Chapter Fourteen — The Alpha’s Game
1292 Words
Kael’s POV
The council had dispersed like carrion birds startled from a corpse, each elder slithering back to their corners with whispers sharp enough to cut through stone. I lingered.
Malrik did not rise from his chair. His gaze followed the last of his sycophants until the heavy doors slammed shut. Then, the old wolf smiled.
It wasn’t the kind of smile that reached his eyes. It was the one that meant blood.
“You’ve grown bold, boy,” he said at last, swirling the wine in his cup. “Defending my Luna as though she were yours.”
I kept my hands clasped behind my back. “I defended the pack’s reputation. Public suspicion weakens us.”
He chuckled, low and hoarse. “You always did speak prettily when hiding your own motives.”
I said nothing. Silence was my armor with him—one I had learned to wear early.
Malrik rose, his fur-lined cloak sweeping the floor like shadow. “Don’t mistake my patience for blindness, Kael. I see the way you look at her.”
My jaw tightened.
“She’s your Luna in name,” I said flatly.
He leaned close, his breath thick with wine and something fouler. “She’s mine in name,” he hissed. “Do not forget who you serve.”
I met his gaze without flinching. “I serve the pack. Not your pride.”
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The air between us grew heavier, crackling with all the years of hatred and silence we’d both pretended were respect.
Then he laughed, sharp and brittle. “You’ve always been too much like your mother. Defiant. Foolish.”
My vision flashed red for an instant, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of an outburst. I only turned for the door.
“She won’t last,” he said to my back, his tone turning almost casual. “Pretty girls like her never do. Sooner or later, they all burn.”
I froze mid-step. The echo of her death in the last life—firelight, silver blood, her screams—stabbed through my memory like a knife.
I turned my head slightly. “Maybe,” I said. “But this one burns differently.”
Then I left him to drown in his wine.
---
Outside the chamber, the fortress air felt colder, sharper. The corridors twisted with whispers. Veyra brushed past me, her perfume cloying, her smile too sweet.
“Lord Kael,” she purred, feigning courtesy. “You might advise your Luna to watch her tongue. I’ve seen vipers die for less.”
I stopped, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Careful, Lady Veyra,” I said softly. “Vipers don’t die from poison. They die from their own reflection.”
Her smirk faltered.
I left her standing there, nails digging into her palm, and made my way toward the courtyard.
The walls of this fortress had always felt like a cage. But lately, the bars were moving.
Selene was the one shaking them loose.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure whether to help her escape—or make sure she didn’t burn the whole pack to the ground.
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Selene’s POV
By evening, the council’s tension still clung to the air like smoke. Servants moved faster, voices lowered. Even the guards outside my door seemed quieter, their glances uneasy.
Perfect.
Fear, when guided properly, was far more useful than loyalty.
Eryndor arrived at dusk, his hood pulled low. I motioned for him to close the door quickly.
“She’ll strike soon,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Veyra’s pride won’t let my words go unanswered. She’ll try something desperate—something that looks like righteousness.”
He nodded, the firelight flickering across his calm features. “Desperation is predictable. You intend to let her make the next move?”
“Yes,” I said. “But I want her to think she’s winning first.”
Eryndor poured two cups of dark tea, sliding one to me. “You sound like someone who’s done this before.”
“In another life, perhaps,” I said softly.
His gaze lingered on me, the faintest glimmer of understanding there. “And how did that end?”
“In flames.” I met his eyes steadily. “This time, it ends differently.”
He smiled faintly. “Then tell me the rest of your plan.”
I unfolded it piece by piece—how we’d plant whispers among the servants that Veyra had boasted of her influence, how a single misplaced vial of poison would “mysteriously” appear in her chambers, and how one frightened maid would run straight to Malrik’s men to save herself.
Eryndor listened without interrupting, only nodding once when I finished. “Clever. You won’t even have to accuse her yourself. Her own fear will do the work.”
“That’s the idea.”
He leaned back, eyes thoughtful. “You’re changing more than the past, Selena. You’re rewriting the kind of queen you were meant to be.”
I hesitated. “You think I can win this?”
“I think you already are.”
Before I could answer, a knock sounded. Sharp. Firm.
Eryndor melted into the shadows without a word as the door opened.
Kael stood there.
His presence filled the room—cold, commanding, too alive for the quiet I’d built around myself. He looked tired, but there was a flicker of something wild in his eyes.
“Your father sent you?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “If he’d sent me, I wouldn’t have knocked.”
“Then why are you here?”
He closed the door behind him, his voice dropping. “Because you’re playing a dangerous game, and you’re playing it in my war zone.”
I lifted my chin. “Your war zone? Last I checked, the pack’s politics aren’t yours alone.”
“Don’t twist this,” he said, stepping closer. “You don’t know how quickly this house can turn on you.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” I countered. “I’ve already died once in this house.”
He froze, just for a moment. The firelight caught his expression—anger, confusion, something like pain.
“What did you say?”
I smiled faintly. “Only that I’ve learned my lesson.”
Kael exhaled slowly, as if deciding whether to argue or surrender. He moved closer until the edge of his shadow brushed mine. “You’re too calm for someone plotting her own survival.”
“Calm doesn’t mean safe,” I said. “It means ready.”
Something in his gaze shifted then—less fury, more admiration, though he fought to hide it.
He nodded once. “Then stay ready.”
As he turned to leave, I said softly, “Kael.”
He paused at the door.
“I heard what your father said in council,” I murmured. “About patience and weakness. He’s wrong.”
Kael glanced over his shoulder, eyes shadowed but sharp. “So you were listening.”
“I always am.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Then you’ll know that patience isn’t weakness. It’s waiting for the moment your enemy forgets you still have teeth.”
The door closed behind him.
Eryndor stepped from the shadows, watching the door. “He’s changing, too,” he said quietly.
“Everyone changes under fire,” I murmured.
Then, turning back to the map laid out on the table—the outline of the fortress drawn in charcoal, names and alliances marked in red—I smiled.
“Let’s make sure the flames burn in the right direction this time.”
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- Writer
