Chapter 7: The Crown and the Curse
The air in the private archive was thick with the scent of aged parchment, cold stone, and the residual antiseptic odor of the silver wound on my back. I sat behind the massive obsidian desk in my private study, the room where all strategic and magical truths of Silvercrest were uncovered.
Draven stood to my right, his Beta presence a solid, watchful pillar of loyalty and suspicion. Solene, the Moon Priestess, was across from me, radiating a quiet intensity that was often more unnerving than a full-scale battle. She had spent the last twenty-four hours deep in the archive, consulting the oldest scrolls—the ones that pre-dated the five wolf kingdoms and spoke only in riddles about the moon, the earth, and the forgotten entities sealed beneath the Northern Territories.
"The assassin was a ghost," Draven reported, his voice low and hard. "No pack markings, no known scent signature, and the silver dart was purified beyond recognition. They were professional, Your Majesty. This was a targeted strike from a high-level authority—someone who views the Blackthorn bloodline not as royalty, but as a contagion."
I felt Fenrir shift restlessly beneath my skin. The wolf was weary from guarding and healing, but his senses remained sharp, focused on the potential threat. The attack had been brutal, but it had served one purpose: it confirmed Kaira's importance.
"The assassin's final words?" I asked.
"'The Territories will not be ruled by a monster's consort,'" Draven recited, his tone flat. "It confirms the enemy knows about her connection to the ancient entity, the one we call The Echo."
I looked at Solene. Her face was serene, framed by the long, silver braids that were the mark of her calling. She held a scroll—a brittle, leather artifact that felt cold even from across the desk.
"What have you found, Solene?" My voice was rough, tired of strategic games and riddles. I needed the truth, sharp and cold.
The priestess met my gaze. Her eyes, usually calm and seeing, held a mixture of pity and profound dread.
"The prophecies are not about finding the Moon's Mate, King Aric. They are about awakening the seal. And the seal, it seems, is Kaira Blackthorn."
I leaned back, my hand clenching on the desk's carved surface. I didn't need Solene to be gentle. I needed her to be factual.
"Be precise, Priestess. The Echo. Its origin."
Solene carefully unrolled the ancient scroll, revealing dense, hand-drawn symbols that pulsed with residual lunar magic.
"The Monstrosity," Solene began, her voice dropping to a ritualistic murmur, "is not a demon or an aberrant wolf. It is an entity of pure, sentient chaos, a primordial hunger that predates the Wolf Moon. When the Territories were first formed, it was sealed not in stone or earth, but in blood. The most powerful bloodline capable of containing that immense, destructive force."
She paused, lifting the scroll. "The Blackthorn line. Kaira's ancestors were not merely Betas; they were the jailors. They gave their descendants the curse—or perhaps the duty—of becoming the vessel."
The revelation was a physical blow. Kaira's family hadn't been murdered; they had been performing a suicidal guard duty. Kaira's disappearance hadn't been an abduction; it had been a strategic burial of the secret.
And the Moon's Mate?
"The prophecy states that the Lunar King, possessing the highest concentration of lunar magic, is the only one who can unlock the hidden mate-bond," I recited, the words tasting like ash.
"Precisely," Solene confirmed, her gaze unwavering. "Your lunar mark is the key, Your Majesty. You were destined to find her, but not to save her. You were destined to release her. Your powerful bond is meant to either stabilize The Echo—turning it into a force for good—or to break the seal entirely, giving the creature total freedom."
My protective instincts warred with the agonizing responsibility of my Crown. The former screamed protect my mate; the latter demanded protect my people.
"And what does The Echo want?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Freedom," Draven interjected, his voice tight. "The assassin called her the 'monster's consort' because they believe the King's bond is the final step in the creature's ascension. They believe you are making it stronger, Aric."
I stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. The silver in my back was a constant reminder of the pain I had endured for her, and the pain I was willing to endure.
"When I found her, she was trying to kill me," I stated, my voice devoid of emotion, the perfect mask of the King. "That hatred wasn't hers. It was The Echo rejecting the claim."
