Chapter 115 Seven drops
ZEUS
The night breathes in silence. The Haven always does before blood is spilled.
I move through the marble corridors like a ghost, every footstep measured, my heartbeat steady. The servants pass me, heads bowed. None of them look twice. They know better.
In my jacket pocket sits a tiny glass vial.
Vallora.
Odorless. Tasteless. The quietest of killers. Conan said five drops were enough to stop a heart, but I brought seven because I’ve seen the King’s strength, the stubborn pulse of his Lycan blood. He will not die easily.
The vial feels warm between my fingers as I pull it out in the kitchens.
A single candle burns in the corner, throwing amber light over the copper pots and clean silverware. The cooks have already finished the evening meal. I made sure of it. I told them I wanted to “serve my father personally” to show respect.
They looked thrilled. The dutiful son, stepping up at last.
Idiots.
The kitchen smells of roasted meat and herbs. There’s a jug of wine waiting, half full. I pour the rest from the decanter, swirl it gently, then hold the vial over the crimson liquid.
Seven drops.
The poison melts into the wine without a ripple, without color or scent. I stir it once, slow and careful, until the surface stills again. My reflection stares back, sharp cheekbones, golden eyes too bright, too wild. A king in the making. Or a monster.
I cork the jug, wipe the rim with a linen cloth, and place it on the silver tray.
I can already see it in my mind, the King raising the goblet, the faint tremor in his hand as his heart slows, his breath hitching before silence swallows the hall.
And me, watching. The loyal son. The future ruler.
A door opens behind me.
“Zeus.”
Adira’s voice. Light, lilting, but strained at the edges. She walks in, her gown whispering against the floor.
“It’s done?” she asks.
I nod once. “He’ll drink it tonight.”
Her lips curl into a small smile. “Then by dawn, the throne will be ours.”
“Ours,” I echo, though the word tastes foreign on my tongue.
She steps closer, touching the front of my jacket with manicured fingers. “After tonight, nothing will stop us.”
I catch her wrist gently but firmly. “Don’t play queen yet, Adira. The King isn’t dead.”
She flinches slightly, then laughs it off. “Of course. I just want to imagine it.”
“Imagine quietly,” I mutter, releasing her.
There’s a flicker in her eyes, irritation, maybe fear, but she nods. “I’ll see you in the hall.”
When she’s gone, the silence returns, thick and heavy.
I exhale slowly, pick up the tray, and start toward the dining room.
\~~~~
The King sits at the head of the table when I enter.
The grand hall glows gold from the chandeliers overhead, every flame reflected in the polished plates and goblets. The room smells of roasted venison and old wine.
Laughter hums softly with my father’s voice, deep and commanding, rolling across the long table.
Adira sits on his right, a picture of elegance, smiling like the dutiful daughter of a loyal Alpha. Her father, Conan, occupies the next seat, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp as ever. Across from them sits Adrian, drumming his fingers idly on the table, bored or pretending to be.
I take my place beside him.
“Ah, Zeus,” the King booms. “Finally decided to join your family for a meal, have you?”
I bow my head slightly, feigning respect. “I thought it was time.”
He chuckles, reaching for the jug on the table. My jug. “Then you may pour, son. Show us your courtesy.”
I pour carefully, the crimson stream filling his goblet, then Adira’s, then Conan’s. My hand doesn’t shake once. When I set the jug down, my fingers are steady as stone.
The King raises his glass, sniffing it idly. “You chose well,” he says. “Your mother used to favor this vintage.”
Adira glances at me, subtle and expectant. I nod almost imperceptibly.
Just drink, I think. Just lift the cup to your lips. Let Vallora finish what I’ve started.
But the King isn’t in a hurry.
He takes a bite of the meat first, chewing thoughtfully, then gestures toward me. “Tell me, Zeus. Have you given any thought to your role in the council? You can’t spend your life in the shadows of your brothers forever.”
I smile thinly. “I have, actually. I was thinking about… reforms.”
Adrian snorts. “Reforms? That’s rich.”
The King’s eyebrows lift. “Reforms? What kind?”
I lean forward, elbows on the table, every word measured. “The packs are restless. The rogue activity is increasing. Our border patrols are outdated, our alliances too dependent on loyalty bought through fear. Maybe it’s time for a… younger vision.”
The King laughs, a booming sound that fills the hall. “Younger vision? You mean your vision?”
I keep my tone even. “Someone has to think ahead.”
He points his knife at me, still grinning. “And what of your brother, the crown prince? You’d dethrone him already?”
“Not dethrone,” I say smoothly. “Support and advise.”
Replace, my mind whispers.
Adira shifts slightly beside the King, her knuckles whitening on her goblet.
The King takes another bite, pleased, oblivious. “Ah, my sons. Always ambitious.” He lifts the goblet now, swirling the poisoned wine lazily. “That’s good. Ambition keeps the blood hot.”
Adira’s eyes dart to me.
Now.
My heart kicks. The room seems to narrow, the candlelight sharp as blades. Every muscle in my body tightens. The King tilts the goblet toward his lips.
And then Adrian moves.
He leans across the table, far too casually, snagging the King’s sleeve.
“Wait,” he says, grinning. “You’re seriously drinking that without a toast? To Darian’s victory over the rogue pack? To peace? To anything?”
Darian isn’t even here!
The sudden motion jolts the King’s hand. The goblet slips, tips, and crimson wine spills across the tablecloth, dark and spreading like blood.
For a heartbeat, no one breathes.
Then the King curses softly, setting the cup down. “Careless,” he mutters.
Something in me snaps.
My chair screeches back as I rise. “What the hell are you doing?” I snarl at Adrian.
He blinks, startled. “It’s just wine, brother.”
“Just wine?” My voice rises, raw, almost feral. “You barge in, interrupt a royal meal, and ruin…”
The King’s voice cuts through mine, deep and warning. “Enough.”
I freeze, chest heaving. The entire table stares. Adira’s lips part slightly in shock. Conan’s gaze flicks from me to the King, calculating.
The King studies me for a long moment, eyes narrowing. “You’re awfully angry over a glass of wine, Zeus.”
The words strike like a lash. My pulse stutters. I force a laugh, brittle and strained. “It’s not the wine, Father. It’s the principle. Adrian should show some respect.”
The King chuckles again, but there’s something thoughtful behind it now. “Respect,” he repeats, leaning back in his chair. “Interesting word, coming from you.”
Adrian smirks, oblivious or pretending to be. “I’ll fetch another bottle. Maybe one that doesn’t make him bite.”
I sit down slowly, forcing my expression to smooth, my voice to steady.
“Apologies,” I say tightly. “It’s been a long day.”
The King waves a hand, dismissing it. “No harm done.”
But the damage is done.
My pulse is hammering, my palms damp against the tablecloth. For a moment, the room feels tilted, the air thick with suspicion and smoke. I can feel Adira’s eyes on me, her silent accusation. You almost ruined it.
The King gestures to a servant for another jug. I watch the crimson stain seep deeper into the white cloth, spreading, soaking into the grain of the table like a mark that won’t wash out.
He almost drank.
He almost died.
And I almost gave myself away.
I force a smile, sip from my untainted glass, and pretend to enjoy the rest of the meal, but inside, the beast in me howls.