⊰ 121 ⊱ A Crown Built on Glass

⊰ 121 ⊱ A Crown Built on Glass
| Malachi |

The Grand Ballroom of the Continental Palace gleams under the light of a thousand crystal chandeliers, each one worth more than most Alphas see in a lifetime. Gold leaf adorns every surface, from the soaring columns to the intricate moldings that frame massive oil paintings of past Continental Kings. Their painted eyes seem to follow us as we move through the crowd, silent witnesses to centuries of power and corruption.

It’s a display designed to intimidate, and I have to admit—it’s effective.

Penelope glides beside me, resplendent in that deep emerald dress that brings out the amber flecks in her eyes. Elio rests against her chest in an elegant baby sling that’s been designed to look like part of her formal attire—emerald silk with silver threading that catches the light as she moves. To anyone watching, we’re the epitome of a strong, united pack leadership: the successful Alpha, his devoted Luna, and their heir.

The illusion is flawless. If only the reality weren’t so fragile.

“Quite the turnout,” Elijah murmurs from my left, his eyes scanning the room. He’s in his element here—the polished diplomat, working the crowd with effortless charm that makes other Alphas forget he’s as dangerous as he is personable.

I follow his gaze, cataloging the faces around us. Most of the remaining contenders are here, along with their mates and key advisors. But there are notable absences—empty spaces where powerful Alphas should be standing, their absence explained away with vague mentions of “family emergencies” and “pressing pack business.”

Too many empty spaces.

The selection committee sits at the head table, five wolves in formal robes whose names I know but whose true loyalties remain a mystery. 

“Something feels off…” Penelope pauses, gravitating closer to me as she adjusts Elio’s position slightly. “It feels like a funeral. Everyone’s going through the motions, but no one seems to be enjoying themselves.”

She’s right. Conversations are too quiet, smiles too forced. Security is heavier than it should be for a simple political gathering. The whole room feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen.

“There,” Penelope says softly, her grip tightening almost imperceptibly on my arm. “Tarlac.”

I turn to see my primary rival making his entrance. Tarlac moves through the crowd like he already owns the room, his bearing regal and confident. Beside him, Julia walks gracefully, her midnight color gown a perfect complement to his formal attire. They work the room together, accepting congratulations and well-wishes as if the crown were already his.

My former mate. My true mate. Now his.

The sight of them together should sting more than it does. Instead, I feel only a distant curiosity about the woman I once loved. She looks radiant beside Tarlac, playing the role of supportive Luna with the same grace she once showed with me. But there’s something different about it now, something that speaks more to political advantage than genuine affection.

She left me because she thought I couldn’t give her children. 

The old wound barely throbs anymore, though I’m not sure what that says about where Penelope and I stand now. 

Now she’s with a man who can offer her a crown instead.

The parallel to our own situation sits uncomfortably in my chest. Julia abandoned our true mate bond for practical concerns, while Penelope rejected hers to... what? Stay with a man who broke his promises? Who threatened to take her child? The comparison makes me wonder if I’m being naive to think her rejection of Jax means anything permanent when we still have so much unresolved between us.

“He looks confident,” Jax murmurs from behind us. He’s positioned himself as my security detail for the evening, close enough to protect but far enough to maintain the illusion of professional distance.

The arrangement should feel like salt in an open wound—the man who marked my mate now playing my protector. The same man she rejected just hours ago, though I know better than to assume that rejection was final. True mate bonds don’t simply disappear because someone wills them away. I learned that the hard way with Julia, and despite Penelope’s choice on the plane, I’m not fool enough to believe the pull between them has vanished.

At least Julia was honest about what she wanted.

Something bitter in me whispers.

Penelope might have rejected him today, but tomorrow?

“Overconfident,” I correct, watching Tarlac accept accolades as if victory were already assured. “That could be useful.”

