33

The aroma of blood remains present in the air.

It attaches to my clothing, my skin, my hair—a vivid reminder of how near I was to losing him. Of how deeply I should resent that I rescued him.

Liam reclines in the middle of the healer’s room, his form laid out on a makeshift bed, the hue just starting to return to his complexion. His chest heaves with irregular, shallow breaths as the poison continues to exit his body. Even though I'm aware the antidote rescued him, the effects remain. He is less strong than I have ever observed him.

The pack is the same as well.

As soon as news circulated that the Alpha King had fallen—that he was injured—the authority within the palace changed. The whispers arrived quickly, murmurs weaving through the ranks like an illness.

"An Alpha unable to defend himself cannot defend us."

"The toxin debilitated him." "What if it occurs once more?"

"Perhaps it's time for a change in leadership."

Their voices echo through the hallways, becoming stronger with every hour that goes by. Certain are silent uncertainties, whispered worries expressed in private. Some voices are more assertive, emerging from those who perceive this as a chance. A diminished Alpha signifies weakness. In a world founded on control, being vulnerable poses risks.

Liam has to be aware of it as well.

Even while in an unconscious state, his fingers move subtly, his body uneasy despite being tired. He has never shown weakness—neither in combat, nor in guiding others, nor in any situation. Yet now, the burden of his wounds and the venom still blunting his power render him appear human. In this world, an Alpha must not be perceived as human. I observe him from the opposite end of the room, my arms firmly folded across my chest. I don’t belong here. I ought to have left as soon as I provided him the antidote. And still, I haven't shifted.

Despite all the resentment I feel towards him, and all the actions he has taken against me, I am aware of what follows.

As soon as he opens his eyes, he will hear the murmurs. He will sense the change. He will realize that his own followers are starting to doubt his power.

And that type of uncertainty? It can be sufficient to ruin even the most formidable of leaders.

The door groans as it opens, and I tense up. One of his loyal guards, Ethan, enters the room, his gaze sweeping the area before landing on Liam’s motionless figure. His jaw becomes tense.

"He's too frail," Ethan whispers, his tone hardly perceptible. "They will pursue him if he doesn't recover quickly."

I breathe out gently. "I am aware."

It’s irrelevant that Liam remains the strongest Alpha this kingdom has ever seen. At this moment, perception is all that matters. If the pack views him as weak, if they begin to think he lacks the strength to lead, it won't be external foes who cause his downfall—it will be his own followers.

And in the end, I shouldn’t mind.

However, I do.

I grip my hands tightly, forcing down the conflicting feelings within me. He must get up. He must battle. Since if he fails to…

Another person will assume his throne.

And if there’s one thing I understand about those eager for power, it's that they won't hesitate to take his life.

They will come for what belongs to me.

And for our kids.

The healer’s room is softly illuminated, with flickering lanterns creating long, unsteady shadows over Liam’s motionless figure. He rests on the cot, still except for the gradual, irregular lifting and lowering of his chest. He appears… human.

I am positioned at the opposite end of the room, arms folded, observing quietly.

He was perpetually unassailable.

An unstoppable natural power. A tempest, unmanageable and chaotic. For many years, his name alone evoked fear, loyalty, and respect. Yet now?

At this point, he is merely a man.

A person who almost perished.

A man whose body continues to combat the poison, whose strength—previously unwavering—has diminished to this delicate, silent calm.

And the group is aware of it.

The corridors of the palace resonate with murmured uncertainties and changing loyalties. The aroma of doubt is heavy in the atmosphere, a tension I sense coiling among the warriors and courtiers equally.

If Liam doesn't wake up shortly, they will betray him.

I shouldn’t be concerned.

I ought to ignore him, leave just like he did to me years before. Allow him to drop. Allow another to take his crown.

And still, I remain.

I remind myself it's due to the triplets. I require knowledge of what occurs next; I must predict the following action. Because if he fails, what does that imply for them?

At the very least, that’s the justification I tell myself for remaining.

Yet the reality? The reality is something I prefer not to specify.

Damon Slips Inside

I detect motion before I can hear it—a brief, light shuffle, the noise of a cautious footfall on the squeaking floorboards.

I spin quickly, my breath hitching as I notice a tiny shape moving stealthily toward the bed.

Damon. His unruly dark curls frame a youthful face that bears a resolute expression surprisingly grave for someone so young.

“What are you doing in this place?” I murmur, moving closer, yet he pays no attention to me.

Instead, he steps nearer to Liam’s bedside, gazing at the man who—up until now—he had only known through hushed tales and surreptitious looks.

Liam reacts to the noise of his arrival, his eyelids briefly fluttering before ultimately opening.

Initially, his eyes are unfocused, still clouded by fatigue. However, upon seeing Damon, a change occurs. Awareness slowly emerges.

Damon does not react. Doesn't turn away.

Instead, he angles his head, examining Liam with those identical storm-gray eyes—the very ones Liam possesses.

Next, in a calm and even tone, he inquires,

"Will you pass away?"

The question lingers in the stillness, laden with the gravity of something neither truly comprehends.

For a brief instant, Liam simply gazes at him.

He then takes a slow, measured breath and whispers, "Not today."

A fleeting expression crosses Damon’s face, one that is genuine and vulnerable. Possibly a sense of relief. Inquisitiveness.

I don't allow it to rest.

Acting swiftly, I seize Damon’s arm and tug him away from the bed.

“That was irresponsible,” I reprimand, my tone more cutting than I mean. "You don't belong here."

He gazes at me, undisturbed. “I wished to see him.”

“There’s nothing here,” I retort, but as I speak, I realize it’s untrue.

There is something worth observing.

A dad and his boy who have identical eyes. A moment that ought not to exist yet does.

And that frightens me.

Despite all my hatred and resentment, there is something different within me now. An issue I’d prefer to ignore.

Liam is living.

And for reasons I can't articulate, that disturbs me profoundly.

“