POV: Ferdinand King
The rebels knelt in the palace courtyard, silver chains burning their wrists.
I stood on the platform beside my father, watching the crowd gather for what he called "an educational demonstration." The morning sun beat down on Louisiana humidity thick enough to choke on, but the cold in my chest had nothing to do with weather.
Three prisoners. Two men and a girl who couldn't have been more than sixteen.
"Today," King Alexander announced to the assembled court, his voice carrying across the courtyard with practiced authority, "my son will demonstrate the price of defying the Southern Alliance."
My stomach turned to stone.
The crowd murmured with anticipation. Courtiers who'd spent years kissing my father's boots now looked at me with eager expectation. This was entertainment to them. A lesson in power and fear.
"Father," I said quietly, "may I speak with you privately?"
"Whatever you have to say can be said here." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "This is a public lesson, after all."
I glanced at the prisoners. The girl's face was streaked with tears. One of the men held himself with dignity despite the burns on his wrists. The other trembled visibly.
They'd been caught distributing pamphlets about pack rights. Advocating for limits on Alpha authority. Suggesting that maybe, possibly, the Southern Alliance's tyrannical approach to governance wasn't the only way.
For this, my father wanted them dead.
"These are not enemies," I said carefully. "They're citizens with grievances. Perhaps we should hear their concerns instead of executing them."
The courtyard went silent.
King Alexander's expression didn't change, but I felt his Alpha presence press against me like a physical weight.
"Pardon me?" His tone could have frozen fire. "Did you just suggest we negotiate with rebels?"
"I suggested we listen to our people." I forced myself to hold his gaze. "A king who rules through fear alone is not a king. He's a tyrant."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. No one spoke to King Alexander like that. Certainly not his heir in front of the entire court.
"You forget yourself, boy." His power pressed harder, trying to force my submission. "These rebels threaten pack stability. They question rightful authority. They must be made examples of so others don't follow their foolishness."
"They're teenagers!" My voice rose despite my efforts to stay calm. "The girl is sixteen. She wrote poetry about equality. That deserves death?"
"It deserves consequences." Father gestured to the guards. "Bring the girl forward."
The guards dragged her to the center of the platform. She tried to be brave, but I could see her shaking. Could smell her terror.
"Your son seems to have developed a soft heart," Father said to the crowd, his tone mocking. "Perhaps he needs a more direct lesson in leadership. Ferdinand, execute the rebel. Show the court you understand the responsibilities of power."
The crowd's anticipation turned electric. This was better than they'd hoped for. The prince's loyalty tested publicly. His worthiness proved or disproven in blood.
A guard pressed a silver blade into my hand.
I looked at the girl. At my father. At the court full of sycophants who would cheer either outcome as long as it entertained them.
"No," I said.
The word hung in the humid air like a thunderclap.
"What did you say?" Father's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"I said no." I set the blade on the platform. "I won't execute children for writing poetry. I won't participate in this barbaric display. And I won't become the monster you're trying to create."
For a moment, I thought he might actually kill me himself. His power exploded outward, pressing every wolf in the courtyard to their knees. Everyone except me. I locked my knees and refused to fall.
"You dare defy me?" His eyes flashed gold. "In front of the entire court?"
"I dare oppose methods that are unworthy of true leaders." My voice steadied as I committed fully to the choice. "You rule through fear and manipulation. You call compassion weakness and cruelty strength. But you're wrong, Father. Mercy isn't for those too weak to command respect. It's for those strong enough not to need constant proof of their power."
The silence was absolute.
Then Queen Isabella began to clap.
Every head turned to stare at my stepmother. She stood in the royal box, applauding slowly, her expression serene despite the fury radiating from my father.
"Well said, Ferdinand." Her voice carried clearly. "Your mother would be proud."
Father's rage found a new target. "Isabella, you forget yourself."
"No, Alexander. I remember myself perfectly." She descended the steps with regal grace. "I remember the man I married promised to be a just ruler. Instead, I watch him become exactly the kind of tyrant he once opposed."
"Guards," Father snapped. "Take the Queen to her chambers. She's clearly unwell."
"I'm perfectly well." Isabella reached the platform and placed herself between me and Father. "But I will not watch you destroy your son's conscience the way you've destroyed your own."
The guards hesitated, caught between orders and the sheer audacity of the Queen's defiance.
"You're protecting him?" Father's laugh was cruel. "Isabella, he just committed treason. In front of witnesses. Pack law demands execution."
"Pack law also allows for alternative punishment." She met his gaze without flinching. "Exile, for instance. Educational correction. Surely the great King Alexander can find a way to discipline his heir without creating a martyr?"
I saw the calculation in Father's eyes. He wanted to kill me for the disrespect. But Isabella had given him an out that preserved his authority while avoiding the political disaster of executing his own son.
"Educational correction." He turned the words over like they tasted bitter. "Very well. Ferdinand, you are hereby exiled to Moonrise Academy. You will spend your senior year learning proper respect for power and authority. If you fail to demonstrate appropriate leadership qualities, you will not return as my heir."
"And if I refuse to go?"