The words come out sharper than intended, colored by doubts I can’t shake. Behind us, I feel Jax’s attention sharpen, and I wonder if he can sense my uncertainty—if he’s counting on it.

A commotion near the main entrance draws my attention. The crowd parts with deference, whispers rippling through the ballroom like wind through wheat. I strain to see what’s causing the disturbance, then freeze as a familiar figure emerges from the throng.

Jackson?

He looks completely different than when I last saw him in Rook’s fortress. Gone are any signs of captivity or coercion, replaced by an immaculate tuxedo and the bearing of an Alpha in his prime. But there’s something in the way he moves—too careful, too controlled—that suggests he’s performing rather than simply attending.

Rook wanted him here… Why?

His eyes find mine across the room, and I see something in them that makes my pulse quicken—a warning wrapped in a smile. 

“What the hell is he doing here?” Jax growls under his breath, his body tensing instinctively.

“Playing his part,” I reply, my mind racing. “Just like we are.”

Jackson works the room, stopping to greet other Alphas with just the right mixture of warmth and respect. To anyone watching, he’s simply a former contender showing support for the process despite his own withdrawal from the race. But I can feel the weight of his attention even when he’s not looking directly at us.

When he finally reaches our table, his smile is perfectly polished, though I catch the slight tightness around his eyes that suggests strain.

“Malachi, my friend!” he says, extending his hand with apparent genuine pleasure. “Wonderful to see you looking so... settled.”

Play along. No one can suspect anything.

I clasp his hand, noting the slight pressure he applies—not aggression, but emphasis. “Jackson. I heard you’d withdrawn from consideration. I hope everything is well with your pack.”

“Oh, completely fine,” he says, but his eyes dart to Penelope and Elio for just a second. “Family life has a way of putting things in perspective, doesn’t it? I hope you’re making the most of these moments.”

The way he says it makes my skin crawl. 

Cherish what you have while you can.

“Of course,” I say. “Though I’m sure you miss all the political excitement.”

Jackson’s laugh sounds forced. “You know, I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately. Funny how educational it can be when someone else picks out your books.” His gaze flicks back to mine. “Rook’s been very... helpful in that department.”

Helpful. 

Right. The way he says it confirms what I’ve suspected—Rook let him out for this.

“Reading?” Penelope jumps in smoothly, though I can feel how tense she is. “Learn anything interesting?”

“More than I bargained for,” Jackson says, and for a moment his smile slips. “Especially about how many players are really in the game. Sometimes the people you need to worry about are the ones hiding in plain sight.”

Elio makes a tiny noise against Penelope’s chest, and Jackson’s whole expression changes when he looks at him. The fear becomes real, undisguised.

“He’s perfect,” Jackson says quietly. “Your legacy. I just hope our children get to grow up in a better world than the one we’re leaving them.”

Ice runs down my spine. This isn’t polite conversation—he’s trying to warn me.

“Maybe we should continue this chat somewhere quieter?” Jackson suggests, glancing around the room like he’s just making casual conversation. “These big events are so loud. Hard to really talk with all the noise.”

I get it immediately. Too many people listening, too many eyes watching. Whatever he needs to tell me can’t be said here.

“The gardens are supposed to be incredible,” I offer. “I’ll meet you there once the speeches start.”

“Perfect,” Jackson says, and moves away to continue his rounds.

I watch him work the room, noting how his shoulders stay rigid despite his casual demeanor. Other Alphas seem oblivious to the undercurrents, but I can smell the tension rolling off him in waves.

Penelope shifts beside me, Elio stirring against her chest. She leans closer, her voice just above a whisper. “Malachi, I’m scared.”

Beneath the table, I place my hand on her lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Everything’s going to be alright,” I murmur, though I’m not entirely confident myself. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

But when my gaze flickers back to Jackson, now standing across the room, I realize that beneath all that charm, he’s afraid too.

And fear? For an Alpha?

That’s the kind of thing that sets off alarm bells louder than any formal announcement ever could