Chapter 227 Chapter 226
They began throwing things, and more men shifted, ear-splitting roars echoing through the courtyard. They eventually broke through the gates, pouring into the palace grounds. Morvan gave a command, and more soldiers marched out, locking into deadly battle with the intruders.
As more people poured in, Xenon was forced to fight—cutting them down with a swipe of his sword, still assessing the mob. He could see it: though they looked like an unruly crowd, most of the ones rushing forward were skilled warriors.
Xenon scoffed, almost rolling his eyes. This was definitely planned.
After successfully getting rid of the first wave of attackers, Xenon cleared his throat and spoke. “I am not a tyrant,” he said, his clear voice cutting through the rancor. The yells simmered to a murmur. “All I wanted was to be mated to the woman of my choosing.”
“We don’t have to do this!” he cried, louder this time. “We don’t have to fight like this. I’m as much a weretiger as I am a werewolf!”
“Liar!” someone in the crowd yelled, and the voices rose again.
“We refuse to accept a puny human as our queen!”
“She will never be accepted!” a woman screamed.
An exhausted breath seeped from the king as he stared at the disorderly crowd again. For a split moment, he wondered if this was worth fighting for. These people would never accept him, would they? They’d never see his intentions as pure, would they?
His chest tightened at the realization. Maybe he was fighting a lost cause.
“Who is she anyway?! She needs to be killed along with this tyrant!” a voice shouted, and Xenon froze.
His eyes widened when a ripple of agreement spread through the mob.The last thread of restraint snapped. He gave a broken laugh—half madness, half heartbreak. Since they wouldn’t listen, he might as well be the monster they wanted.
He gave a delirious chuckle, his gaze turning red. “You want violence? True tyranny? You’ll get that!” he screamed.
He shifted into his tiger form—the one he was known for—and began decimating the people who came for him. Morvan followed suit, as did the soldiers standing behind them.
More hidden warriors from the mob emerged, engaging in a deadly clash with the king’s men. The fight intensified—blood drenched the grounds, dismembered limbs strewn across the dirt. Yet, instead of dispersing in fear, the crowd’s chants for the king’s execution only grew louder. It was as if they were under a powerful spell—one that commanded them to destroy the very king who had once ruled them.
The battle raged on, and it began to look like the king and his men were gaining the upper hand as they pushed the mob back. Realizing how dangerous the situation had become, people started to scatter, fleeing for their lives.
Morvan fought in the corner, yet he could still see the king as he battled mindlessly, drowning in his anger, grief, and pain, letting those acrid emotions consume him. He’d never seen the king’s beast form snarl like that–wild, desperate, unrestrained.
He’d given a century of his life to these people, and they wanted to repay him with death. It made him wonder—what if the king had ruled ruthlessly? What if he had let his darkness consume him, as he’d always wanted to all these years? Would they still be here, chanting for his head?
Perhaps mercy was his greatest mistake.
While he was still wondering such, arrows came whizzing through the wind. They struck the king in the chest and several parts of his body and he roared, losing his footing as he crashed to the ground.
"No!" Morvan yelled, running to get to the king but was instantly held back by several wolves who fell on top of him.
He expected the king to rise to his feet, pulling off the arrows that had just struck him, but more poured into him, hitting all the integral parts of his torso. He let out a fractured scream, crumpling to the ground, blood dripping from his wounds and his mouth.
Morvan's blood ran cold.
A group of people cut through the crowd, wearing masks and dark long overalls. They reached the king where he was writhing in pain. One stepped forward out of them, glaring down at the king. "We finally found something that works. Took us decades to perfect the recipe but it's here."
Xenon growled, but it came out feeble, more blood gurgling in his mouth. It felt like all his muscles were freezing up, torturous pain searing his bones and rendering him immobile.
"Curious to know what it is? Well, it's the same poison that killed your father—only made stronger since you're a hybrid."
"Hybrid?" the crowd behind them echoed, glancing at each other.
Morvan stiffened. How had they found that out?
"Yeah... this monster before us has been hiding two beasts within him. An abomination. You would have killed him on sight if we had known earlier. It's no wonder he kept it a secret."
A cackle broke from the speaker, and his eyes glimmered malevolently beneath the hood.
"Today is your end, your majesty, if you can still be called that. There's no escaping this."
King Xenon tried reverting back, but it caused too much havoc in his insides and he had to stop. Through the pain, through the terror, while he writhed and jerked on the ground, almost paralyzed, he listened to them give a long speech about how they were killing him to "restore order."
"This miscreant should have never walked the face of the earth in the first place!" he heard them cry. "And now, we're getting rid of the vermin."
Morvan, seeing the horror that was about to unfold, tried to get away from the people that held him down, but they just kept piling on top of him, making all his struggles futile. "Get off me! You mad people!" he yelled, kicking against them.
King Xenon was moved around in his defenseless state and someone produced an axe that would be used to behead him. The one in the forefont collected it, smiling as the sharpened top glistened in the morning sun.
Deep, dark rage began brewing in Xenon's heart, his eyes stinging with tears, clouding over.
His wolf, the one that used to cower in hurt and rejection, was bloody furious at the words they had just spat at him. They called him a vermin? They were the real vermin.
His parents had wanted him. They had loved him. If they hadn't been rejected by society, he would have led a much happier life. His mate and unborn child were far away and now it seemed like he would never see them again. More tears blurred his vision.