Chapter 42 The weight of my Decisons
Chapter: The Weight of Choice
The impact was small, barely more than a brush against my leg, but it startled me out of my thoughts.
The boy stumbled back, eyes wide, his laughter dying instantly. He couldn’t have been more than six. Dark hair. Bright eyes. Too thin for a child growing in a strong pack.
Dahila's son
“I— I’m sorry, Al... then he looked at me a small smile curling in his tiny lips as he added "Dad,” he stammered, bowing so fast he nearly fell again.
I steadied him with one hand.
“Slow down,” I said. “You’ll break your neck running through stone halls like that.”
He nodded quickly, fear mixing with awe, then darted away as fast as his legs could carry him.
I watched him disappear down the corridor.
He was like a solutions to one of my problem
A child.
An heir.
unfortunately he wasn't mine.
The thought came uninvited, sharp and unwelcome.
I turned away before it could root itself deeper.
Simone was waiting in the strategy chamber when I arrived. My beta stood near the long table, arms crossed, his expression already telling me this would not be a conversation I could escape.
“You’re pacing again,” he said.
“I just finished a council meeting,” I replied. “They tend to do that to me.”
Simmons snorted softly. “You’ve been pacing since Dahlia arrived.”
That earned him a look.
He didn’t flinch.
I moved to the table and poured myself a drink, the dark liquid catching the light as it sloshed against the glass. I took a slow swallow. Then another.
“Simone spoke to me this morning,” Simmons said carefully.
My grip tightened. “About what?”
“About you,” he answered honestly. “About Dahlia. About what people are saying.”
I drank again, longer this time.
“And what exactly are they saying?” I asked.
Simmons hesitated, then decided against softening it. “That you’re distracted. That you’re growing… close to her.”
I laughed once, sharp and humorless. “I barely speak to her.”
“You don’t need to,” Simmons said. “People notice where a king’s attention lingers. They notice who walks under his protection. They notice who hasn’t been sent away.”
I set the glass down harder than necessary.
“She is not a threat.”
“No,” Simmons agreed. “But she is a question. And questions make people nervous.”
I turned to face him fully. “Simone put these ideas in your head.”
“She voiced what many are already thinking,” he corrected. “I just didn’t ignore it.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
“She is not my mate,” I said flatly.
Simmons studied me. “Is that what you’re trying to convince me of—or yourself?”
My wolf stirred, restless.
“She was chosen once,” Simmons continued. “You stood before the pack. You placed your hand on her shoulder. You acknowledged her.”
“And then I rejected the bond,” I snapped. “I felt nothing. No pull. No claim.”
“Yet you kept her close,” he said quietly.
Silence stretched between us.
I picked up the glass again, draining what was left. The burn did nothing to dull the tension coiled in my chest.
“She is not my mate,” I repeated.
Simmons nodded once. “Then prove it.”
I looked at him sharply.
“How?” I asked.
“You know how,” he said. “Another mate-finding ceremony.”
The words landed heavy.
“No,” I said immediately. “I won’t do that.”
“You refused last time too,” Simmons reminded me. “And look where we are.”
I turned away, staring at the carved maps lining the wall. Borders. Territories. Lines drawn in blood and history.
“There is already gossip,” Simmons continued. “Servants whisper. Guards speculate. Lesser packs listen.”
“Let them,” I growled.
“They are,” he said. “And they are drawing conclusions you may not like.”
I faced him again. “This is not about gossip.”
“No,” Simmons agreed. “It’s about stability. About the future.”
There it was again.
“The elders weren’t wrong,” he went on. “A kingdom without an heir is a kingdom waiting to fracture.”
“I am not dead,” I said coldly.
“No,” Simmons replied. “But kings fall. Even strong ones.”
My wolf growled low in my chest, anger flaring.
“You think I don’t know that?” I said. “You think I haven’t carried that weight every day?”
Simmons softened slightly. “Then stop carrying it alone.”
I laughed again, quieter this time. “And do what? Choose a mate like I’m selecting armor?”
“Like you’re protecting your people,” he countered.
I looked away.
“She confuses you,” Simmons said gently. “Dahlia does.”
“She challenges me,” I corrected.
“That’s worse,” he said. “Because you don’t know whether you want to push her away or pull her closer.”
I said nothing.
Simmons stepped closer. “If she is not your mate, then keeping her here will only tear things apart. And if she is—”
“She isn’t,” I cut in.
“Then prove it,” he repeated. “Call the ceremony. Let the bond choose.”
My chest tightened.
The idea of standing before the pack again, of feeling nothing while eyes watched… of seeing Dahlia there—watching me with that quiet defiance—
I clenched my jaw.
“You already chose once,” Simmons said. “And refused. That alone has people uneasy.”
“Because they wanted certainty,” I said bitterly.
“Because they wanted hope,” he corrected.
Silence fell again.
Outside, the distant sound of training echoed through the stone, steady and relentless.
Finally, Simmons spoke again. “If you don’t act, others will. Kael’s name is already being whispered alongside yours.”
That snapped my attention back to him.
“Say that again.”
“You heard me,” Simmons said grimly. “Some believe his claim would be stronger if yours looks uncertain.”
The thought was enough to sour the air.
I straightened slowly.
“Prepare the grounds,” I said at last. “Quietly.”
Simmons blinked. “You mean—”
“Yes,” I said. “Another mate-finding ceremony.”
Relief and concern flickered across his face at the same time.
“And Dahlia?” he asked.
My answer came slower.
“She will attend,” I said. “Like everyone else.”
Simmons nodded once. “That will send a message.”
“I know,” I replied.
Whether it was one of reassurance—or warning—I wasn’t yet sure.
When Simmons left, I remained alone in the chamber, staring at the maps, the borders, the future pressing in from every side.
My wolf circled restlessly.
You are afraid, he said.
“No,” I murmured. “I’m choosing.”
And yet, unbidden, Dahlia’s face rose in my mind again—not pleading, not afraid.
Watching.
As if she already knew the cost of the choice I had just made.