Chapter 20 When Tyrants Break
20\. When Tyrants Break
There’s a special kind of silence that follows war news—the kind that presses against your skin like cold hands. By the time the bell tower’s echo faded, the castle was already awake. Footsteps thundered through the corridors, servants whispered like ghosts trying not to wake the dead, and somewhere below, steel rang against steel.
And me? I was still in his bed. Barefoot. In a nightdress. Mentally filing this under “Things My Therapist Will Never Believe.”
Lucian since this morning it's already noon, but his scent still clung to the sheets—smoke, snow, and something I couldn’t name. The kind of scent that ruins you quietly.
I should’ve gone back to my room. Pretended none of this happened. But curiosity, that treacherous little demon, had other ideas.
Because I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said last night—about his brother, about the screams.
So naturally, I ended up doing something stupid. Again.
I followed the sound of raised voices.
The library was different at noon. The moonlight had been replaced by a watery dawn glow, spilling through the tall windows and catching on dust motes that floated lazily in the air. It was the kind of place that looked peaceful until you realized the man inside could kill you with a glare.
Lucian stood by the great oak table, half-dressed in his battle armor, fingers clenched around a map. To my surprise Rowan was there too—bandaged from the last skirmish, jaw set tight, the two of them radiating enough tension to melt the frost on the windows.
“I'm here for the last time to reclaim mine with peace, where is Elias? Where is Aria? Hand them over.” Lucian ignores him and proceeds with whatever is on his mind.
“You think I don’t know where they’re heading?” Lucian growled, voice low but lethal. “They’ve crossed the river because someone told them when to move.”
Rowan’s mouth curled. “You’re paranoid.”
“I’m not a fool,” Lucian snapped. “There’s a difference.”
I froze behind the doorframe. Eavesdropping? Definitely. Regret? Not yet.
Rowan took a step forward, voice sharp. “You built your throne out of blood and fear, Lucian. Don’t act surprised when the people who bled for you stop kneeling.”
Lucian didn’t even flinch. “You speak as if you weren’t one of them.”
Something flickered in Rowan’s expression—guilt? Pain? Both?
“You made me one of them,” Rowan said bitterly. “You think I wanted this?”
Lucian’s voice dropped to a whisper that somehow filled the room. “You had a choice. You all did.”
Silence.
Then Rowan turned and stormed out, his boots echoing against the marble.
I ducked behind a column just in time as he passed by, muttering curses about tyrants and fate. Once he was gone, I peeked inside again.
Lucian stood alone now, staring at the map like it had just confessed a betrayal. His shoulders were rigid, the weight of the world—or at least an entire kingdom—balanced on them.
I took a breath and stepped inside.
He didn’t turn. “How much did you hear?”
“Uh, roughly… all of it?” I said, wincing. “But in my defense, I was trying to mind my business. It just so happens my business has excellent hearing.”
He sighed, finally facing me. The firelight painted shadows under his eyes, the faint silver glow of the curse pulsing at his neck.
“Keira,” he said softly. “This isn’t a story that I had to tell.”
I raised a brow. “Too late. I already kissed the tragic antihero. Now you’re legally obligated to trauma dump.”
That earned a faint, almost pained chuckle. He sank into the chair, running a hand through his hair.
“Fine,” he said quietly. “You want the truth? Then listen carefully. I’ll only tell you once.”
It wasn’t the kind of story anyone should tell before breakfast.
He began with the name I’d already heard: Leighton.
“My brother,” Lucian said. “The better one. Kind. Patient. Everyone loved him—our parents, the pack, even the moon itself, or so it seemed.” His jaw tightened. “But kindness makes for poor kings.”
He stared at the map, though I knew he was seeing something else entirely.
“When the curse came to two heirs of Dravenmoor, it didn’t choose fairly. It marked one of us. It chose me.” His tone sharpened, bitter and brittle. “Leighton said it wasn’t a punishment. That it was destiny. But I saw the fear in his eyes.”
I kept quiet. He needed space to unravel.
“Then drought happened to the almighty land of Lunareth a lot of creatures died in hunger, hundreds of countries had fallen, civil wars yet the elders pointed at us—father and I as the cause and wanted to break the curse,” he continued. “They said blood could unbind it. That if the cursed one fell, the balance would return.”
My stomach turned cold.
He nodded once. “Leighton allied with the enemies who rebelled on our sovereignty to gain our pack trust—pretending peace. And Rowan was with him… so his family. The ones I trusted most. They sent me out to battle in a losing game.” His voice cracked, a sound like something ancient breaking. “They didn’t just betray me. They slaughtered everyone who refused to join them—our parents, the pups, even the old wolf who raised us.”
He looked at me then, eyes silver and wild, the storm barely contained. “So I killed them all, Keira. Every last one of them.”
The words hung heavy, thick with the kind of silence that made your bones ache.
I wanted to speak. To say something, anything. But nothing felt big enough for the weight of what he’d confessed.
“I didn’t do it for revenge,” he said. “I did it because there was nothing left to protect. And when the blood stopped flowing, I realized the curse hadn’t left me.” His gaze dropped to his hands, scarred and trembling. “It had just changed shape.”
My throat felt tight. “You became king that night.”
He nodded. “Through blood. Through fear. And I swore I’d never be weak again. Not for anyone. Not for love.”
The fire crackled softly. The wind outside moaned through the broken towers—like it was grieving too.
Rowan’s rebellion suddenly made sense. The resentment. The hatred. He wasn’t just fighting a tyrant; he was avenging the ghosts Lucian had made.
But then… hadn’t Lucian been a ghost too, ever since that night?
“Lucian,” I said quietly, “you call yourself a tyrant because it’s easier than calling yourself a survivor.”
His lips twitched. “You think that makes it better?”
“No,” I said honestly. “But it makes you human.”
He looked at me for a long moment. Then he laughed softly, bitter and raw. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Find something worth saving in monsters.”
“Maybe I just have bad taste,” I said. “Or maybe I don’t believe monsters stay monsters forever.”
He stared at me like he wanted to believe that—like maybe, for a fleeting second, he did. Then the mask slid back into place. The king again.
“Go back to your chamber,” he said. “You’ve talk too much.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I said firmly.
“You don’t have a choice,” he murmured. His hand came up, brushing my cheek—gentle, almost mournful. “The moment you saw me, you changed everything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
His eyes flashed silver. “The curse feeds on fate. On the choices that shouldn’t exist. You were never meant to be here.”
My pulse stuttered. “Wait. What do you mean never meant to be here?”
Lucian stood, the air around him thrumming with the pulse of ancient magic. “Something brought you to Dravenmoor. And now, because of you, the threads are unraveling.”
My mouth went dry. “So what—you’re saying I’m… messing up fate?”
“I’m saying,” he said, stepping closer, “that you might save me—or doom us both.”
The mark on his neck flared bright silver, casting light across the walls. Somewhere far below, the castle groaned—like it was alive, listening.
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. Instead, I whispered, “Lucian, what are we supposed to do?”
His answer was simple. And terrifying.
“Pray,” he said. “That the moon forgives us before the gods notice what we’ve done.”
Later that night, I sat alone in the library, staring at the open books scattered across the table. Stories of curses, kings, and chosen fates—all of them ending in tragedy.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I was reading them anymore… or living one.
Because somewhere deep in my bones, I could feel it—like the shifting of tides before a storm
.
Fate was changing.
Because of me.
And if I wasn’t careful, it wasn’t just the tyrant who’d break.
It would be the world.