Chapter 8 - Blood on the Iron Throne
Chaos had erupted in the upper keep.
When Darian and Seraphina burst out of the stairwell into the great hall, they found it in ruins. Heavy mahogany tables had been overturned. Smashed wine goblets littered the floor, mixed with pools of dark, fresh blood.
A dozen elite guards lay unconscious or dead near the throne dais.
Standing at the center of the grand hall, holding a bloodied curved dagger, was Chancellor Halstead. Behind him stood a private mercenary squad of rogue western mercenaries—men wearing the insignia of the Western Reach border guard.
And standing beside Halstead, looking pale and terrified, was none other than Kale.
Seraphina froze. The breath rushed out of her lungs.
Kale looked older, harder, his armor scarred from border skirmishes, but his cold, calculating eyes were instantly recognizable. He stared at Seraphina standing beside the Alpha King, his jaw dropping in sheer incomprehension.
"Seraphina?" Kale muttered, shaking his head. "What is a scullery maid doing standing next to the king?"
"She is my queen, you pathetic worm," Darian’s voice cut through the hall like a razor blade.
Halstead laughed—a high, manic sound that echoed off the high stone walls.
"Your queen?" Halstead sneered, stepping forward and pressing the tip of his bloody dagger against the throat of a captured royal priestess. "There will be no queen, Darian. The council has signed the deposition papers. The northern packs have sided with Vossreach and the Western Reach. Wolfkeep is ours!"
"You think a piece of paper gives you a crown?" Darian asked, his voice deathly calm as he slowly drew his massive broadsword from its scabbard. The steel sang a deadly, resonant note.
"It gives me enough time to kill the beast—and the scullery whore who bewitched you!" Halstead screamed, lunging forward with the dagger.
He didn't make it three steps.
From the shadows behind the high throne, a massive flash of silver light erupted.
The Diamond Wolf didn't roar this time. It moved in absolute, terrifying silence. It hit Chancellor Halstead like a charging warhorse, sending him flying across the marble floor in a shower of shattered bone and torn velvet.
At the same time, Darian moved forward into the mercenary ranks like a reaper in a wheat field. Steel clashed against steel, sparks flying in the torchlight as the king carved a path straight toward the traitors.
Kale drew his sword, his face twisted in panic and rage, stepping forward to defend himself as Darian approached.
"You threw away a gift you were too blind to understand," Darian snarled, his broadsword flashing in a blinding arc.
With one effortless, crushing blow, Darian shattered Kale’s sword into a hundred flying shards of iron, sending the former mate crashing hard to the stone floor, the king's heavy boot coming down squarely on his chest.
Kale choked, gasping for air as the king's sword point hovered an inch above his throat.
Seraphina walked slowly forward, stopping a few feet away. She looked down at the man who had broken her heart two years ago—and felt... nothing. No pain. No anger. Only the hollow pity for someone so small, standing in the shadow of giants.
"Look at me, Kale," Seraphina said quietly.
Kale forced his eyes up, sweat beading on his forehead as he stared into her calm, clear gaze.
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"You told me the Moon Goddess made a mistake," Seraphina said softly. "You were right. She didn't make a mistake on me. She made it on you."
Darian pressed his boot down slightly harder, then kicked Kale aside like a piece of refuse. "Take them all to the dungeons," the king commanded the incoming guards. "Let them rot with the memories of their treason."
