Chapter 60

**Dorian‘s pov.**

Tension hung over the kingdom like a thundercloud waiting to break. You could feel it in the way guards gripped their spears a little tighter, in the silence of the great halls where once there was laughter, in the sharp glances exchanged between nobles during court meetings. The kingdom was dividing—lines drawn, alliances shifting like sand.

And at the center of it all stood my father.

Maximilian had grown bold in his madness. Alaric was no longer just a guest within our walls—he was a partner. An accomplice. A cancer. Their whispers were louder now, unafraid. I’d had enough.

It was time to reclaim what was rightfully mine.

But I wouldn’t do it through blood and fire—not if I could help it. No, this had to be done the right way. A legal dethroning. For that, I needed the tribunal. And to reach them, I needed the Alphas.

I spent the past days sending letters sealed with my crest to those I trusted—young Alphas, those raised in battle beside me, those who had witnessed my loyalty, my strength, my refusal to cower behind palace walls while others bled.

Some messengers I dispatched personally. Some missions I undertook myself.

Cassian returned that evening, dusted from travel, but alive—and more importantly, burning with information.

"Couldn’t see everything," he said, dropping into the chair across from me, "but I saw enough. Alaric’s operation is far larger than we feared."

I raised a brow.

He leaned in. "He’s not just experimenting on rogues. He’s been collecting Freya’s blood for years. Has enough stored to run tests on loyal pack members—those who offered themselves willingly, thinking it would bring them power, honor."

My stomach twisted.

Cassian continued, his voice low and sharp. "I had to buy some off. Others I blackmailed. A few... I broke."

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

"The plan’s clear," he said. "Alaric wants to make an army. One that could take on the vampires, the witches—hell, maybe even us. He wants wolves to reign over all."

I nodded slowly.

Cassian tilted his head. "You’re not surprised."

"I heard something similar from my father," I said darkly. "Right before I nearly crushed his windpipe."

Cassian gave a half-smile. "Wish I’d seen that."

I poured us both a drink. "Now we move to phase two. I need to remove Maximilian. For that, I’ll need more than just your blades."

He met my eyes. "Give me the names. I’ll deliver the message."

"Start with the border lords," I said. "And those who fought with me in the East. They’ll remember. Make them choose. Now."

Cassian nodded, but didn’t stand up right away. He looked at me for a long moment, then asked, "And you? How are you holding up, Dorian?"

I hesitated for a beat before answering. "I don’t have the luxury of not holding up."

He gave a dry laugh. "That’s not what I asked."

I sighed. "I’m tired, Cassian. Not just in my bones. In my soul. But I can’t stop. Not yet. Not until this kingdom is clean."

Cassian smirked faintly. "I’d say that’s poetic if it weren’t so damn true."

He downed the rest of his drink, set the glass down with a soft clink. "Guess I better go stir some trouble in your name."

"Be careful," I said.

He flashed a grin. "Always am."

Then Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, remember when the biggest thing we cared about was landing a solid punch and finding a woman to blow off some steam with?"

I let out a low laugh. "Yeah. Simpler times. When war meant fists and whiskey, not diplomacy and betrayal."

Cassian leaned back, smirk deepening. "Sometimes I miss those days."

"Sometimes," I agreed. "But we’ve outgrown bar fights and one-night mistakes. Now we’re playing gods."

Cassian raised his brows. "Speak for yourself. I wouldn’t mind a good brawl right about now."

And then, finally, he stood and left.

I returned to my chambers. The moonlight streamed through the windows, casting silver onto my floor. The weight of my plan pressed against my chest—but I knew it had to be done.

The elite guard would side with me. They’d fought beside me, bled beside me. Maximilian had remained in gilded towers while I stood on the front lines. They knew where true leadership lived.

But the older Alphas... they were another matter.

Most of them feared change. Feared strength that came from conviction instead of tradition. They would resist me—not out of loyalty, but out of stubbornness. My moves would have to be precise. Calculated. Political.

I was deep in thought when a knock came at the door.

A young maid entered, bowing quickly. "A letter for you, my prince. A guard delivered it personally. Said it’s for your eyes only."

I took the parchment. It was sealed with no crest, just a wax mark of a single line—clean, sharp.

I broke the seal and scanned the words.

It wasn’t long. Barely a paragraph.

But I knew the signature. A single letter.

*T.*

The message read: "She's in danger. She needs you. T. Tavern. Tonight."

The meaning was clear.

Freya.

My jaw clenched. Damn it, I

*knew*

she wouldn’t be safe with Tiberius. No matter how capable he was, no matter what promises he'd made.

And I stormed out the door without another second wasted.