King Abel shifted slightly, a furrow forming in his brows as he stared ahead. He exhaled slowly and said, "There's nothing to be done now. You understand why this must go forward no matter the cost. He needs all of Valestria to believe he has a wolf, an Alpha wolf to be precise."
"But he doesn't," Dorian cut in before his mother could respond. He stepped forward with an air of casual defiance, meeting his father's indifferent stare. "Not yet, at least, but who knows when? You're the king, Father. If anyone can postpone the ceremony, it's you."
He then lowered his gaze before continuing. "The people already know about Leviathan's condition. I'm certain they'd understand if we gave them the truth about the issue at hand."
King Abel let out a dry chuckle at his son's suggestion, the sound humorless and sharp. "Since when has the truth ever served us in this kind of politics, Dorian? Clearly, you still have so much to learn in terms of how the world works here. You know as well as I do– a Lycan king must be an Alpha no matter what. And you, Dorian, are not. You may be a Lycan, yes, but not an Alpha. That's why our hopes rest on that menace upstairs."
After hearing those words from his father, it struck Dorian deep, hence, his jaw tightened in an attempt to maintain his cool. His fist clenched behind his back , and his mother, Caelienne, still seated on the armrest, bristled at Abel's words.
She hated the decision he'd come to— and yet, she couldn't entirely disagree. For generations, only Alpha Lycans had ruled Valestria. Still, she couldn't understand why her husband clung to the traditions so fiercely, not when he had the power to bend the rules for their own son.
Dorian glanced at his mother but said nothing. She still appeared youthful and stunning beside the aging king. Elegant and commanding, her naturally stern eyes were made even more alluring by the bold red shadows that gave her a siren-like allure. Her auburn hair was swept in an elegant updo, neatly kept in place with an ancestral silver pin. Her flowing royal gown and hairpin unmistakably marked her as the king's favored wife, an honor that granted her significant influence at court.
His father, by contrast, radiated full strength and authority. Though still imposing, streaks of gray hair had begun to appear at the roots of his dark hair, including his beards as well. His grey eyes were deep and unreadable, holding secrets that even Dorian sensed he wasn't prepared to uncover.
"If Levi embarrasses the family during the ceremony, we'll all pay the price for it," muttered Caelienne.
"Pardon," another gentle voice chimed in just as the double doors opened, revealing a young woman stepping into the throne room. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with one hand resting protectively on the gentle swell of her belly. Her smile was soft, almost innocent, as she approached and dipped into a respectful bow before the king.
"Greetings, Your Majesty. My Queen," she said.
At the mere sight of her, Caelienne narrowed her eyes in disapproval. Her gaze flicked to the woman's round stomach, and she quickly looked away, her expression twisting as though the sight offended her. Meanwhile, Dorian had already stepped out the moment the lady joined his mother and father in the throne room.
"Margaret," King Abel said, his eyes settling on the young woman who was currently carrying his child. She wore a simple yet elegant purple gown, her ginger red hair braided to the side and threaded with delicate flowers. Abel's gaze shifted to the double doors, and he noticed she had come alone, her usual attendants absent.
Straightening up in his seat, he asked. "What brings you here, Margaret?"
"Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty. My Queen." Margaret's tone remained polite, almost deferential as she addressed the king personally. "I was taking a short walk in the garden when I remembered– this pregnancy has reached its six months. I've been told that, by tradition, the palace holds a claiming circle at this stage… to… to officially acknowledge the child as a member of the royal bloodline. I assumed it was necessary to keep you informed."
Caelienne narrowed her eyes slightly before speaking. "You didn't have to trouble yourself by coming all the way here– especially in your condition. Your wing is in the farthest part of the palace for a reason, Margaret. That's why you have attendants. Any one of them would have delivered your message to the king. There was no need to strain yourself when you should have been resting and thinking about the health of the baby."
Though Caelienne held no particular fondness for the young woman, she couldn't ignore her discomfort at seeing a pregnant woman pushing herself unnecessarily, especially when help was readily available in the palace.
Rising from the throne's armrest, she made her way to her own designated seat, the seat meant specifically for the Queen. Crossing her leg after sitting down, she said. "Right now, all palace efforts are focused on the preparations for the awakening ceremony. As for the claiming circle— it does have traditional value, but it's deeper significance is primarily reserved for the Queen. That said, it will still take place out of respect for custom. You'll just need to be patient with the palace's timing."
"Ah…yes," Margaret replied. "The awakening ceremony is far more important. I pray for Prince Leviathan's quick recovery and hope to see him ascend the throne very soon."
There was a strange flicker in King Abel's gaze, but it vanished within seconds. "Since you have no objection to waiting, then the claiming circle will commence after the awakening ceremony." He then rose to his feet, standing tall and imposing. "I shall retire to my chambers."
-_-_-✿-_-_-
By the following day in the Evernight pack, Genevieve had already taken up residence in the brothel house. She was in the middle of unpacking the last of her things when the other courtesans in the chamber abruptly excused themselves. Not just one, but all of them at once.
She paused, watching the door swing shut behind the last pair of heels, their giggles fading along with their footsteps. People rarely moved in such perfect synchronization unless they'd been warned, or were told to avoid something. Or someone. Eve didn't need to guess any further, because the reason revealed itself promptly enough.
Alpha Gareth appeared in the doorway, hands casually stuffed into his pocket. He wore that same well-practiced, insufferable smile— the one he probably used to charm every woman in the Evernight pack.
However, the case was different for Genevieve. She didn't even flinch. She merely blinked at him as though he were an unexpected insect that had wandered in uninvited. In fact, she was wondering about the kind of boldness he had to show up in front of her after the stunt he pulled in front of his father last night.
After turning her into nothing more than a convenient warm body, instead of granting her the freedom she seeked, he dared to look at her as though she should be flattered by his presence.
If he even thought about touching her, she'd rearrange his future family tree with a well-placed kick.