Perseus' Pov
"A miscarriage?" I repeat, my voice low but laced with disbelief, eyes wide and unblinking in shock. The words hit harder than I expected. She was pregnant—with that bastard's child?
"Yes, Perseus," Jeremiah replies gently, as if any more weight in his tone might break me. "I'm really sorry. I presume... you married her because of the pregnancy?"
The assumption pierces deeper than it should. I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to scoff or let even the smallest flicker of vulnerability show. I can't afford it.
I can't let him—or anyone—know she had been married before. That secret has already cost us too much. If the Council gets wind of it, they'll tear it apart with their forked tongues and idle chatter. They thrive on scandal. They would gorge themselves on it like wild dogs over fresh meat.
"No," I reply calmly. "But thank you, Jeremiah." I pause for a moment, then ask the only thing that truly matters right now. "She'll be okay, right?"
If she hated me before, then after this she will most certainly despise me. I'm sure of it.
"Yes. Definitely," he says with quiet confidence. "Just make sure she eats enough to make up for the weight and blood she's lost. The body needs strength, especially after such trauma. And don't worry, Perseus," he adds, patting my shoulder, "I wouldn't breathe a word about the occurrences of today. Not to anyone."
"Thank you," I mutter again, this time with a nod, and he takes his leave.
A miscarriage.
The words echo in my head again. A miscarriage.
Was that why she's been acting out of sorts these past few days?.
Did she even know she was pregnant? Or had she known, and kept it from me intentionally?
If she wanted to pass the child off as mine, she would have seduced me—thrown herself into my arms, into my bed, and made it believable. But she didn't. Not once. So that theory falls apart before it can form.
"You should be glad she lost the kid," Ryder, my lycan, growls from within, his voice laced with disdain and a twisted form of logic. "You didn't plan on raising that loser's bastard, did you?"
I ignore him. My head is already too clouded with unanswered questions, emotions I'd rather pretend don't exist, and the constant replay of her limp, unconscious form being carried away. The moment is branded into my mind, unshakable.
And now this—this gut-wrenching revelation—only tightens the weight pressing down on my chest.
If only she hadn't been so stubborn.
If only she had listened when I asked her to stop tempting me, to eat, to stop fighting me at every damn turn. Maybe none of this would've happened.
But even if things had gone differently… would I really have cared for the child? Could I have brought myself to look into the eyes of someone else's offspring and raise it as my own?
I don't even want my own children.
I just needed her to serve a purpose. A simple one. If she could've just stayed calm, obedient, and focused—if she had done her part—this wouldn't be so difficult for either of us.
But now…
Now, everything's unraveling.
I come to a halt in front of two guards stationed near the hallway.
I point at one. "Come with me." My tone is clipped, leaving no room for questions. To the other, I say, "Find Beta Severus and bring him to me immediately."
Without hesitation, they break into action. The one I summoned follows me silently, joined by the four other guards I'd already instructed to meet me outside.
We walk the long stone corridor toward the open courtyard—a cold, wide space flanked by pillars and arched pathways. The perfect place to unleash what's building in my chest. The perfect place to spill blood.
I come to a stop at the center and speak aloud, my voice cutting through the cool air.
"Fetch every maid who assisted the healer today. I want them here. Two minutes."
No one waits for clarification. A short, alert guard breaks into a run.
When he returns, he's breathless, with a dozen or more maids trailing behind him in a frenzied rush. Their dresses are lifted at the hem, feet shuffling awkwardly to keep up.
They line up quickly, heads bowed, their bodies trembling as they realize they're standing before me—and not for a routine check.
I narrow my eyes, scanning the line with precision, my gaze settling on Eleanor's werewolf maid.
"You," I call out sharply, making her jolt as though she's been struck.
"Y-yes, Alpha?" she stammers, lifting her head just slightly.
"Return to my wife. Stay with her. Do not leave her side again. Get out of here."
She bolts immediately, the urgency in her stride enough to satisfy me—for now.
Just as I'm about to deal with the rest, I hear a whisper. Arrogant. Insolent. A quiet laugh follows.
"I don't know what made her think werewolves and lycans are alike. Rogues."
It's faint, but it slices through the air like a blade.
My gaze whips toward the speaker. It isn't hard to find her. A petite, blonde maid—face far too innocent for the words that had slipped from her lips.
I begin walking, slow, steady, like a predator sizing up its prey. My arms are folded, my posture deceptively relaxed.
She trembles. I can see it in the way her shoulders rise and fall. She doesn't look up.
"I didn't ask you to talk, did I?" My voice is low and mocking. I let out a cold, hollow laugh as I bite down on my lower lip. "We needed to start somewhere, didn't we?"
My smile fades, replaced with something grim and monstrous.
In one swift movement, my claws extend and I lunge. My hand clamps around her throat, and I don't hesitate.
I pierce through skin and tissue. My claws dig deep, drawing blood that gushes in thick streams from the wound. Her eyes widen, then dim as she gasps, choking on her own blood.
The scent fills the air—metallic, warm, and strangely calming.
She collapses the moment I release her, hitting the stone ground with a dull thud. Lifeless.
The other maids remain frozen, horror painted on their faces, their dresses now splattered with blood that's not theirs.
I step back slowly, cleaning the corner of my lip where a droplet of blood had landed with my thumb.
Then, without flinching, I speak.
"Kill them all."
Instantly they drop to their knees, weeping.
"Alpha Perseus, please," they cry in chorus.
"I can't have word of my wife's miscarriage getting out," I say with a casual shrug. "This is a warning. A necessary one."
"Please, I won't tell. I swear on my life—please!" one sobs.
"I'm my family's only child, Alpha—please!"
"I've served you loyally for years. I've never disobeyed. Please… spare me!"
I sigh. Loudly. Almost bored.
"Stop begging," I say flatly. "Trust me, you wouldn't want that to be your final words."
Then I turn to the man beside me—Commander Skye.
I tap his shoulder and speak without emotion. "Finish the job. Make it clean. And collect the letters you'll deliver to their family alongside their corpses tomorrow."