"And the wolf?" Solene asked, her eyes gleaming with sudden, intense interest. "Draven said you were covered in silver and blood. Was there a reaction?"
I hesitated, the memory of that crystalline silver gaze and the faint, high ping of Lyra's voice too precious and too dangerous to share. I couldn't afford them knowing she had a fighting chance. If they knew Lyra could speak, they might argue for purification rituals—rituals that would shatter Kaira's mind.
"Her wolf remained silent," I lied smoothly, meeting Solene's gaze with absolute control. "She was in catatonic shock, as expected."
Draven shifted, his Alpha senses detecting the deviation, but he was too loyal to challenge the King's word in front of the Priestess.
Solene sighed, disappointment crossing her features. "Then the prognosis is darker than I hoped. If Lyra remains silent, Kaira has no internal defense against the parasite. The Echo grows stronger with every trauma, every surge of fear, every moment of self-loathing. And Your Majesty, you are forcing her to live in light, in terror, and in fear of your love. She is a walking wound, and The Echo is feasting."
She placed the scroll on the desk. "The prophecy is clear. When the seal is broken, the creature will shatter the Lunar King and consume the five territories. It is the end of the Age of the Wolf."
The implication hung in the silent room: For the safety of the Northern Territories, Kaira Blackthorn must be permanently contained—or killed.
I looked down at the scroll, the ancient script blurring into the modern political necessity. The crown I wore was heavy, not with gold, but with the blood of my parents, slain by rivals who sought to plunge the kingdoms into war. My singular duty was stability.
And my mate was instability personified.
I walked over to the tall, lead-paned window, staring out at the rising sun washing over Silvercrest. The castle was alive, its people waking up to another day under my rule, oblivious to the fact that their survival was now contingent upon the life of the traumatized girl sleeping fifty feet away.
Fenrir was frantic now, his protectiveness amplified by the prophecy. No. She is ours. We do not give her up. We will break the prophecy. We will not let the monster take her.
I made my decision. It was not a strategic one. It was a choice made by the King who felt nothing, now choosing to feel everything for a woman he might lose.
I turned back to the room, my expression a mask of iron.
"Solene. This prophecy—this knowledge of the Blackthorn bloodline—it must remain confined to this room. Do not speak of the vessel aspect to the Council. They will not understand. They will only see a foreign threat."
"Your Majesty, that is treason to the Crown," Solene warned, her voice firm.
"Treason is allowing an unknown enemy to dictate our actions based on an outdated scroll," I countered, my Alpha voice cutting through the space, leaving no room for argument. "The assassin came from outside this kingdom. Whoever locked Kaira away has returned to finish the job. We will treat Kaira Blackthorn as a traumatized victim who is now the Moon's Mate, protected by the Crown."
I met Draven's steady gaze, ensuring he understood the unspoken command. Guard her life, and guard her secret.
"Draven, arrange to move Kaira to the Royal West Tower," I instructed. "It is shielded, harder to access, and has a dedicated medicinal wing. I want the surveillance increased ten-fold. No one is to approach her without my explicit permission, not even Solene."
Draven nodded once, accepting the command, though his eyes reflected his internal struggle with the risk.
Solene remained impassive. "You are choosing a woman over your kingdom, King Aric."
"No," I stated, walking back to the desk, my hands braced on the wood. "I am choosing the key to the prophecy. If she is destined to break the seal, then her safety is paramount. If I am the catalyst, then I must control the environment. I will not let a terrified girl be executed because of a legend."
I picked up the scroll, the brittle parchment rough beneath my fingers. I did not burn it, but I carefully placed it inside a lead-lined vault in the floor—the place reserved for the most dangerous military secrets.
I had the truth. My mate was cursed. She was a weapon. She was tied to an ancient, consuming entity that wanted to destroy the world I was sworn to protect.
But she was also mine. And I had seen the silver flicker of her wolf.
I would hide the prophecy from her. I would hide her from the world. I would use the King's power to build an impenetrable cage, a safe haven where I could teach her to heal, to fight, and perhaps, to love me.
I would gamble the entire Northern Territories on the faint, forgotten hope of Lyra Blackthorn's whisper.