Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 21 - Chapitre 30

MARCUS’S POV I have learned to trust unease.It is a quiet thing, rarely dramatic, never loud but it has kept me alive longer than strength or steel ever could.Tonight, it sits with me in my office, coiled low in my gut, watching as I spread documents across the broad oak desk. Maps of the eastern border. Intake logs, caravan schedules, council minutes and servant registries. All of it laid out in careful rows, each page weighted at the corners with paperweights carved into the shapes of wolves.Saphra.Her name rests in my mind like a splinter that never worked its way free.From the beginning, something about her story never settled right.I remember the day she arrived—mud-streaked, eyes downcast, posture deceptively small. She spoke and answered questions with authority. Lucien noticed her immediately. He would deny it, of course, deny everything that suggests vulnerability but I saw the way his attention bent toward her without conscious intent. The way his temper spiked and s

MARCUS’S POV I should not be here.The knowledge follows me down the corridor like a shadow I can not outrun. Lucien’s order still vibrates in my bones and yet every instinct I possess screams that inaction now is betrayal later.I will find more proof.Something tangible. Something undeniable. Something even Lucien can not sweep from his desk with one furious motion.Saphra’s quarters sit in a quieter wing of the palace. There are no guards stationed outside like they should.I stop before the door and knock sharply, the sound cracking through the corridor like a command.Footsteps then a pause.The door opens.A woman stands at the entrance blocking the entry.I have seen her before, I think I have. Servants blur together after a while, faces half-remembered, bodies moving in predictable patterns. I know her as a shape, I have seen her carrying trays, and seen her presence in doorways.But this...This is different.Afternoon light spills through the windows behind her, catching i

LUCIEN’S POVI should not still be standing.Every step from the outer gate to my chambers is an act of will, my vision tunnelling, the world narrowing to blood and iron, and the taste of copper on my tongue. My shirt is ruined, shredded by claws that were not meant to leave witnesses alive. Warmth slicks my skin, soaking the fabric, dripping down my spine and ribs. The stone floors blur beneath my boots.Hands reach for me.Healers and Guards their voices overlapping.I bare my teeth and snarl, a sound torn straight from my chest. “Away.”They hesitate. They always do when they see this much blood. When they see the tremor, I can no longer hide. When they smell it.I shove one aside and keep moving. The door to my chambers looms ahead.“Saphra,” I rasp. “Bring her.”Silence ripples outward at the name.They exchange glances then someone nods and runs.I make it to the bed and sit heavily on the edge, breath sawing in and out of my lungs. The world tilts. I brace myself with both hand

SAPHRA'S POV Lucien had barely been healed before the members of the council called a meeting. The throne room always feels colder during council meetings.Not because of the stone, those walls have held winter for centuries but because of the people inside it. Power gathers here like a storm cloud, heavy and waiting. I stand where I am expected to stand, just beyond the inner ring of authority, close enough to hear every word but far enough to remind everyone that I do not belong here.Lucien sits on the throne as if it were an extension of his spine. His presence fills the room before he speaks, a silent pressure that makes even seasoned council members choose their movements carefully.Marcus stands to his right, straight-backed, eyes alert. He looks tired. I have noticed that more often lately.The council members take their seats one by one. Robes rustle, rings flash in the torchlight. Old power, inherited power, power that has never been tested the way Lucien’s has.The eldest

LUCIEN’S POV The palace sleeps around me, but rest refuses to touch my mind. I sit alone at my desk, candlelight flickering over parchment and ink, surrounded by the quiet weight of command. Reports lie stacked in careful order, each page another reminder that power is never absolute only borrowed, only held for as long as you can defend it. I read. Casualty numbers first. Names reduced to tallies. Wolves who trusted me to lead them, to bring them home. Too many did not return. My jaw tightens. I turn the page. Strategic failures. A delayed flank. A misread supply line. An enemy who anticipated us by minutes, minutes that cost lives. Territory lost along the northern ridge. Not much. Not yet. But enough to taste like blood at the back of my throat. I press my thumb hard into the edge of the desk, feeling the grain bite into my skin. This should not be happening, if only I had listened to the council and gone along. I am Alpha. I have fought for every inch of land we hold. I