Chapter 114 I am the storm
ZEUS
I walk into the high vaulted foyer of the Haven, with my boots thudding softly against the polished stone floor.
My mind is a spiral of purposeful thoughts, each one sharpened like a dagger aimed at the heart of the throne room. I tell myself Daisy doesn’t mean anything.
I tell myself she’s done. I tell myself that the flicker of something I felt when she screamed at me, when I kissed her was just the residue of a game. She was a pawn and I’m done with her now. I need to move on. The world will bend beneath me soon.
Darian is out of town. The conglomerate packs had trouble, the usual rogues, raiding, chaos. Perfect. He’s away and our father, the Lycan King, is off consulting outlying territories. He’s trusting. Relaxed. Thinking his heir will never lift a finger. He’s wrong. By the time Darian returns, the throne will be mine. All mine. This is the next phase. The plan Adira and I have crafted. Calculated, precise. A whisper, then a collapse.
I pause at a corridor intersection, sunlight from tall windows cutting sharp angles across the floor. My boots shine. I take a breath. I should feel something, anticipation, triumph, maybe even dread. Instead I feel flat. Detached. I press my hand to the wall for a second, cold stone under my palm, anchoring myself to something physical while my mind spins the future.
Daisy. I force her into a box in my head; “side note,” “irrelevant,” “past.” She remains there. Her tear-stained face, the smell of chalk and old lockers, the ache in her voice but I push it away. Because nothing matters but the throne now.
I reach the lounge wing, where Adira stands by one of the wide windows, overlooking the gardens below. She has her arms around me from behind, long dark hair brushing my shoulders, a soft laugh slipping out as she leans her weight into me.
The moment the arm snakes around my middle, the moment I feel that false comfort, my body tightens. My face freezes into stone.
“Adira,” I say, voice low. I turn in her arms, peeling her off gently but firmly; my palm rests on her back for a heartbeat then slides away. She meets my gaze: soft, expectant, radiant like she always is when the game is going her way. I cannot allow it. I will not allow it. Not yet.
“We should talk,” I say, dictating the tone, the moment. My voice stern, unyielding. Her smile falters. “In the throne room. Now.”
She blinks once, then nods. “Of course.” Her lips part like she’s about to say something, but she stops. I walk away, my steps echoing.
Her footsteps trail behind, silent, like a shadow. I don’t look back. I don’t allow myself to indulge in her presence. Because she’s a pawn. She always has been.
The door to the throne room is heavy, carved with the crest of the McAlister lineage: two wolves flanking a full moon crest. I open it, step inside. The interior is opulent, rich wood panels, heavy drapes drawn closed against the dusk light, ornate silver goblets and a decanter of deep red wine sitting on a table by the window.
The scent of aged oak and cold metal greets me. My father is not here yet; good. The room is mine for now. I sit in the large leather-backed chair behind the desk. I let the moment stretch. I feel the weight of it: kingship, power, legacy.
Adira enters quietly, her footsteps whispering on the plush carpet. She closes the door behind her. I don’t stand. I remain seated. I watch her approach. She carries a composed expression, but I see the underlying tension, the flicker of ambition, the hunger that mirrors my own.
“You wanted to see me,” she says.
“Yes,” I reply. “We’re moving forward.” I lean forward, steepling my fingers. “The King will be back soon. He could walk in here at any moment. We need to be ready.” My tone is level, icy. “I have the poison.”
She arches a brow. “You do?”
“I do.” I cast my gaze at the decanter of wine on the side table. “But I must be precise. No mistakes.”
Her mouth forms the faintest curve. “Are you sure you want to involve me?” Her voice is soft but probing. “You were doing fine without me.”
“No,” I say firmly. “We do this together. As we agreed. But you must follow my lead.” I pause. “Because I don’t tolerate complacency.”
She nods, eyes narrowing slightly. “Of course. What’s the next step?”
I lean back. I watch her. She is beautiful, yes. With power. With influence. But she is not the goal. She is the vehicle. I must never forget. I want the throne. I want control. I want everything that comes with it. And I will have it because they will let me. They believe I am just the cocky younger brother, but they’ll be surprised.
I stand and walk over to the table, pick up the decanter, pour a small amount of wine, hold it up to the light. The dark color crimson. I set it back. I turn to Adira.
“The poison is ready,” I say. “Conan gave it to me.” I see her interest spike. “It is called Vallora. Odorless. Tasteless. Five drops will stop a heart within minutes.” I watch her reaction: a flash of knowing mixed with fear. Good.
She steps closer. “Has my father warned you,”
“Yes.” I nod. “He told me the last time he gave this to you, it failed. You didn’t kill Iris.” I let the name hang between us. It tastes bitter. I recall Adira’s frustration, her teeth bared behind polite lips when Iris escaped.
Adira’s face tightens. “We can’t fail again.”
We won’t fail. In my mind, I file those words. The throne will be mine. The King’s blood will mark the end of the old and the beginning of me.
“Tomorrow night,” I say quietly. “Just before the dinner, we’ll slip this into his glass. Five drops.”
She looks visibly shook and I almost roll my eyes.
“And when this is all over,” I lean in. “You’ll stand by me. You’ll be queen at my side. And you’ll watch the King pass from his throne to the ground.” I say it with finality.
Her gaze hardens. “I will hold you to that.”
Good. I clamp my mouth shut. The moment shakes slightly; the room is heavy with unspoken promises. But I don’t allow softness. Not now. Not ever. I step back, release her.
“Go,” I say. “Make the arrangements. I’ll see to the guards and the evening schedule. We must ensure no one notices the shift until it’s done.”
She bows her head slightly, a gesture of respect. She turns and leaves the room, the door clicking softly behind her. I am alone again.
I walked to the window, pulling the curtain as I stare at nothing in particular. I am closer now than ever to the crown. The doubt I felt earlier, the moment of hesitation when Daisy’s image flickered in my mind, I push it down. I anchor it behind the wall of steel I’ve built. I will not let it weaken me. Because if I do, if I falter…
Then I won’t be crown Prince. I won’t be King. I’ll be nothing.
I close the curtain. I walk back to the desk and sit down. I place my hands flat on its surface, fingers spread wide. I smell the faint scent of leather and parchment, of old treaties the King signed, of wars fought. Legacy. Bloodline. Power.
I imagine the moment when the King will raise his goblet to silence the hall. The walls will hush. The wine will touch his lips. He will swallow five drops of Vallora. And then the spark when his heart stops. Guards will gasp. Adira will be as dramatic as ever, crying out. I will stand and walk forward. I will seize the crown. I speak the words: My reign begins. The pack will bow.
I shake myself. The vision is razor sharp. It’s real.
I stand, walk toward the door, reach out and open it. I step into the corridor. The torch sconces light the way. I walk with purpose. The plan is set. The execution will be tonight.
My thoughts trace back to Daisy once. Just for a second. I recall the taste of her anger, the heat in her eyes, her soul on fire. I ask myself if I ever did care? Maybe. But that’s in the past. Irrelevant. I can’t afford softness. Not now. Not ever.
I am the storm. I am the downward arrow of change. The throne will be mine. They will kneel. The Lycan King will fall. And when the sun rises on the new regime, no one will remember the shift until they wake up underneath my rule.