ld. The biting wind howled through the mountains, carrying the mournful howls of wolves far and w

cross his chest. His once-mighty frame was now draped in dark furs, and ancient runes carved into

alike had gathered, heads bowed in respect. No one spoke. No on

face was stone, unreadable, but his hands, clenched tightly at his sides, betrayed the storm raging within

closely. Their eyes were sharp,

n gave t

ouncil, stepped forward. His voic

st Alpha this land has known. His blood runs through the ston

etting the w

The bloodline must lead. And so, we stand behind our n

hrough the crowd, blendi

remained hard, though the weight

nodded

t to give the co

er rested. A cold gust of wind swept through th

voice low but carryin

ght

s to the base of the pyre, and the dry wood crackled to life. The fire grew rapidly,

olves. One by one, they lifted their voices to the sky in a

the fire reflecti

the crowd, Garrick and D

ble, but his eyes glinted with s

but not all who

than smoldering ash, and the air

essing in on him. The large wooden table was littered with maps an

d him, their faces s

arrek reported. "But they will not remain silent for lo

the warriors growled. "Before t

a hand, silen

ce," he said, voice steady. "The Bloodfangs expect us to rush to war. W

exchanged w

sed. "They will be watching. Some

et them wonder if the new king is r

m fell

avado. It wa

ith authority, shadows mo

usual, the weight of the king's death still lingering. Ronan s

is head, as if it was made

't want

was h

follow him into strength

soft foots

rged from

ait your or

didn't

long every border. I want to know

dded but

he cou

" Ronan's voice was cold. "But they'

then bowed before slipp

beyond the walls, his grip ti

surrou

beyond t

e much

them

all the strength

s of the castle, built from ancient stone and centuries of history, seemed to exhale a deep, sorrowful breath, the kind of breath that would forever carry the weight o

to stretch into eternity, as if the world itself had been swallowed by the loss of the king. But as Ronan stood there, the air heavy with the silent mournin

the k

tead, all he felt was the pressure of what lay ahead, the looming war with the Bloodfang Pack, the scheming within his o

wasn't h

ey held the weight of a truth he couldn't escape. His hands tightened around the stone r

e silence. "Your father made his ch

t look at him with suspicion, envy, or fear. Lucien was always calm, collected, and had been his most trusted ally since

y'll challenge me at every turn, waiting for me to falter. Th

They will, but you're not alone. You never have been." He paused, his voice turning somber. "But there is s

ply, his eyes narrowing. "

s eyes. "Garrick and Draven. They've been plotting behind your back. The moment Aldric died, they

uscles tensing with the sudden surge of ang

hey've always hated the idea of you inheriting the throne. They believe you don't deserve it, t

solid ground becoming something far less stable. His brothers-Garrick and Draven-had always been d

anger, betrayal, and something else-fear. Fear that his family, the very blood that ran

e your birth, in fact. They've never accepted you as the heir. They've made their o

had a sense of entitlement that often led them to clash with him, but he had never im

but urgent. "You can't let them gain any more ground. T

now. We'll strengthen the pack. I won't

throne. You're protecting everything your father built, everyth

e from, but the thought of losing everything-the pack, the legacy of Shadowfang, and the life he had a

an with something in his eyes that wasn't there before. "And don't forget a

n ever. The Bloodfang Pack wasn't just a threat; they were a symbol of everything he had yet to

could feel the weight of the crown on his head, heavy as a mountain, but he wouldn't let it crush h

a new challenge, and