Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen: Royal Breakfast

Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen: Royal Breakfast
A fancy breakfast at the East Chamber was a matter of formality, though uninvited guests did not look to be entertained. The long table stretched beneath a canopy of flowering glass windows, the light tinted a soft gold-blue through centuries-old stained panels. A warm breeze whispered in through the open arches, carrying the distant scent of cedar and roses.

The table was quiet. Except for the small, repetitive clink of Amora’s spoon stirring her tea. She wasn’t drinking it. Just stirring, and smiling at no one in particular… one would think she's mentally challenged if they're not used to being around royals and fake smiles.

Alarion sat at the far end, back straight, jaw set. Beside him, Casian looked as pleased as a kicked dog, one cheek still blooming with a purplish hue that hadn't yet faded, and a faint mark along his collarbone where Alarion’s knuckles had kissed him days ago.

It was healing, of course, werewolf blood was swift in healing and mending. But not fast enough to spare them from the Queen’s disapproval.

“Look at his face,” the queen said suddenly, setting her goblet down with a sharp clink. Her eyes didn’t move to her husband, but the tone was clearly meant for him. “How can you allow Alarion to bruise his own brother like a wild thing? On festival week.”

The King didn’t spare her a glance. He tore a piece of bread, buttered it in silence, and took a bite.

Casian's wife, soft-spoken, proper, seated beside her husband, adjusted her sleeves and kept her gaze firmly on her plate. It was how she always was, like someone trained too early to make herself invisible. Still, she reached under the table and gently brushed her fingers over Casian’s wrist.

“I’m fine, Mother,” Casian said with a forced smile. “It’s not that serious.”

“Not that serious?” The Queen's voice pitched higher. “You think bruises on a Prince’s face is not serious? What will the court say when they see you tonight?”

“That I’ve been hunting,” Casian offered with a shrug, “or training. Maybe wrestling wild boars. Pick a story.”

The King grunted. “They’ll say something logical—‘an Alpha Prince has tasted blood.’ Nothing new there.”

“But it wasn’t wild boars, was it?” the Queen said sharply. Her gaze cut across the table to Alarion. “It was your own brother. You did this.”

Alarion’s expression didn’t shift. He held her stare with calm detachment. “Yes.” No denial or apology.

The Queen set her cup down a little harder than necessary. “You hit your own blood. Your brother. Over nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Alarion replied, still calm.

“You always take it too far.”

The King finally lifted his eyes. “They’re both Alphas,” he said, a mild wave of his hand. “They’ll bruise. Let them.”

“Feron,” the Queen began, but the King’s voice cut hers like steel.

“You're the only one who still sees Casian as a baby. The kingdom doesn’t. They see an Alpha Prince. He’ll need to carry himself like one. And if his brother gets the better of him, then maybe next time, he should learn how to punch back.”

Casian muttered something under his breath. Alarion didn't even glance at him.

“You excuse everything Alarion does,” the Queen snapped. “You let him run wild—”

“I don't excuse him,” the King said coolly. “I understand him. There’s a difference. He’s not the kind to raise a fist unless there's reason.”

Amora spoke then, her voice honey-sweet. “Perhaps the court won’t notice at all. The moonlight will soften everything tonight. Especially when they’re all busy watching the show of power.” She smiled at Casian. “You still look very handsome.”

Casian gave her a look that's half grateful, half annoyed.

Alarion’s hands remained folded on the table. He hadn't eaten a thing.

The King turned his attention to him again, the weight of authority creeping into his tone.

“Tonight isn’t just another feast,” the King said. “You know that, don’t you?”

Alarion didn’t respond right away. Then, quietly, “Isn’t it the usual double moon festival?”

The King shook his head once. “No. It’s the Decade Rise.”

Alarion’s eyes flicked toward him.

“The twin moons show together twice a year, yes,” the King went on. “But only once in ten— sometimes fifteen— years, do they rise the way they will tonight. Silver and red. One pale as innocence, the other like blood.”

Amora stopped stirring her tea.

Casian's wife looked up too, but said nothing.

“And when that happens,” the King continued, “it’s not just about lanterns and parades. The people won’t be watching for dance or song. They’ll be watching you. The first Alpha to step forward. The one who opens the path.”

Alarion swallowed. “The path for what?”

“The show of strength,” the King said. “You’ll stand before the kingdom and show your power to the moon. You’ll summon the Alpha in your blood and they will answer.”

Casian scoffed softly into his drink. Alarion didn’t look at him.

“And then,” the King said, voice lower now, “when the moons are highest and the sky turns still, the Moonbearer will speak. You’ve heard what she does.”

“I have,” Alarion murmured.

“Then be ready. Because the Goddess doesn’t send warnings without weight. What’s spoken tonight could change everything or not. And as the Crown Prince, you must walk through it first.”

“Whether it’s good or bad?” Alarion asked, evenly.

The King nodded once. “Exactly that.”

Silence fell again, heavier this time.

After a while, the King turned to Casian’s wife, his tone softening. “And the baby?”

She smiled, finally. “He’s well, Your Majesty.”

The King gave a short, satisfied nod. “Good. He’ll grow into strong blood.”

“He’ll grow into better blood if he has fewer uncles throwing punches,” the Queen said dryly, and rose from her seat.

No one stopped her as she swept from the room, robes rustling like wings.

Amora sighed softly, dabbing her lips with her napkin. “Well,” she said with a tight smile, “this will be a lovely evening.”

Alarion’s eyes were still on the far window.