Disguised Before The Alpha Prince

Chp 56

Lucien’s POV

The gates of the Bloodfang Pack groaned open as I stepped inside, the wind harsh against my already burning skin. The right side of my face stung a long, jagged scar now carved its way from my temple to my cheek. A reminder. A wound. A declaration.

Demyan.

He would pay for this.

The guards looked at me with a mix of unease and pity, but no one dared speak. I didn’t want their words, I wanted blood.

As I approached the main hall, the scent of ash and iron followed me. Rage had taken root deep in my bones, twisting into something venomous. I shoved the heavy doors open, and there he was my father, standing tall in the middle of the hall like the judgmental god he always pretended to be.

His gaze slid to my scar, and then to my eyes.

“What happened to you?” he asked, voice cold and sharp.

I said nothing.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I should have sent your brother.”

My fists clenched. That was all it took. No question of my pain, no concern, just disappointment. Again. As always.

He looked away, disgust in every line of his face. “You’re still as useless as you were as a pup. I trusted you with a mission, and you came back defeated.”

“I went to enemy territory,” I hissed. “I fought the Alpha Prince himself and walked out alive. That scar? That was from him. I faced what your precious elder son never could!”

“You were reckless,” he snapped. “And you failed. Again.”

The air around me pulsed with heat. My wolf scratched beneath my skin, howling in fury. My father’s words stung deeper than any blade.

From the moment I was born, I’d been a shadow. The unwanted one. The second son.

My elder brother, Valen was everything my father praised. Strong. Noble. Perfect. Even when I was the one training before dawn. Even when I spilled blood for the pack in silence. Even when I took missions Valen never dared take.

But it was never enough.

It would never be enough.

And now, after all that I had endured, all I had risked, my father still stood there, unmoved, unimpressed, as though I was nothing but a mistake he couldn’t erase.

Fine.

Let them all see the monster they created.

Let them watch as I tear down everything they valued, especially Demyan.

That scar on my face wasn’t a sign of weakness.

It was the mark of vengeance.

And I would make sure that the day Demyan watched everything he loved crumble, he’d remember exactly who put that scar on me and who carved it back.

I sat alone in the dark of my quarters, staring into the flickering flames of the hearth. The room was silent, but my mind was loud screaming with memories I had long tried to bury.

I remembered it vividly.

The first time I bled in front of him I had only been seven. A wild training match had gone wrong. Valen and I had both fallen from the ledge behind the training yard, tumbling hard into the rocky stream below. My ankle had cracked. Blood oozed from the gash on my arm.

I’d cried not because of the pain, but because I thought he’d come running.

He didn’t.

I watched him leap over to Valen, lifting him into his arms, barking orders at the guards to bring the best healer. “My son is hurt,” he’d shouted. My son as if only one of us mattered.

I lay there on the ground, shivering, dirt clinging to my wounds, waiting for him to even glance in my direction.

He never did.

It was the healer who found me and helped me limp back, his eyes avoiding mine with the same trained indifference everyone had when they looked at me. Like I was a shadow meant to remain unseen.

Even then, I thought... maybe next time. Maybe if I train harder. Maybe if I win a duel. Maybe if I stop Valen during a raid. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll look at me.

But maybe never came.

Every bruise I earned was ignored.

Every scar left untouched.

Even the birthday I spent in the infirmary—he didn’t show. He was out hunting with Valen, celebrating his promotion.

And now, after years of clawing, fighting, bleeding for the recognition I never got… he still looked at me like a disappointment.

Like I was nothing more than a failure wearing a prince’s name.

I dragged my fingers across the scar on my face, feeling the raw edge of it. This pain—this was real. This was mine. It wasn’t given by my father or my brother. It was carved into me by Demyan the silver black wolf who everyone admired.

And for that, I would ruin him.

I would destroy everything that made him noble. Even if it meant getting my hands dirty. Especially if it meant taking away the things he tried to protect. Let him feel the sting of being unseen. Let him feel what it’s like to be second.

For once, I would be the one holding the blade. And this time.they would all remember my name.

The metallic taste of blood still lingered on my tongue from where I bit the inside of my cheek, my anger simmering beneath my skin like a storm waiting to erupt.

The deep gash running down the side of my face throbbed with every heartbeat, a reminder of Demyan’s fury and my failure.

No. Not a failure. A betrayal.

My jaw clenched as I paced the darkened chamber of the northern wing. The familiar scent of home felt foreign now. Tainted. Mocking.

The door creaked open, and Dren, my loyal guard, stepped in, head bowed.

“Well?” I demanded, barely keeping the growl out of my voice.

