A Mans Decree Novels & Stories

The title was written in bold letters on the first page: Decree 44-A -The Purge of the Shadowborn. Kol flitted his eyes along the lines and each word was like a knife thrust deeper than the one before. “To all true packs who fly the flag of the Lannister Dominion: The Shadowborn taint shall be cleansed away completely. No wolf bearing the mark may be spared, neither adult, child, nor mate. The blood of the cursed shall not mix with the blood of our line.” Kol’s breath hitched. The decree was dated forty-three years ago. His father’s seal stamped at the bottom. And beneath it, a smaller signature, Elias Thorne, Commander of Enforcement.

Vane replied coldly, turning back from the window. Vane pulled a heavy, leather-bound folder from his tunic, setting a sheet of parchment and a silver quill on the small bedside table. "Before your coronation tomorrow," Vane said, "royal protocol requires you to sign your first security decree as reigning monarch. People will know they can't mess with you..." Jace wiped his eyes with his sleeve, looking at the parchment with blurry, bloodshot vision. "What is this?" "A routine execution order," Vane answered smoothly.

The version that named a rank already adjudicated as forfeit. "Hessel," Elyra said. "You know why I am here," he said. "Yes," she said. "Then you understand that what follows is not personal," he said. "I know you believe that," she said. Something moved in his face at that. Barely. The specific micro-expression of a person who has received a response that touched something they had organized themselves not to feel. He managed it in under a second and it was gone. "The council has issued the decree," he said. "The charge is apostasy and operational betrayal. The authorized response is—"

Maris looks up, expecting Ismay, but finds an official court messenger wearing the silver crest of the Pack Council Education Court standing in the doorway. The messenger steps forward without a word and lays a thick parchment scroll bound in red wax directly on her desk. "What is the meaning of this?" Maris asks, her eyebrows drawing together. "Official decree from the Education Court, Miss Everleigh," the messenger says coldly. "Read it immediately." Maris breaks the red wax seal and unrolls the parchment. Her eyes skim down the dark, calligraphy-written lines, and her breath freezes in her throat.

Instead, I pulled the heavy parchment document my father had signed from my inner coat pocket, holding it flat under the glare of his flashlight so his scanners could read the thick, black ink of the Sovereign Decree. "The Grand High Council was permanently stripped of its regulatory authority yesterday morning, Commander," I growled softly, my voice a low, gravelly vibration that easily cut through the continuous idle of our armored engines. "The northern territories are under an absolute military mandate, and the successor prince does not request permission from a regional gatehouse to secure his borders."

"You stand on sovereign pack land, leading an illegal invasion! Lower your weapons or face the High Alpha's judgment!" ​William looked down from the gatehouse, a cold, mocking smile twisting his thin lips. ​"Judgment?" William sneered, holding up a heavy iron medallion glowing with an ominous crimson light—a High Council Decree signed with three distinct blood-crests. "You have no judgment here, boy. The Council has already declared you unfit. They know what you sought in the subterranean vault. They know you intend to break the sacred anchor!"

He set the glass back onto the table with a dull thud. Then, slowly, he stood up from his chair and began to pace behind his seat. "The decree was made by your father, Diane," Anthor said. He watched the shadows dance on the wall. "And that decree stands. Nobody can simply change the law because it has been written under the guiding laws of this pack. It cannot be changed by ordinary hands." "Yes, sir," I replied. My voice was firm. "I know that." Anthor stopped pacing. He walked back to his chair and sank heavily into the leather. He leaned his elbows on the table and locked his fingers together.

Master Kenneth, the royal scholar, hurried into the room holding a long, iron-sealed tube carrying the official, finalized registry decree straight from the capital High Council's emergency assembly. "Lord Rowan! Lord Kaelen!" the scholar called out, his face pale with utter dismay. "The High Council has bypassed the tribunal's wait period! To prevent the northern houses from uniting under the mate bond, the Supreme Committee has issued a binding administrative decree!" Rowan turned slowly, his face like carved granite. "What decree?" Master Kenneth unrolled the thick parchment, his trembling hand pointing to the bold, red-ink signature at the bottom as he gasped:

"That decree applies to wolf personnel!" "The wording of the decree specifies 'all executive personnel appointed by sovereign decree,'" I corrected him smoothly, drawing on every hour I had spent memorizing the pack charter in the dreary archives. "It makes no distinction regarding species or genetic classification. You have no legal standing to demand a live extraction without Alpha Caleb's written consent." A quiet rustle of agreement spread through the lower elders. Silas looked down at the charter ledger on his desk, nodding slowly. "She's correct, Lucian," Silas said, his voice heavy. "The executive loop holds."

She looked at Yang Xiao and hesitated. The black figure spoke once more, “You don’t have to arouse too much hostility against me. I’m only here to convey the Sire’s decree! Of course, if you arouse hostility against me, then it’s utterly impossible for a mere Half-step Martial Emperor like you to endure three moves from me!” “Imperial Decree has been passed on. Farewell!”