Perry’s POV
Marco materialized from the shadows like a ghost, clutching my unconscious mate against his chest. Two Valerium warriors flanked him—the sa cowards who had fled earlier when the real fighting began, only to slink back once they spotted Marco with the queen.
Phoebe hung limp in his grasp, her head lolling against his shoulder. The steady rise and fall of her chest was the only thing preventing from painting the forest red with their blood.
But those bruises around her throat... those purple fingerprints on her pale skin made my vision blur with murderous intent.
Without her wolf, Phoebe healed like any fragile human. Those marks would linger for days, a constant reminder of how they’d touched what belonged to .
Every person present could sense the lethal rage radiating from my body like heat from a forge. The air itself seed to thicken with violence.
"So," I said, my voice deadly calm as I fixed Marco with a stare that had made grown alphas wet themselves, "you’re one of the traitors."
Marco’s hands trembled as he fought to steady himself. Going against a king wasn’t just rebellion—it was biological warfare. Every instinct bred into him over generations scread to submit, to bare his throat, to beg forgiveness.
Yet here he stood, defying the supre ruler with Phoebe as his only shield.
The beta’s fear-sweat filled the air, sharp and acidic. But beneath that terror lay sothing else: desperation so complete it made him dangerous.
"Stay back!" Marco’s voice cracked like a whip. "Keep your distance from him, King Perry, or I swear I’ll—"
"You’ll what?" I took a single step forward, and Marco imdiately pressed his claws against Phoebe’s throat. "Hurt my mate? We both know you won’t."
But I froze anyway. I wouldn’t gamble with her life, no matter how empty his threats seed.
Marco’s eyes darted to Maxwell, who was attempting to crawl away from the blood-soaked clearing where I’d systematically dismantled his warriors. The royal gamma looked pitiful—three fingers missing, shoulders shattered, his face a mask of agony.
When Maxwell caught my gaze, sothing shifted in his expression. Pain transford into twisted triumph.
"Look who’s begging now," he gasped out through gritted teeth, then burst into delirious laughter that echoed through the trees. "The mighty Mad King, brought to heel by a simple beta."
I slamd my boot into his broken ribs, feeling bones crack further under the impact. Maxwell’s laughter turned to a gurgling wheeze.
"Enough!" Marco’s claws trembled against Phoebe’s skin, drawing the faintest line of blood. "I told you to stay back, or I’ll end her! I swear it!"
The scent of Phoebe’s blood—just a single drop—ignited sothing primal in my chest. My wolf roared for release, demanding I tear Marco apart piece by piece for daring to mark our mate.
But I remained frozen, every muscle locked in place by the sight of those claws hovering over her jugular.
"Does Wallace know his beta is nothing but gutless scum?" I asked, though my attention never left my unconscious mate. "Or is betrayal a family tradition in your pack?"
"Wallace is weak!" Marco spat, his desperation bleeding into rage. "He doesn’t deserve the alpha title. He’s pathetic, just like his father was."
There it was—the real motivation. Marco had served as beta under Wallace’s father, watching what he considered an inferior bloodline maintain power while he remained second. When the old alpha died and Wallace inherited the title, Marco’s resentnt had curdled into rebellion.
"What do you want?" I cut straight to the heart of it. Playing psychological gas wouldn’t help Phoebe. "Na your terms."
Marco’s lips twisted into sothing that might have been a smile if it wasn’t so full of hatred. "You think this is a negotiation? You think I’m going to bargain with you?"
"If you hurt her," I said quietly, "I’ll burn you alive. Slowly. I’ll keep you conscious for every second of it."
The threat hung in the air like a blade. Marco’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, but he pressed his claws deeper against Phoebe’s throat in response.
That’s when I heard them approaching through the underbrush.
Footsteps. Multiple sets. Moving with military precision through the forest toward our clearing.
Three figures erged from behind Marco and his Valerium allies, stepping into the fading daylight like actors taking their places on a stage.
Elder Augustus led the procession, his silver hair pristine despite the wilderness trek. Behind him ca two more elders I recognized from countless council etings—n who had sworn oaths of loyalty to my crown.
Ten warriors followed in their wake, all bearing the insignia of the royal guard.
My own n. Sworn to protect .
Now pointing their weapons at my heart.
"My king," Elder Augustus said, offering a bow so deep it bordered on mockery. "What a pleasure to find you here."
The false respect in his tone made my jaw clench. "Are you here to help as well, Augustus? Or should I assu you’re part of this little coup attempt?"
