Chapter 36 Thrones of ashes
ZEUS
The whiskey burns as it goes down, but I welcome it. It’s the only kind of warmth I trust. Everything else; people, promises, bonds, is fickle. A distraction. A liability.
I sink deeper into the armchair, swirling the amber liquid in my glass, watching the light fracture through it. The silence in my room is thick, like smoke after a war. The kind that settles after something destructive has already been set in motion.
And it has.
My plan.
Finally.
Falling into place.
It started weeks ago. The night I passed by Adrian’s room, and overheard him and Darian whispering like schoolboys trying to keep secrets from the headmaster. I was going to walk by, pretend I heard nothing, until I heard the name.
Iris.
The girl he marked.
My brother. The future Lycan king. Reduced to a mess over a college girl.
At first, I stood there, confused. Why would Darian, of all people, throw away everything he was trained for? Everything we were raised for? But then it hit me. This… this was the crack in the perfect foundation. The slip in the polished armor. And I’d be a fool not to drive a stake straight through it.
I didn’t confront him, of course. That would’ve been sloppy. No. I waited. Watched. Dug around.
I found her, quiet, unassuming, and soft. Pretty, sure, but not enough to start a war over. Yet somehow, she’d become his weakness. His secret. And secrets are only useful if you’re not the one keeping them.
But going after her directly would raise too many questions. Adrian would smell it. Darian would tear through anything with a pulse if he felt the bond pull from another man. I needed a way in that didn’t look like a threat.
So, I chose the friend.
Daisy.
Bright. Loud. Oblivious.
Perfect.
I found out she painted. Signed up for a class. Pretended to be bored, unbothered, mysterious. Girls like her fall for that. A quiet guy with a tragic look and a sharp jawline? Works every time. I didn’t even have to try.
The kiss in the studio? That was just the cherry on top. Did I enjoy it? Maybe. But it wasn’t about that. It was about what it gave me: access. Legitimacy. Proximity.
I needed to be close enough to feed my father evidence. Because when I first told him, when I stood in his office and said, “Darian’s compromised,” he looked at me like I was playing some petty sibling game. He didn’t believe me.
So I played the long game.
I made myself useful. I slipped details here and there. Texts Daisy showed me, things she said that connected dots. All carefully curated. Enough to push my father’s mind toward suspicion.
And eventually, he listened.
He saw it.
Darian’s unplanned disappearances. His sudden distance. His inability to keep his head straight. I didn’t even have to lie. I just had to help the truth rise to the surface.
Now here we are. The air in the Haven has changed. The walls buzz with tension. Darian walks around like a live wire. My father looks at him differently. And I?
I drink.
And I wait.
Because the next step is obvious.
Darian’s mistake will cost him. His bond to Iris is already unraveling him. He thinks he can hide it, contain it. But the thing about a bond is that it doesn’t just make you stronger. It makes you vulnerable. It exposes everything.
And I intend to rip that open.
I intend to take everything he thought he was destined for.
He’s the first-born. The golden boy. Mother’s favorite. Groomed for the crown since he could walk.
But he’s sloppy.
Emotional.
Weak.
And the throne doesn’t belong to the weak.
Let them believe it’s his. Let them train him, adore him, rely on him. Let him carry the weight. Because when he finally stumbles, and he will, I’ll be right here to pick it up.
To wear it.
To rule.
I toss back the last of the whiskey and set the glass down on the table beside me. My phone buzzes. A message from Daisy, something about a study group and how she “can’t wait to hear what I think of her latest piece.”
Pathetic.
But useful.
I respond with something flirty. Just enough to keep the line warm.
She doesn’t know she’s a pawn. None of them do.
And that’s the beauty of it.
By the time Darian figures it all out, it’ll be too late.
His father already doubts him. His bond is already fraying. And soon enough, the elders will start asking questions. Questions about his commitment, about the Luna, about the kingdom’s future. When that happens, they’ll look to the next strongest. The next best option.
Me.
And I’ll be ready.
No distractions.
No attachments.
No weakness.
Just strategy.
I rise from the chair, stretch my arms behind my back, and let the satisfaction settle deep in my bones.
They’ve all been so blinded by birthright. As if being the firstborn automatically means being the strongest. As if a crown is something you inherit rather than something you take, earn.
It’s laughable.
They trained Darian like he was untouchable. Molded him for leadership. Watched him stumble and still held onto their delusion. But no one ever looked at me. No one asked if I could lead. No one considered that I might be the better option.
Because I am.
I don’t move on impulse. I don’t fall apart over girls or give in to primitive bond pulls. I’ve never needed anyone to survive. I’ve never been led by emotion, I lead with logic. Precision. Strategy. The very things a king should rule with.
And yet, they all bet on Darian.
They think strength is in muscle and power is in roar. They forget that it’s the quiet, patient ones they should fear most. The ones who think ten steps ahead. The ones who don’t show their hand until the game’s already won.
That’s why I’ll win.
That’s why this throne won’t be his much longer.
It’s all coming together.
And for the first time in a long time, I can taste it.
Power.
And it tastes better than blood.