Chapter 41 Birthright and blood
DARIAN
The morning air is sharp, still clinging to the edge of the night’s chill. It bites at my skin as I pull on my training gear and strap the sword to my back. My body moves out of habit, but my mind’s a storm I can’t quiet. I haven’t slept properly since the weekend, since Iris.
Since Zeus.
I need to train. I need to hit something. I need silence, and the sound of metal colliding, and control. Just a little bit of it.
But as I walk across the stone path toward the training grounds, I hear the unmistakable clang of swords. Voices shouting commands. And not mine.
I round the corner, and there he is.
Zeus.
On the field.
In front of my soldiers.
Training them.
He’s dressed in our royal combat black, shirt sleeves rolled up, sweat already clinging to his temples. He’s leading them like it’s his birthright. Like it’s his job.
And every fiber in my body tightens.
I step onto the grounds, boots heavy on the dirt. “Stop.”
All motion halts. The men freeze. A few glance between me and Zeus, unsure what to do with the tension suddenly slicing through the air.
Zeus turns, wiping sweat from his brow. “Morning, brother.”
I don’t return the smile he clearly expects. “What routine were you running?”
He doesn’t blink. “Just something I came up with.”
Of course it is.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Right.”
His smirk twitches. “What? You don’t think I can come up with a training routine?”
“I’m just shocked at the lengths you’ll go to take my place.”
There’s a beat of silence, thick and charged. Even the birds seem to go quiet.
Zeus tilts his head slightly. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t need to think it.” I take a step closer. “You’ve made it perfectly clear.”
He laughs once under his breath, no humor in it. “You always did love the dramatics, Darian.”
“No,” I snap, voice low but sharp. “What I love is order. Loyalty. Discipline. And what I hate is betrayal.”
Zeus’s jaw flexes. “You want to talk about betrayal? You were sneaking around with a marked girl behind our father's back.”
I step right into his space, just close enough that the men behind us shift uncomfortably. “Don’t act like that was about loyalty. You don’t care about the rules, you care about power, about what you can get out of it.”
He lifts his chin. “Maybe I’m just better at playing the game than you are.”
“Maybe you’re just more willing to stab your own family to win it.”
His hand twitches near the hilt of his sword. I see it. He knows I see it.
“You want to do this here?” he says, voice quieter, colder. “In front of the men?”
“You’re the one who pulled a blade on our legacy,” I growl. “This is just overdue.”
That’s all it takes.
Zeus steps back, draws his sword in one smooth motion. The scrape of steel echoes like thunder. The soldiers instinctively back up, creating a wide circle around us.
I draw mine without breaking eye contact.
His stance is flawless, of course it is. Zeus was trained like me. By the same men. But there’s something different in his eyes now. This isn’t sparring. This isn’t performance.
This is a fight.
He lunges first, blade swinging in a clean arc. I parry it easily, the impact shuddering up my arm. He’s fast, but I’m faster. I pivot, bringing my sword down toward his shoulder, but he sidesteps at the last second.
Steel sings. Sparks fly.
There’s a rhythm to fighting your brother. You know his movements. You know his tells. He knows mine too, but his anger makes him reckless. That helps me.
But gods, he’s strong.
“Still trying to prove something?” I grunt, blocking another strike.
“Just showing them what a real leader looks like,” he spits.
I twist out of the way, countering. “Funny. I thought a real leader didn’t sell out his blood to climb a throne.”
That one lands harder than the blade.
Zeus growls, and his next attack comes faster, more vicious. He swings with purpose, like if he hits hard enough, he’ll shut me up, erase me entirely.
But I don’t give him the chance.
I sweep his leg and knock him off balance. His foot stumbles in the dirt, and my blade is at his throat in seconds.
The field goes silent.
His chest rises and falls, sharp with rage.
“Yield,” I say.
He glares up at me, eyes burning.
Then he scoffs and shoves my sword away. “This isn’t over.”
“It never is with you.”
He picks himself up, brushes dirt off his arm, and walks off without another word.
The men are still watching. I turn to them slowly, voice steady.
“Back to formation. We do my drills. From the top.”
They move immediately.
I don’t even have to look back to know Zeus is still seething.
Let him. He made his choice.
And now?
So have I.
\~~~~
I leave the training grounds without another word.
The second I’m out of view, my steps slow. My adrenaline’s still high, but the crash is coming. I can feel it creeping up the back of my neck, heat, ache, and something colder than rage settling in my chest.
I don’t head to the infirmary.
I take the back path around the barracks and slip into one of the old, unused storage rooms beside the armory. It’s quiet, dark, and more importantly, empty. I shut the door behind me, lean against it, and finally let myself exhale.
My hand trembles as I pull my shirt up.
The gash along my ribs isn’t deep, but it’s messy. The one on my arm burns worse. Still not the worst injury Zeus has ever given me. But this one… this one feels different. Because it was real. Not training. Not play-fighting. Not brothers sparring to blow off steam.
He meant to hurt me.
And part of me wanted to hurt him back.
I sink onto a wooden crate, breathing hard, pressing the edge of my shirt against the bleeding cut. Blood soaks through fast. I let it. The sting keeps me awake.
My jaw aches where he clipped it. My side pulses. My head pounds.
But none of it hurts more than the thought of what he’s willing to do for power.
I should’ve seen it sooner. The smug looks. The way he watched me, waited. He didn’t just want me to fail. He wanted to replace me. Fully. Completely.
And now Father’s watching him more closely than ever. Noticing. Approving.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I can’t let him take this from me. Not the crown. Not the pack. Not Iris.
I pause, heart stuttering.
Iris.
Gods.
He knows. And he’s going to use her. Maybe not directly. Maybe not yet. But he will. If he hasn’t already.
And if he lays a hand on her-
I clench my fist, knuckles whitening.
No. I won’t let it come to that.
I reach for the wrap cloth on the shelf behind me and begin tying it around my arm, wincing as I pull it tight. Then my side. Slow, steady, not clean, but good enough. Lycans heal fast, but not fast enough to ignore this mess. I’ll feel it for a few days.
There’s a knock at the door. Sharp. Three taps.
My body tenses, and I reach for my sword before I even speak. “What?”
The voice on the other side is hesitant. “Darian? It’s Kelvin.”
I loosen my grip slightly. “It’s open.”
The door creaks. Kelvin steps in, eyes flicking down to the bloody bandage at my waist, then back up to my face.
“Didn’t think it was true,” he mutters, closing the door behind him. “But then I saw the dirt, the blood… and Zeus storming off with murder in his eyes.”
I don’t answer.
Kelvin exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “You fought your brother.”
“No.” I lean back, voice flat. “My brother fought me.”
He studies me for a long second, then nods once. “You need stitches.”
“I’ll heal.”
“I meant politically.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Too late for that.”
He walks over, crouching beside me to get a better look at the wrap. “So what now?”
Now?
I look past him, toward the narrow slit of a window where the light barely reaches. I think of Zeus standing on the field, rallying my men. Acting like he owns the place.
And I think of Iris.
Everything in me hardens.
“Now,” I say, voice quiet but certain, “I take back what’s mine.”