I forced a breath out, trying to shake off the weight of his words. "You should go," I said, softer now. "And um, thank you for your worry.."
Lucas hesitated.
For a moment — just a breath — he looked like he wanted to argue.
But then he nodded once, slow and deliberate.
He moved toward the door, then paused, his hand on the handle.
"You're not alone, you know," he said without looking back. "Even when you think you are."
I sat down and more thoughts came flashing through my head over and over and over again.
Cassius's warning.
Jesse's blood ritual.
The King's hidden plans.
The flashes of forbidden magic I had seen burning under Cassius's skin.
I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to try to find out what was happening. I would enter the kings chambers by nightfall.
The Throne's lower wings were mostly empty at this hour — the guards thinner, the patrols predictable. I moved like a shadow, my steps silent against the black stone floors. Every instinct screamed at me to turn back. But curiosity burned hotter than fear. Always had.
I slipped past the guarded sections with ease, sticking to the servant paths, moving deeper beneath the fortress. The air grew colder. Darker. The stones older, rougher under my boots. The sharp herbal stink of the wolfsbane made my nose wrinkle, but it did its job — not a single head turned as I passed.
There, tucked behind a heavy iron door carved with ancient runes, I found it. A passage few even knew existed. A door I had only seen once — in a forgotten corner of an old blueprint Cassius had drunkenly pointed at months ago, without realizing what he was revealing.
It wasn't locked. It didn't need to be. Fear was the lock. Fear was the guard. But fear didn't stop me. Not anymore.
I pushed the door open. The air beyond smelled of old blood, burning wax, and something fouler — something rotten and wrong. The chamber stretched wide and low beneath the Throne, its walls lined with black stone coffins stacked like bones in a catacomb. Ancient relics littered the floor: broken blades, cracked crowns, shattered seals — trophies of dead kings and defeated wolves. The room hummed with frozen magic, thick enough to raise the hair on my arms. I moved deeper, every step measured and silent.
At the far end of the chamber, a single object sat on a raised dais. An ancient mirror — cracked through the center. I stepped closer. And saw.
Not my reflection. Not truly. The glass shimmered, revealing flashes — images bleeding through like smoke. A younger version of the King — wild-eyed, desperate — standing over a bleeding wolf. A spell carved into his flesh. Blood binding him to a power not his own. Faking the bond. Faking the birthright.
My stomach twisted sharply. The King wasn't a trueborn werewolf. He had no rightful claim to the Obsidian Throne. Only true wolves could sit it — rule it — command it. He wasn't one of us.
Magic pulsed around me, sensing my discovery. The chamber seemed to shrink, the darkness pressing closer. I staggered back a step, heart pounding.
No wonder he had crushed every challenge. No wonder he moved like something more — and less — than a wolf. He had magic in him. Forbidden magic.
I turned sharply, pulling my cloak tighter around me. I had seen enough. And now I understood why the King needed the blood ritual so badly. It wasn't just power he wanted. It was protection. From what would happen when the truth finally came to light.
I slipped out of the hidden door, heart racing, every instinct screaming at me to move faster. I wiped my hands against my cloak, trying to calm my breathing. Almost to the servant hall. Almost safe.
I turned the corner—
And stopped dead.
The King stood there.
Leaning lazily against the cold black wall, arms crossed over his chest like he'd been waiting all morning.
My stomach dropped.
He didn't wear a crown. He didn't need one. The sheer weight of his presence pinned me where I stood.
He didn't speak right away. Just studied me, his gray eyes unreadable.
"You found it," he said finally, voice low and almost... pleased.
I said nothing.
My hand twitched toward the dagger hidden under my cloak.
The King smiled faintly, as if he saw the movement — and found it amusing.
"Relax," he said. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have made it this far."
My throat was dry. "You knew."
"Of course." He pushed off the wall and took a slow step toward me. "I know everything that happens inside my walls."
"Then why let me see it?" I forced the words past my locked jaw.
He tilted his head slightly, the way a wolf sizes up a smaller animal. "Because, Athena," he said softly, "i really really wanted to see what sort of expression you'd put on. . And the actions you would take too.."
I stared at him, every muscle tight. "You used magic to fake your bloodline."
He chuckled — a dark, cold sound. "And?" he said. "Blood. Magic. Power. It's all the same in the end."
"You're not a trueborn werewolf," I hissed. "You don't belong on the Throne."
He stepped even closer now, the shadows wrapping around him like living things.
"And yet, here I stand," he murmured, "while the so-called purebloods kneel at my feet."
"You lied," I said, my voice low and shaking. "You built your empire on a lie."
He smiled fully then — a slow, wicked thing that made my skin crawl.