ALARIC POV
The Alpha King's council chamber smelled of old leather and ambition.
Alaric stood at attention near the door with the other guards. His crimson and gold uniform was pristine. His posture perfect. His expression neutral.
Everything a loyal royal guard should be.
Inside, he was smiling.
Six months. That's how long it had taken him to work his way from a provincial guard to a position in the capital. To get close to the King himself.
Six months of careful manipulation. Strategic networking. Calculated risks.
But it was worth it.
Alpha King Damian sat at the head of the long table, listening to Lord Varion drone on about grain taxes. The King looked tired. Strained. Like he carried a weight no one else could see.
Good. Let him suffer.
Alaric's hatred was a cold, patient thing. Not the hot rage of youth. But something sharper. More refined.
This man had destroyed everything. Had ordered the massacre that killed Selene's family. That orphaned the girl Alaric had spent years grooming into the perfect weapon.
Well. Not this man directly.
Alaric knew the truth. He'd been there. Had arranged everything with Lord Regent Aldric before the old bastard died.
But Damian didn't need to know that. And more importantly, Selene didn't need to know that.
Let her think the King was guilty. Let her hatred grow. Let it fuel her training.
When the time came, she'd be the blade. And Alaric would be the hand guiding it.
"Captain Alaric."
The King's voice snapped him to attention.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"See Lord Varion out. And have the next petitioner sent in."
"At once, Your Majesty."
Alaric moved with practiced efficiency. Opened the door. Gestured for the annoying noble to leave.
Lord Varion passed close, muttering under his breath about the King's stubbornness.
Alaric filed the information away. Varion was discontent. Could be useful later.
He returned to his position. Watching. Listening. Learning.
The King rubbed his temples. Exhausted.
"General Thorne, what news from the southern territories?"
Thorne stepped forward. The old war dog was loyal to a fault. Irritating.
"Still no sign of the Eltharion child, Your Majesty. We've had reports of a marked wolf in the northern forests, but they're unconfirmed."
Damian's expression tightened. "Keep searching. Discreetly. I want her found and protected."
Protected. Not executed.
Interesting.
Alaric had wondered about the King's true intentions. The bounty had been canceled within days of the massacre. Replaced with orders to find and protect the marked wolf.
Why?
Unless...
No. It couldn't be.
But Damian's obsession with finding Selene was more than political. More than fear of prophecy.
There was something personal in it.
"Your Majesty," Thorne continued carefully, "about the investigation into the Eltharion massacre. We've found... irregularities."
Damian's attention sharpened. "What kind of irregularities?"
"The execution orders bore your seal. But the handwriting doesn't match your official documents. And several of the soldiers involved have since disappeared or died under suspicious circumstances."
Alaric's jaw clenched. Damn. He'd cleaned up as best he could, but Thorne was thorough.
"Someone forged my seal," Damian said quietly. Dangerously. "Someone used my authority to commit mass murder."
"It appears so, Your Majesty."
"Then find them." The King's voice was ice. "Find whoever orchestrated this. I want them brought before me in chains."
Thorne bowed. "We're investigating several leads. Including..."
He hesitated.
"Including what, General?"
"Including Lord Regent Aldric's personal guard. Several were present at the massacre. And Lord Aldric had access to your seal during his regency."
Damian's face went pale. "My uncle?"
"We can't confirm anything, Your Majesty. He's dead. Hunting accident five years ago."
"Convenient timing."
Alaric fought to keep his expression neutral. They were getting too close. Not close enough to implicate him yet, but too close for comfort.
He'd need to redirect their attention. Plant false leads. Eliminate witnesses.
The things he was good at.
The council session dragged on. Petitions. Reports. The tedious business of ruling.
Alaric watched it all. Learning the rhythms of power. Understanding how this court worked.
Who had influence. Who could be bought. Who needed to be eliminated.
When the session finally ended, Damian dismissed everyone except his inner circle.
Alaric left with the other guards. But he lingered outside, positioned where he could hear through the partially open door.
"The marked girl," Damian was saying. "I felt the bond. Faint but real. She's my mate."
Alaric's blood froze.
Mate?
Selene was the King's destined mate?
No. No, that couldn't be right.
But it made horrible sense. The obsession. The need to protect her. The personal investment.
The Moon Goddess had bound them.
Alaric's mind raced. This changed everything.
If Damian ever found Selene, if the bond completed when she came of age...
She'd be lost. The bond would override her hatred. Override everything Alaric had built.
Unless...
Unless Damian died before the bond could complete.
Which was the plan anyway. Just more urgent now.
Alaric's fists clenched. Years of work. Years of carefully cultivating Selene's hatred. Of positioning himself.
He wouldn't let a mate bond destroy it.
Damian would die. By Selene's hand, ideally. The poetic justice was too perfect.
The girl killing her own mate without knowing. The prophecy fulfilled in blood.
And Alaric would be there to pick up the pieces. To comfort her. To guide her onto the throne.
Where she belonged. With him by her side.
Not as mates. He wasn't delusional enough to think she'd love him that way.
But as her brother. Her advisor. Her power behind the throne.
That was enough.
More than enough.
"Captain Alaric."
He turned. One of the senior guards approaching.
"You're wanted for patrol duty. Eastern wall."
"Of course."
He followed. Doing his job. Playing his role.
The perfect loyal guard.
Inside, he was already planning. Calculating. Preparing.
The King was searching for Selene. Getting close to the truth about the massacre.
Alaric would need to work faster. Rise higher. Gain more trust.
In six more months, maybe a year, he'd be close enough to the King to strike when the moment was right.
Until then, he'd wait. Watch. Learn.
And in the forest, far from here, Selene would train. Grow strong. Sharpen her hatred.
Perfect.
Everything was falling into place.