Chapter 185 – The Weight of the Crown
Kieran
The courtyard feels different without my father’s shadow stretched across it. It’s quieter than it should be. I suppose endings always are.
The Blackthorn wolves are preparing to leave. No fanfare, no parade, just packs being shouldered and the occasional soft command.
They move without the need to discuss anything. Everyone knows what’s expected of them. The efficiency makes me ache. It also renews the determination I have to bring our own warriors to the same level of proficiency.
Mara is the first to approach. She’s wrapped in her cloak, posture unyielding as ever. “You’ll need patience,” she says, eyes scanning the courtyard rather than my face. “And a spine made of iron. Don’t let them smell hesitation, not even when you’re bleeding for them.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
Her mouth curves, the ghost of a grin. “Don’t try. Do.” Then she’s already moving again, her voice sharp as she corrals the others.
Jace steps up next, his expression steady but softer than usual. “You’ve got your work cut out for you,” he says. “This place, these people, they’ll follow if you give them something better than fear. Just don’t start thinking better means easier.”
I nod, meaning it. “You’ve been good to me. Thank you”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I was good to Eli. He believed in you first. I just followed orders.”
Eli.
He’s standing near the gate, Ronan’s beside him, and the sight of the two of them together, the way they fit, stirs something complicated in my chest. Gratitude, mostly. A generous dollop of envy too.
Eli breaks away first, walking toward me with that deliberate, graceful stride of his. “You’re really doing this, princeling?”
I huff a laugh. “Somebody has to fix what he broke.”
“Good,” Eli says. “Just don’t lose what makes you special under the burden of responsibility. I like glib, charming Kieran.”
“I’ll make that my number one priority.”
He studies me a moment longer, head tilted. “You’ll be a good Alpha,” he says finally. “Because you’re afraid of what happens if you’re not.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“It’s supposed to be true.” His mouth twitches, and there’s warmth under the sarcasm. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. Even if you did make me sit through that dinner.”
That earns a real laugh out of me. “You’re impossible.”
“Comes with the collar,” he says, and when I glance past him, Ronan is watching. As steady and inscrutable as ever. His gaze always seems to carry extra weight. He may trust me with Silvercrest, but I’m sure he’d rather I didn’t spend too much time talking to his omega in private.
Ronan walks forward as Eli rejoins the others. His words, when they come, are simple. “Make it worth the price you paid and never lose sight of why you paid it.”
It’s not advice. It’s a charge.
I nod, because I can’t think of anything that won’t sound too small beside it. “I will.”
He clasps my forearm once, brief and solid, then turns back toward his pack. “And find your own mate, mine only gets looked at with that much longing by me,” he throws over his shoulder before he strides away.
They leave without ceremony. Shifting into their wolf form immediately. Their paws crunch through the slush, the sound of departure fading quickly into the wind.
When they disappear from sight, the world exhales and leaves me standing alone in it.
Inside, the keep still feels wrong. Haunted by the darkness that reigned here for too long. Every sound echoes. The corridors remember things I wish they didn’t.
I half expect to turn a corner and find my father there, waiting to tell me how I’ve already failed before I’ve even begun. The idea that I’ll never hear his voice again should bring relief, but instead it leaves a hollow behind my ribs where the dread used to live.
The servants see me and freeze. Some drop into shallow bows, others just stare. It’s clear that they’re worried and uncertain. I’ll have to make that my first order of business. Setting down the new rules for Silvercrest. Rules that will apply to everyone, especially its leader.
I pass one of them, a young man, who flinches before forcing himself to straighten. “My lord,” he says, the words shaking loose like teeth.
I stop, deciding there’s no time like the present. “What’s your name?”
He looks startled. “Tobin, my lord.”
“Please call me Alpha Kieran,” I say. “I’m not a lord, or a king, or en emperor. I’m a werewolf, just like the rest of you, and I intend to do my best to rule fairly and take everyone’s concerns into consideration before making decisions. Tell the others. And please open the windows. All of them.”
His mouth opens like he wants to ask why. No one ever asked why under my father. “All of them?” he finally ventures.
“Yes,” I say. “Let the air in. Let the place breathe. Things have been stagnant for far too long.”
He nods and disappears down the corridor. I watch him go, the disbelief still written across his features. It’ll take time before any of them believe kindness isn’t a front for a sneak attack.
I keep walking. Each hallway feels like a memory built out of echo and accusation. My boots scuff over rugs that used to muffle screams. The portraits that line the walls seem to watch, painted eyes bright with judgment.
Every step feels like trespassing in a place that should have been home.
In the great hall, sunlight filters through the cracked stained glass where Ronan’s command shattered the air. The colors paint the floor in fractured patterns, and the smell of blood lingers.
I stand in the doorway and force myself to look. The spot where my father fell has been scrubbed, but the marble still holds a faint discoloration. As does the area where I executed Vell and Corin.
I’ll have those sections replaced. Not to hide what happened, but because I don’t want their memory woven into the floor I walk on.
I can almost hear him sneering. Too sentimental. Too soft. You’ll lose them all if you don’t make them fear you.
But fear is cheap. That’s the lesson he never learned. It gets results, but only for as long as you’re watching. The moment your back is turned, everyone’s sharpening knives.
I wander the hall until the echoes fade and find myself speaking to no one. “You’re gone.” The words sound both like relief and accusation. “You’re gone, and I’m still here.”
The sound of it steadies me.
I start issuing orders again, moving from room to room, trailing servants who don’t quite know what to make of me yet.
“Strip the curtains,” I say. “The velvet holds the smell of him. Wash the walls. Get rid of all the perfume censers. Throw open the kitchens and feed the workers properly. If anyone asks where to begin, tell them anywhere.”
At first, they stare. Then one nods. Then another. Soon I hear the shuffle of feet, the snap of cloth pulled from rods, the crash of shutters thrown open.
Light comes in, slow but relentless. It touches the stairwells, the banisters, the framed arrogance on the walls. It touches me, too, and for the first time I don’t feel any urge to flinch.
By dusk, the keep is full of fresh air again.
I end up in the great hall again as the light dies. My father’s chair waits at the head of the table, empty and too large.
The sight of it makes my throat close. I’ve spent years telling myself I didn’t want it, that I’d rather die than sit where he sat.
The walls don’t echo with his voice anymore, but they haven’t learned mine yet either. I’ll have to teach them.
The fire in the hearth burns low. I stare at it until the flames blur and look like the reflection of something I used to fear. My father ruled through violence. I’m going to try co-operation instead.
Outside, the wind moves through the opened halls, sweeping out the last of Alaric’s perfume and dust. Somewhere, a window bangs open and laughter, tentative and small, but there, answers it.
The keep is breathing again.
So am I. And I intend to keep it that way.