Chapter 73: Chapter Seventy-three

Chapter 73

Edgar’s POV

The fire in the council chamber burned low, throwing restless shadows across the carved beams overhead. I sat at the long table, my hands braced against the polished wood, every muscle in my body taut with the weight of the eyes fixed on me. The elders had summoned me at dawn, their message carrying no hint of request.

They called it weakness, the lingering toll of my mother’s curse, but I saw the gleam in their eyes. They mistook my slow recovery for an opportunity, a crack in my armor they could widen with pressure.

Today, their pressure was sharper than ever.

Elder Rowen leaned forward first, his silver hair catching the glow of the fire. “You look stronger, Alpha,” he said, though his tone carried less admiration than scrutiny. “Stronger than last moon. It is good to see.”

Good. But not enough. The unspoken words were clear.

“I mend in my own time,” I said evenly. My voice did not betray the ache in my bones, nor the way fatigue still stalked me like a predator in the dark. “Strength does not vanish because of sickness. Nor does it vanish because some seek to hasten its decline.”

A few of them shifted uncomfortably, others met my gaze without flinching. These men and women had weathered more seasons than I, but they had also grown too comfortable with their own influence.

Elder Mara, sharp-eyed and never patient, tapped her knuckles against the table. “There are rumors in the pack, Alpha. Rumors that cannot be ignored.”

My jaw tightened. “Rumors are smoke. Do you bring fire, or only words?”

Her lips thinned. “It is said your mate falters often, that she tires easily, that her strength wanes even as yours struggles to return. Some believe it is the goddess withdrawing her favor. Others whisper of causes less divine.”

The silence that followed was heavier than stone. My heart pounded once in my chest, loud enough I feared they could hear it. I thought of Lia, her careful steps, the way her hand strayed to her abdomen when she thought no one watched. She had been cautious, but caution only delayed discovery.

I straightened, letting the authority of my bloodline flow into my words. “My mate has endured more than any wolf in this room. Her strength is not for you to measure. Nor is her devotion to this pack yours to question.”

Rowen’s brow furrowed, but it was Mara again who pressed. “Then grant us clarity, Alpha. We are your council, bound to advise and protect the future of Duskwood. If there is something we should know, something that affects succession, stability, or the will of the goddess, do not shroud it in secrecy.”

They were circling closer, teeth bared beneath their civility.

I wanted to bare mine in return, to slam my fist on the table and remind them whose blood ran in my veins. But a part of me understood their game. They sought confirmation. If I rose to anger too swiftly, it would confirm suspicion. If I revealed too much, they would twist it to bind me.

Patience, Edgar. Patience.

I let silence stretch until it became its own kind of weapon. Then I spoke, low and deliberate.

“The future of this pack is secure. That is all you need to know.”

It was not enough for them, of course it wasn’t. Elder Kael leaned forward, his voice quieter than the others but more dangerous. “Forgive me, Alpha, but vague assurances cannot still the unrest that grows among the people. They need certainty. They need to know the goddess has not abandoned us.”

The goddess. They wielded her name like a blade, yet none of them knew her as Lia and I did. None of them had stood in the presence of her light or felt her decree burn in their very bones.

Still, their suspicion gnawed at me.

If they guessed Lia carried my child, they would not rejoice. No, they would weigh the child as a pawn, another thread to tug against me. Brie’s shadow loomed behind all of this; I could almost feel her hand pushing whispers through the corridors, feeding their doubts like dry tinder.

I rose slowly from my chair, ignoring the weakness that tugged at my limbs. “Certainty will come when the time is right. Until then, hold your tongues. If you believe you can protect this pack better than I, say so plainly, and we will settle it.”

The challenge hung in the air, stark and unyielding. Not one of them met it. They looked away, fidgeting, their courage withering under the truth of what I had offered.

Good. Let them remember.

But even as I stood over them, I felt the burn of unease deep in my chest. They would not stop pressing. Not until the secret was no longer a secret at all.

When I left the chamber, the cold air hit me like a blow. My steps carried me back through the stone corridors, past servants who dipped their heads, past guards who stiffened at my approach. All the while, the weight of the council’s words clung to me.

Lia was waiting in our chamber, seated near the window where pale light streamed in. She looked up at me, eyes searching my face, and I knew she could read the storm there without a single word spoken.

She rose to meet me, her hands reaching for mine. Her touch steadied me even as my mind churned.

“They pressed you,” she murmured. It was not a question.

“They circle like vultures,” I admitted, pulling her close. “They sense something. They hunger for it.”

Her hand drifted instinctively over her belly, a fleeting gesture that made my chest tighten. “How long before they know?” she asked softly.

I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing her in. “Too soon. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever storm comes, we face it together.”

Yet even as I said it, my mind replayed Brie’s cold smile, the council’s sharpened questions, the restless whispers in the halls. Together there was no shield against daggers in the dark.

I held Lia tighter, vowing silently that they would not touch her. Not her. Not the child.

If the elders thought weakness lingered in me, they would learn otherwise. I would scorch the earth before I let them steal the life the goddess had given us.

That night, as sleep refused me, I sat awake. The shadows shifted around me, whispering doubts I refused to voice. Lia slept nearby, her breathing even, one hand curled protectively over her abdomen even in dreams.

I watched her, the fragile strength of her frame, the fierce courage that burned in her even when fear gnawed at the edges. She carried more than a child, she carried the fragile thread of hope for all of us.

And I carried the weight of keeping it safe.

My eyes closed, but the vow burned bright within me

Let them whisper. Let them scheme.

When the time came, they would see.

They would see whose blood truly ruled Duskwood.