Chapter 4 - The King’s Ledger
The great hall plunged into a level of silence so profound that the crackle of the hearth fire sounded like rolling thunder.
Three hundred wolves stared in horror at their fallen Alpha, who was currently curled on the floor in the fetal position, whimpering as his nervous system reeled from the violent rejection backlash.
Beatrice stood frozen at the end of the high table, her mouth working soundlessly like a fish out of water, her crimson silk dress looking suddenly ridiculous in the grim reality of the moment.
Then, the heavy sound of leather boots echoed across the stone.
King Alaric slowly stood up from his throne.
Every eye in the room snapped to him as he descended the dais steps, his massive frame radiating a terrifying, suffocating aura of pure dominance that forced several lesser pack members to involuntarily drop to one knee in submission.
Alaric walked past the writhing form of Arthur Pendleton without sparing him so much as a glance. He walked straight toward Genevieve, stopping just a pace away. He checked her over with a quick, clinical sweep of his golden eyes, ensuring she was unharmed, before turning his gaze outward to face the stunned assembly.
“Elder Harrison,” Alaric’s voice rolled across the hall like a gathering storm.
The elderly greybeard swallowed hard, stepping forward and bowing low. “Y-Your Majesty.”
“Under the ancient accords of the northern territories,” Alaric demanded, his voice ringing with absolute authority, “what is the penalty for an Alpha who neglects his pregnant mate, conspires with an outsider to orchestrate a fraudulent public rejection, and brings dishonor upon the sacred pack laws?”
Harrison’s face turned pale as ash. He glanced down at Arthur, who was slowly pushing himself up off the floor, his face slick with cold sweat, trembling like a leaf.
“The penalty... Your Majesty... is immediate stripping of Alpha status, exile from the territory, and forfeiture of all household lands to the injured party.”
Gasps echoed through the room. Beatrice let out a shrill, hysterical cry.
“You can’t do that!” Beatrice screamed, pointing a shaking finger at the King. “She tricked him! She’s a bitter, heavy cow who couldn't keep her man, and now she’s using royal favors to steal Silvercrest!”
Arthur managed to stagger to his feet, clutching his chest where the bond had been ripped away. His eyes were wild, bloodshot, and filled with blind panic.
“Your Majesty!” Arthur choked out, his voice hoarse. “She is lying! Whatever she told you—it’s a fabrication! We had a disagreement, yes, but this is a pack matter—you have no right to interfere in Silvercrest internal affairs!”
Alaric turned his head slowly. The look he gave Arthur was so chillingly devoid of mercy that the fallen Alpha actually stumbled backward.
“No right?” Alaric’s voice dropped to a terrifying, quiet whisper that somehow carried to every corner of the room. “You presume much, Arthur. You assume that because I arrived quietly last night, my ears were closed.”
Arthur froze. “What... what are you talking about?”
Alaric raised his hand. From the dark corridor behind the dais, two royal guards stepped forward, dragging a trembling, weeping kitchen servant between them—a young boy who looked terrified out of his mind.
“Tell them, boy,” Alaric commanded softly.
The servant dropped to his knees, sobbing. “I—I swear by the Goddess! Two nights ago, Alpha Arthur ordered me to deliver extra wine and fruit to the abandoned armory. He told me to ensure no one disturbed him and Lady Beatrice while they... while they discussed how to humiliate Lady Genevieve at the Solstice feast!”
The hall erupted into a wall of furious uproar. Shouts of disgust and anger rained down from every table. Warriors slammed their fists against the wooden benches, their wolves howling in collective outrage at the betrayal of pack law and family honor.
Arthur’s face turned the color of curdled milk. He looked from the servant to Beatrice, then finally to Alaric.
“That... that is circumstantial—”
“Silence,” Alaric thundered, a pulse of pure Alpha compulsion rolling off him that forced every single wolf in the room—including the elders—to buckle slightly under the pressure.
Alaric stepped closer to Arthur, towering over him by a full head.
“I stood in the dark corridor outside that armory last night, Arthur,” Alaric stated, his voice ringing with cold, absolute finality. “I heard every word. I heard you call your pregnant mate heavy, tired, and a burden. I heard your plans to cast her out into the snow like discarded trash to satisfy this little vixen standing beside you.”
Beatrice burst into loud, ugly tears, sinking to the floor of the dais as the collective glare of three hundred furious pack members converged upon her like a firing squad.
“As the Supreme Alpha of Ethelguard,” Alaric declared, his golden eyes sweeping across the entire assembly, “I invoke the Sovereign Decree of 1204. Arthur Pendleton is hereby stripped of his Alpha title, effective immediately. His lands, his keep, and his authority are transferred in full trust to Genevieve Pendleton, sole custodian of the Silvercrest bloodline heir.”
Arthur let out a strangled cry of pure devastation. “No! You can’t take everything from me! You can’t!”
“Guards,” Alaric commanded simply.
May you like
The two massive royal Lycans stepped forward, grabbing Arthur by both arms and hoisting him off his feet as if he weighed nothing at all.
“Take him and the sister to the northern boundary post,” Alaric ordered coldly. “Let them experience what it means to be cold, heavy, and truly alone in the winter snow.”
