The elder’s study was dimly lit, the scent of aged parchnt and bitter wine lingering in the air. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room. It looked very ominous. There were two n in the room.
Lord Malric stood by the grand fireplace, his back turned, the flas reflecting in his eyes as he clenched a crystal goblet in his hand.
Behind him, his son, Alric, stood trembling—he feared his father. He was so close to kneeling... He could not face his father’s wrath.
"Explain yourself," Malric’s voice was cold, each word asured and sharp. "What possessed you to orchestrate an assassination attempt on Riven?" He knew his son was incompetent, but this? This was a new low that even he did not expect.
Alric swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Father, I believed that capturing Riven would elevate our house’s standing. Holding him as leverage could have given us significant influence."
"Capturing?" Malric’s eyes narrowed. "You sent assassins, not negotiators. There’s a vast difference between a hostage and a corpse."
Alric’s gaze dropped to the floor. "I... I thought they could subdue him without lethal force."
Malric stepped forward, the echo of his boots reverberating through the hall. "Your naivety astounds . Riven is no ordinary target. His place in the Alpha’s heart is not sothing you can fathom. And you believed a handful of hired blades could detain him?"
Alric’s voice wavered. "I had information—intel about Riven’s whereabouts. It seed like a rare opportunity."
Malric’s expression darkened. "And yet you never thought to bring it to ? You acted on your own?"
There was no answer, only sha. Malric’s grip on his goblet tightened.
Alric hesitated, then produced a crumpled parchnt from his cloak. "This note was delivered anonymously. It detailed Riven’s movents precisely."
Malric snatched the parchnt, his eyes scanning the contents. The handwriting was unfamiliar, the details disturbingly accurate. "You’ve been played," he muttered, more to himself than to his son.
Alric looked up, confusion evident in his eyes. "What do you an?"
"This was a setup," Malric said, his voice tinged with anger and realisation. "Soone fed you this information, knowing you’d act on it. They’ve used your ambition to expose our house."
Alric’s face paled. "But why? Who would do such a thing?"
Malric turned away, his mind racing. "That’s what I intend to find out. But mark my words, Alric, your recklessness has endangered us all."
"You are not ready," Malric muttered, more to himself than to Alric. "I’ve spent years trying to prepare you for leadership, and yet the first chance you see for glory, you leap blindly like a dog chasing scraps."
Alric flinched, and sha burned across his face.
Malric wasn’t done.
"I’ve tolerated your arrogance, your posturing, your need to prove sothing to the other noble sons. But this... This was more than foolish. You risked the stability of our entire house."
Alric raised his eyes, desperation creeping in. "I only wanted to make you proud."
"Proud?" Malric laughed coldly. "You want to impress by undermining our entire operation? By drawing the Alpha’s ire down upon our na? Do you know how many centuries our bloodline has endured? How many blades I kept from reaching our backs?"
He threw the goblet to the floor, the glass shattering like ice against stone.
"And now I must clean up your ss, again."
Alric said nothing. He’d never seen his father like this—disappointed, yes. But this? This was contempt.
Malric’s voice dropped lower, quieter, and more dangerous. "You are not stupid, Alric. But you are reckless. And there is no place in this court for reckless n."
"I thought—" Alric began, but his father raised a hand.
"No. You didn’t think. You reacted. You wanted glory, not strategy. You thought this would win you the council’s respect. Instead, you’ve made us vulnerable."
Then, finally, his voice broke into sothing closer to bitter sadness. "I had hoped... You would one day carry this legacy. Now I wonder if you’ll ever be ready."
---
Troy leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. The flickering candlelight danced across his face, highlighting the glint in his eyes.
He recalled the events of the past weeks, the careful planning, the subtle manipulations. It had all led to this mont. The noble son, Alric, had been the perfect pawn—ambitious, eager to prove himself, and easily swayed.
There were a few risks, but he was confident in his abilities.
Troy had ensured that the anonymous note reached Alric, detailing Riven’s supposed vulnerabilities. He knew Alric would take the bait, acting without consulting his father. And now, the fallout was unfolding exactly as Troy had anticipated.
He sipped the wine in the glass, for the first ti savouring the taste.
The trail would inevitably lead Malric to suspect another elder, perhaps even inciting internal conflict among the council. It was a masterstroke, turning their own ambitions against them.
Troy’s thoughts drifted to Riven. The young wolf had proven resilient, surviving the assassination attempt. But more importantly, his ordeal had sown seeds of doubt and discord among the elders. The unity they once prided themselves on was beginning to fracture.
He leaned forward, placing his glass on the table. The ga was far from over, but the first move had been a resounding success.
Ronan could take care of things from here. He should enjoy his ti off...
Troy went up and walked towards the window, then leaned against it, watching the moonlight spill across the quiet landscape. His thoughts, despite every effort, kept returning to Riven. He shouldn’t have felt anything. This was a ga of power, of calculated moves. And yet, guilt twisted low in his chest.
He told himself it was for Ronan’s sake—Riven mattered to the Alpha, and therefore, Troy had to ensure his safety. That was loyalty. That was duty.
But the unease gnawed at him more than it should have.
It wasn’t just because of Ronan.
It was because of Riven.
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