered, his brow furrowing. "The Prince has been in seclusion. I haven't actually laid eyes on His Highness in person yet."

"Then this guy is a total impostor!" Victor yelled, practically foaming at the mouth with vindictive glee. "Dad, think about it! He not only permanently crippled your son and heir, but he is pretending to be Silver Wolf royalty! That is a mandatory death penalty! If we kill this fraud right now, the real Prince will reward our family big time!"

The greed and vanity in Silas’s eyes finally overpowered his fear. He puffed out his chest, his arrogant posture returning as he gripped the hilt of his sword.

"Yes," Silas said, his voice growing dangerously loud as he convinced himself of the delusion. "His Highness the Crown Prince rules over six massive clans. He is wealthier than the surrounding Kings combined! There is absolutely no way the true Prince would be slumming it in some ratty, broken-down blacksmith shop with a bunch of weak cat-beasts and peasants!"

Silas drew his sword, the steel scraping menacingly into the quiet room. He glared at Lycan with absolute disdain.

"You dare to fake the Silver Wolf heir’s emblem?" Silas spat. He raised his weapon and signaled to his heavily armed soldiers. "Take him down! Slaughter the impostor!"

The royal soldiers drew their weapons in unison, a terrifying chorus of shifting metal echoing across the property. They surged forward, ready to tear my husband apart.

I didn't even think. Pure, primal instinct took over.

"No!" I screamed.

Ignoring the burning pain in my wounded side, I rushed forward and threw myself directly in front of Lycan, spreading my arms wide to act as a human shield between him and the advancing blades. I would not let them touch him. Blacksmith or Prince, he was my mate, and I would die before I let them hurt him.

Lycan let out a ragged breath. The moment I stepped in front of him, his massive, armored arms wrapped around me from behind. He pulled me flush against his chest, holding me so tightly I could feel the powerful, steady thud of his heartbeat against my spine.

"Do not be scared, my little beast," Lycan murmured into my hair, his deep voice a soothing rumble that entirely ignored the army bearing down on us. "I have you."

Then, Lycan slowly lifted his gaze over my shoulder. The warmth completely vanished from his eyes, replaced by a dark, bottomless abyss of lethal fury. He stared directly into Silas’s eyes.

"Silas," Lycan warned, his voice dropping to a demonic, vibrating octave that made the very air in the room turn cold. "Are you sure you want to throw down with me? I highly suggest you take a moment to think about what that actually means for your life."

Silas sneered, raising his sword higher, completely blind to the fact that he was standing on the edge of his own grave.

"Impersonating the Crown Prince is treason," Silas declared coldly. "And treason is punishable by death. Attack!"