"Then I execute you for treason, and your cousin inherits." His smile turned predatory. "Your choice, boy. Educational exile or death. What will it be?"
I looked at the prisoners, still kneeling in silver chains. At Isabella, who'd risked everything to give me this chance. At the court full of people who would watch me die without protest if Father gave the order.
"I'll go to Moonrise," I said quietly. "On one condition."
"You don't make conditions here."
"Release the prisoners." I gestured to the three rebels. "If you want me to learn about power, teach me that true strength includes mercy. Let them go with a warning. Prove you're a king, not just a tyrant with a crown."
Father's jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought I'd pushed too far.
Then he waved dismissively. "Fine. Release them. But if they're caught spreading sedition again, no mercy will be shown."
The guards removed the silver chains. The prisoners stumbled away, the girl casting me a look of shocked gratitude before disappearing into the crowd.
"Satisfied?" Father asked coldly.
"No," I said honestly. "But it's a start."
"Then start packing, boy. You leave for Washington tomorrow." He turned to the court. "This demonstration is concluded. My son will learn the error of his ways at Moonrise Academy, or he will not return."
That night, Isabella found me in my chambers, where I was mechanically packing for exile.
"You were incredibly brave today," she said from my doorway.
"I was incredibly stupid." I threw another shirt into my suitcase. "I challenged him publicly. Made enemies of everyone in that court."
"You saved three lives." She entered and sat on my bed. "And you showed the court that someone still has a conscience in this palace."
"A lot of good that does." I slumped into my desk chair. "He's sending me away. Probably hoping Moonrise will break me. Turn me into a proper little tyrant who follows orders."
"Or maybe it will show you that there are other ways to lead." Isabella's expression turned thoughtful. "Moonrise Academy isn't under your father's control. It's neutral ground. You'll meet pack heirs from all over North America. Different values, different approaches to power."
"You think I'll learn to be a better leader?"
"I think you'll learn that your conscience is your strength, not your weakness." She squeezed my shoulder. "Your father rules through fear because he's afraid. Of losing power, losing respect, losing control. But you, Ferdinand, you're not afraid to be kind. That makes you more dangerous to him than any rebel army."
"I don't feel dangerous. I feel like a disappointment."
"Good." Her smile was fierce. "Disappoint him. Refuse to become what he wants. Use this exile to become the leader he fears you could be."
I wanted to believe her. But the weight of today's confrontation pressed heavy on my chest.
"What if I can't?" I asked quietly. "What if I go to Moonrise and discover I'm just as weak as he says? That compassion really is just privilege guilt and naive idealism?"
"Then you'll learn otherwise." She stood, moving toward the door. "But I don't think you will. Your mother was the kindest person I ever met, and also the strongest. You have her heart, Ferdinand. Don't let your father convince you that's a flaw."
After she left, I continued packing in silence. Clothes that had been tailored to princely perfection. Books on leadership and strategy. The weight of expectations I'd never asked for.
Tomorrow I'd leave the only home I'd ever known. Trade a palace for a boarding school. Royal court for classroom politics.
Part of me was terrified.
Part of me was relieved.
The morning I left, Father summoned me to his private study.
"Sit," he commanded.
I sat in the leather chair across from his massive desk, feeling twelve years old again.
"Let me be clear about your situation," he said without preamble. "This exile is not a vacation. You will excel at Moonrise Academy. You will learn to appreciate the privileges of power. And you will return properly educated in how to rule."
"Or?"
"Or you don't return at all." His gaze was ice cold. "I have three nephews who would be delighted to inherit the Southern Alliance. Don't think your blood makes you irreplaceable."
"Understood."
"I doubt it." He leaned back, studying me like I was a disappointing investment. "You have your mother's foolish compassion. It got her killed, you know. She insisted on visiting the border villages personally, healing the sick, playing saint. Made her an easy target for assassins."
My hands curled into fists. "Don't talk about her."
"Why not? She's the reason you're soft." His smile was cruel. "She filled your head with nonsense about justice and mercy. About leading with love instead of strength. Look where it got her."
"It got her remembered as a queen beloved by her people," I said through gritted teeth. "What will they remember you as?"
His power slammed into me, forcing my head down in submission. I fought it, every muscle straining, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
"They'll remember me as the King who kept the Southern Alliance strong," he said softly. "Who made the hard choices. Who understood that power means nothing if you're afraid to use it. Learn that lesson, Ferdinand. Or don't come home."
He released his power abruptly. I gasped, steadying myself on the chair arms.
"Your car is waiting," he said dismissively. "Don't embarrass the family name any more than you already have."
The drive to Moonrise Academy took all day. I watched Louisiana disappear in the rearview mirror, replaced by Texas, then Arkansas, then the long climb through western states toward Washington.
My driver maintained professional silence. I was grateful. The last thing I wanted was conversation.
Instead, I replayed the courtyard scene over and over. The girl's terrified face. Father's cruel satisfaction. Isabella's desperate intervention. My choice to defy him publicly.
I'd probably destroyed my future as heir to the Southern Alliance.
But I'd saved three lives.
I knew which one I valued more, and that knowledge made me either brave or foolish. I couldn't tell which.