Chapter 65: Chapter Sixty-five

Chapter 65

Edgar’s POV

The weight of the throne pressed heavier each day, not because the seat itself had grown harder, but because my own body seemed less able to carry it. A leader could be questioned, challenged, hated even, but he could never appear fragile. Fragility was blood in the water, and wolves never ignored blood.

I had learned to hold myself with the same stiffness as steel. My back straight, my chin high, my voice steady. Only in the quiet hours, when the council hall emptied and Lia’s eyes found mine in the half-dark, did I allow myself to admit the truth: I was not the man I had once been. The poison had drained me, left behind a hollowness that no medicine seemed able to fill. Brie had stripped the curse from me, but curses did not leave cleanly. They left stains, shadows that lingered in bone and blood.

And yet, despite all of this, I could not afford to collapse. Not now. Especially not now.

The elders’ eyes lingered longer these days. Not all of them, but enough that I noticed. They looked at me as though weighing something silently, as though each word I spoke had to be sifted, tested, judged. There was a stiffness to their greetings, a hesitation when they bowed. It was subtle, so subtle I might have ignored it, if not for the way doubt seemed to gather like mist in corners of the chamber.

Something was shifting.

That morning, I had summoned them for a routine matter, allocating hunting grounds for the coming season, settling disputes among the border clans. Nothing of extraordinary importance. Yet the atmosphere in the chamber felt odd.

Halric cleared his throat more often than he spoke. Fenra’s eyes darted from me to her folded hands as though afraid of being caught staring. And Caddel, Caddel, who had always been loyal in silence, kept his jaw clenched tight, as though holding back words he dared not release.

I kept my voice calm as I issued orders, but every pause, every flicker of hesitation in their expressions carved deeper into my chest than any blade.

When the council adjourned, I did not rise immediately. Instead, I watched as they filed out, each offering their bows. I watched the way their gazes slid away from mine too quickly, the way their steps echoed with something that sounded like retreat rather than respect.

Only when the chamber was empty did I allow my shoulders to sag. My breath came ragged, each inhale rattling against the cage of my ribs.

Lia touched my arm gently. I hadn’t even noticed her approach. Her eyes searched mine, soft and worried. She had learned not to voice that worry aloud here; words had power, and if I heard them, so might someone else. But she didn’t need to speak. I saw the fear in her gaze, the way her hand lingered longer on my arm as though grounding me.

I forced a smile I did not feel and brushed my lips against her temple before rising. My body screamed at the movement, but I ignored it.

Weakness could not be shown.

The corridors of Duskwood had changed, or perhaps it was only my perception of them that had shifted. Where once the wolves bowed their heads with instinctive deference, now some hesitated, some avoided my gaze altogether. They still obeyed, of course they obeyed. But obedience born of duty was different from obedience born of faith.

And faith was what held packs together.

That night, I sat alone in my chambers after Lia had drifted into uneasy sleep. The firelight painted shadows across the walls. I turned the cup of wine in my hands but did not drink. My throat ached for it, but ever since the planned poisoning, I could not bring myself to trust the taste.

Instead, I let my thoughts circle.

Someone within these walls had not only dared, but believed it possible to succeed. That meant more than one traitor, because no wolf, no matter how foolish, would strike alone at an Alpha unless they believed they had support to shield them when the blow landed.

That was what unsettled me most. Not the poison itself, nor the weakness it left behind, but the knowledge that shadows were moving under my own roof. That trust, once absolute, was fracturing.

I thought of Connor, though his name was one I rarely allowed to linger in my mind. He was far, exiled, hated. Yet hatred did not erase blood. He was still of Nolan blood, and there would always be some who believed bloodlines carried more weight than worth.

But Connor could not have poisoned me here. He had no reach within Duskwood, or so I wanted to believe.

Which meant the rot was closer.

Which meant Brie.

The thought struck like a blade. I had trusted her once, more than I trusted most. She had stood beside me when others turned away, whispered counsel when I most needed it. But the more I thought of it, the clearer the shape became. Her presence where she should not be. Her subtle guidance, always pushing, always pressing. The way she had seemed almost too calm in the wake of the poisoning, her words always polished, ready, sharp.

And the elders, Halric, Fenra, Caddel. Their eyes mirrored something she could have planted there. Doubt.

My jaw tightened.

If she was moving against me, then I could not sit idle. I could not wait for the blow to fall.

Two days later, I tested the council again. I summoned them, not for duty, but for counsel. It was a deliberate move, one I hoped would flush out their loyalties.

We sat in the chamber, the fire crackling low. I asked them about the border patrols, the strength of our hunters, the state of the winter stores. But then I let the questions turn sharper.

“What do you believe makes a wolf fit to lead?” I asked, my eyes fixed on Fenra.

She stiffened, her gaze darting briefly to Halric. “Strength,” she answered after a pause. “Strength, and the blessing of the goddess.”

“And what if strength wanes?” I pressed.

Her lips pressed thin. “Then the goddess makes her will clear.”

It was not the answer of loyalty. It was the answer of someone hedging.

Halric cleared his throat. “The pack needs stability above all else. A leader must ensure it survives. That is his duty.”

His words were careful, but his tone was heavier than it should have been.

Caddel said nothing.

I dismissed them not long after, hiding my fury beneath a mask of calm. But as they left, I saw it again, the flicker in their eyes, the hesitation in their steps.

Brie’s hand was in this. I would stake my life on it.

And if she was weaving doubt among the council, then I would need to cut her threads before they tightened into a noose.

I turned back to the empty chamber, my fists clenched.

If Brie sought to poison me with whispers now, she would find that even a dying wolf still had teeth.