Chapter 58 Let him fall
ZEUS
The scent of roasted venison and aged wine greets me before I even step through the arched doorway of the royal dining hall.
The long mahogany table gleams under the chandelier’s soft light, gold-rimmed plates set with ceremonial perfection.
I step inside, boots echoing faintly against the marble, the weight of my journey still clinging to my shoulders like a cloak.
At the head of the table, my father, the Lycan King, lifts his gaze from the goblet in his hand. His eyes, sharp, calculating, fix on mine with an intensity that might make a lesser man shrink. But not me.
“Zeus,” he says, tone firm but not unkind. “Your report?”
I bow slightly, keeping my voice level. “The northern borders are secure, Father. The rogues have been pushed back. I spoke with the alpha of Ridgefall myself, and he’s reaffirmed loyalty to the crown.”
A flicker of satisfaction pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Good. Very good.”
I walk the length of the table and take my seat on his right, the place usually reserved for Darian. But my brother is already seated across from me, further down the table, his back too straight and his grip too tight around the stem of his glass. He’s not even drinking.
Interesting.
I glance at him once before lifting my own goblet to my lips. Red wine, spiced and full-bodied, rolls across my tongue. Darian’s fingers tap against the table in an uneven, staccato rhythm that betrays the storm in his head. He’s usually more composed than this. But today?
Today, he looks like he can barely sit still.
He hasn’t said a word. Not a greeting. Not a grunt. Nothing. His jaw is locked tight, muscles ticking every time our father glances in my direction. He hasn't touched his food, either.
I lean back, letting the warmth of the fire behind me seep into my spine. This discomfort of his... it’s delicious.
The King raises his goblet. “To Zeus,” he says, voice booming now, full of that royal pride. “For his unwavering dedication and for bringing the North to heel.”
I barely suppress my grin as goblets are lifted around the table. All except Darian’s.
He hesitates. Then, after a pause that feels just a few seconds too long, he lifts his glass, but doesn’t drink. His eyes flicker once to mine.
That’s when I see it.
The crack.
He’s unraveling, slowly. The pain is eating at him. He doesn’t want to show it, not in front of Father, but I see it in his eyes. That restless anger. That guilt. That ache.
Good.
Let it break him.
He was always the one everyone expected to rise. The Crowned Son. The heir. The future of the pack. And now? Now he’s slipping. And I’m rising.
The room quiets as we settle into our meals. Knives scrape gently against porcelain, servants pour wine with silent efficiency, and the scent of seasoned meat mixes with honey-glazed roots. Conversations pick up in muted tones, nothing worth noting.
Except Darian.
He hasn't touched a single bite.
“Not hungry, brother?” I ask casually, dabbing my mouth with a cloth napkin, tone light and innocent.
His eyes snap to mine, sharp like broken glass.
“I eat when I’m ready,” he mutters.
Father looks up, brows twitching, but says nothing. He’s watching too. Judging both of us.
I offer a faint smile. “Of course. Long day?”
He doesn’t answer. Just shifts in his seat and sets the goblet down with a sharp click. His knuckles are white.
“You look tired,” I add. “Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine,” he snaps, voice low but pointed. “No need to pretend concern.”
I chuckle, feigning hurt. “I wasn’t pretending.”
He scoffs under his breath. A servant walks past to refill my glass, and I don’t miss the way Darian’s eyes follow him, not because he wants more wine, but because he’s looking for just any form of distraction from the discomfort. His gaze is all over the place, unsteady and not calm.
He’s coming undone.
Later tonight, I imagine him pacing that oversized room of his, probably thinking about her. Iris. She’s the thorn in his side. And I’m going to make her the knife in his back.
The bond is going to pull him deeper into a hole he can’t crawl out of. And I’ll be waiting at the top, crown polished, smile sharp.
When Father looks at me tonight, there’s approval in his eyes. That rare flicker of genuine pride. And when he glances at Darian?
Nothing.
That’s all the sign I need.
I lean back again, catching Darian’s eye.
“You should get some rest, brother. You don’t look well,” I murmur.
His chair scrapes loudly as he pushes back and stands.
“I’m done,” he says curtly, not even bothering to excuse himself properly. He turns and walks out, stiff shoulders, clenched fists.
I watch him go, then glance back at Father, who says nothing. He simply keeps eating.
Perfect.
Let the golden son burn out. I’ll be the only one left shining.
Adrian pushes his chair back, the sound loud in the quiet dining room. Everyone glances up, forks pausing mid-air. His gaze is on me, firm and extremely unimpressed.
“There’s really no need to shove it in his face, Zeus.”
I arch a brow. “Excuse me?”
Adrian straightens, hands at his sides, tone measured but sharp. “You’ve made your point. You’ve earned the praise. But maybe try being decent about it for once.”
The room stills.
Father doesn't speak. He never does in these moments, not unless someone crosses the line. Adrian knows that. So he stares at me, waiting, daring me to argue. But I just smile, humorless of course.
He doesn’t wait for a reply. He turns and walks out.
A second later, Kelvin rises too, quiet as always. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even look at me. Just trails after Adrian like he always does, loyal to the end.
I watch them go with a faint exhale through my nose.
Always the same.
They rally behind Darian like it’s instinct, like he’s the only one worth defending. It used to bother me more. It used to feel like betrayal. Now? Now it just confirms what I’ve always known.
They don’t see what I see.
They don’t see that he’s not fit to lead. That he’s unraveling, haunted, broken. And when the moment comes, the moment when he finally slips, none of their loyalty will save him.
And I’ll be king.
Whether they like it or not.
And that’s all that fucking matters.