He hesitated before speaking. “Your father… after you left, he kept muttering to himself. He said he should’ve sent Lord Valen instead. That this mission required ‘restraint, not recklessness.’”

My fingers curled into a fist.

Of course. Valen, the golden heir, the beloved. The flawless one. Even after everything I’d endured. Even after I bled and nearly died for this cursed pack.

Still not enough.

Still not him.

“He said he made a mistake,” Dren added carefully. “That next time, it wouldn’t happen again.”

My breath caught, a cold laugh escaping. “A mistake. That’s what I am to him.”

How many years had I spent trying to prove myself? How many battles, how many wounds?

All ignored.

I took a step forward. “What else?”

Dren kept his gaze low. “Shortly after, the Elders came. Requested a private audience with your father.”

That caught my attention. My brows furrowed.

“The Elders?” I repeated. “Why?”

“I don’t know the full reason,” Dren admitted. “But when the meeting ended, your father dismissed everyone. Even Lord Valen. He hasn’t spoken a word since. He locked himself in the study.”

My heart paused. My mind raced.

The Elders didn’t visit unless it was serious. War. Betrayal. Succession.

And if Valen had been excluded…

I stepped closer to the window, peering out into the night. The moonlight cut across the hills, casting shadows across the grounds.

“What was Valen’s expression?” I asked after a moment.

“Angry,” Dren said. “Frustrated. But silent.”

So even the untouchable prince was shaken.

Good.

Perhaps the glass pedestal Valen stood on was starting to crack. Maybe the Elders saw something my father never did. Maybe… just maybe… the tides were turning.

And if there was a gap even the slightest I’d force it open with my bare hands.

No more being the shadow.

No more being cast aside.

Demyan, Valen, even my father—they’ll all see what I truly am.

I turned back toward Dren, a dangerous calm settling over me. “Find out what the Elders told him,” I said. “Use whatever means necessary.”

Dren bowed. “Yes, my Lord.”

As he left, I touched the scar on my cheek, the pain grounding me.

This scar was no weakness. It was a warning.

The moonlight poured into the room like silver blades, but it couldn’t cool the fire blazing in my chest.

I stood by the window, one hand pressed against the cold stone wall, the other clenched into a trembling fist. Every breath I took was laced with rage and something else far more dangerous than hope.

A sharp knock broke the silence. Dren entered, his eyes flickering behind him. He wasn’t alone.

A girl followed young, dressed plainly, her head bowed, hands twisting together nervously.

“A maid from the green Chamber,” Dren said with satisfaction in his tone. “She was there. During the Elders’ visit.”

My gaze sharpened.

The girl looked up, her lips parting, clearly terrified.

“You served during the meeting?” I asked, stepping forward slowly, my tone as calm as the still water before a storm.

“Yes, my Lord,” she stammered, voice barely above a whisper. “I brought tea and stood by the wall. They… they didn’t notice me.”

I motioned for her to speak.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “The Elders asked your father directly… They said the pack needs a decision. That the people are growing restless without knowing who will take the throne.”

My breath caught. So it’s true. The question of succession is finally at hand.

She continued, “Your father… he answered immediately. He said it would be Lord Valen. That there was no doubt.”

Of course he did.

“Then?” I asked, though my voice was a razor now.

The maid hesitated before saying, “The Elders began whispering among themselves. They didn’t look pleased. One of them finally stood and said that it should be… you, my Lord.”

I blinked.

The silence in the room thickened as her words sank into the walls, into my bones.

Me.

They said… me.

“They argued,” she continued, nervously glancing toward Dren. “Your father said you weren’t fit to rule. That you were reckless, driven by rage, unpredictable. But the Elders… they said something different.”

“What?” I said, my voice low.

“They said strength born from neglect is a fire that never dies. That they’ve seen how you fight. How you endure. And that perhaps the fire is what the pack needs now.”

My heart thundered in my chest.

She paused before delivering the final blow: “They said… that if you bring the pack victory, you will be named successor. But if Lord Valen does, then he remains the heir.”

So this was it.

Not a rejection. Not yet.

A test.

War will decide who wears the crown.

I stepped back, breath uneven, my hands trembling. Not from fear. But from something sharper. More alive.

They chose me. Even if only in part… they chose me.

“Leave,” I said, voice cool as ice.

The maid bowed deeply, then fled with Dren behind her, closing the door.

Alone again, I stood there in the dark, staring at the scarred reflection of myself in the window.

So my father still thinks I’m unworthy.

So Valen still has his golden pedestal.

But the Elders saw something he didn’t.

They saw the fire.

And now… I’ll make sure it devours everything that stands in my way.

Demyan. Valen. Even the King himself.

Let the war come.