"Coup?" Augustus placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "My dear king, you wound . I’m here to ensure a peaceful transition of power. Nothing more."
I let my gaze sweep over the other elders and their warriors, cataloging their positions, their weapons, their likely fighting capabilities. Even wounded and outnumbered, I could kill half of them before they brought down.
But Phoebe remained Marco’s hostage.
"I never wanted things to unfold this way," Augustus continued, his voice thick with manufactured remorse. "Truly, Perry. You’ve been like a son to ."
"Save your lies for soone who might believe them."
Augustus’s mask of false sympathy slipped, revealing the ambition beneath. "Your reign of tyranny ends today. The kingdom has suffered enough under your... leadership."
"Tyranny?" I tilted my head, studying him like a predator sizing up prey. "Is that what we’re calling it? I conquered the Valerium kingdom for our people. I expanded our territory, our resources, our influence. And this is how you repay success?"
"You’re a monster," Augustus said flatly. "The nobles live in fear. The people whisper about rebellion. Even your own guards question your thods."
"My thods work."
"Your thods are barbaric!" His composure cracked, revealing the fanatic beneath the statesman. "You rule through fear and violence. You’re no better than the tyrants we overthrew to put your family in power."
I glanced at Maxwell, who had managed to drag himself closer to Augustus’s feet despite his injuries. The royal gamma’s eyes glead with vindictive satisfaction.
"What did you promise them?" I asked Augustus, nodding toward Marco and the Valerium warriors. "To make them risk their lives for your ambition?"
"I promised them freedom," Augustus replied. "Freedom from your oppression. Marco will beco my royal beta when I’m crowned. Maxwell will rule the Valerium kingdom as my appointed governor."
Marco’s grip tightened on Phoebe at the ntion of his reward. Power. Status. Everything he’d been denied under Wallace’s leadership.
"You lie so effortlessly now," I said. "But I know you, Augustus. I know what drives you. This isn’t about justice or freedom—this is about an old man’s greed. You want to rule both kingdoms yourself."
"Think what you like," Augustus said with a dismissive wave. "Your opinion will be irrelevant soon enough."
He took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"You’ve grown accustod to people bowing before you, haven’t you, Perry? Scraped and groveled to for so many years that you’ve forgotten what humility feels like."
The air around us seed to thicken with tension. Every warrior present understood what was coming next.
"Why don’t you try it yourself?" Augustus’s voice dropped to a whisper that sohow seed louder than a shout. "Kneel."
The single word hit like a physical blow.
A king bows to no one. It wasn’t just tradition—it was the fundantal law of our existence. To kneel was to surrender not just authority, but identity itself.
Murderous rage flashed through at the command. My wolf clawed at my ribs, demanding I shift and tear Augustus’s throat out for the insult.
But Phoebe remained motionless in Marco’s grasp, those claws still pressed against her vulnerable throat.
"You heard him!" Marco’s voice cracked with hysteria. "KNEEL! Or I’ll open her throat and let her bleed out in the dirt!"
As if summoned by his words, Phoebe’s eyes fluttered open.
She looked confused at first, disoriented by unconsciousness and captivity. Then her gaze found mine across the clearing, and understanding dawned in those beautiful eyes.
She tried to move toward instinctively, but Marco yanked her back against his chest, his claws dimpling her skin.
"Stay still," he hissed in her ear, "or your king dies."
"Be calm, love," I said softly, seeing the panic building in her expression. "You’re going to be fine."
Phoebe’s eyes darted around the clearing, taking in the elders, the warriors, the weapons all pointed at . She was looking for my backup, my hidden forces, so sign that I had a plan.
Fear filled her gaze when she realized I might have co alone.
Fear for .
"KNEEL!" Augustus roared, his patience finally snapping. "Or watch carve her heart out!"
He drew a silver dagger from his belt—the ceremonial blade used for executions. The tal glead in the fading light as he moved closer to Marco and my mate.
Now both claws and blade threatened Phoebe’s life.
"KNEEL, OR I SWEAR I’LL END HER!"
The words echoed through the forest like thunder, scattering birds from their roosts and sending small animals fleeing through the underbrush.
I stood there, frozen between duty and love, crown and heart, as ten weapons remained trained on my chest and two separate threats hovered over my mate’s fragile human body.
For the first ti in my reign, the Mad King found himself with no good options.
"Your choice, Perry," Augustus said softly. "Your pride, or her life."
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