Chapter 86 Three-Day Countdown

Third POV

The Great Hall holds its breath as Micah strides forward, his presence radiating an aura of undeniable authority. Jeremy quickly uprights himself and puffs his chest out with the arrogance of impending power.

"Micah,” He says cunningly, “you have returned just in time for the enthronement ceremony. I trust you understand the order of succession laid out by our late father."

Micah's eyes narrow, a wolfish glint in them, as he takes in Jeremy's posturing.

"Jeremy, you may play at being king, but the throne is not yet yours. Let's not pretend otherwise."

The air grows tense as the two Lycans lock eyes, and the ministers shuffle nervously on their feet.

Jeremy raises an imperious eyebrow.

"Micah, as the rightful heir, it is my duty to ensure the stability and order of our kingdom. Your prolonged absence and disregard for the impending enthronement have sown discord among our subjects."

Micah, however, remains unmoved, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Stability and order, Jeremy? It seems to me you're more interested in power than the well-being of our people."

A ripple of murmurs courses through the assembly as Micah's words strike a nerve. Jeremy, feigning composure, smirks and continues his charade.

"Brother, you will address me as your king. I demand an apology for your blatant disrespect and a submission to the punishment befitting your insolence."

Micah simply stares at him, unimpressed by the whole facade.

The supporters on both sides watch with bated breath, as Jeremy leans in, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone.

"Micah, your disrespect will not go unpunished. The penalty for insubordination of this nature is severe. You shall be flogged publicly as a lesson to all who dare challenge the throne."

Micah snorts, a feral grin playing on his lips.

"Jeremy, you haven't been the Lycan King yet, so don't try to put up a front with me. Save your demands for the enthronement, if you ever manage to get there."

Smirking cunningly, Jeremy takes out the king’s official parchment.

"Well, brother, our father made his decision clear. This document bears his seal and unequivocally states that the throne is mine by rightful succession."

Micah eyes the document skeptically, his gaze unwavering.

"Anyone can forge a document. I won't accept this as proof of legitimacy." He says simply, not even bothering with a second glance at the piece of paper.

Jeremy’s fingers clench and he tries to mask his doubts with anger. However, before he can say a word, Micah presses on.

"On my way back, I learned that our father was murdered. A Lycan of his stature, killed so easily. There are only a few who possess the power to do so. And on the day he was murdered, no one special entered the palace. Other than the regular maids and guards, only Alara and you were inside."

A hush falls over the Great Hall as Micah speaks, his words casting a shadow of suspicion over Jeremy. Micah's gaze pierces through the room, locking onto the officials, ministers, and elders who had aligned themselves with Jeremy's bid for the throne.

They shift uncomfortably under his gaze, lowering their heads and not meeting Micah’s eye.

"Jeremy, as a Lycan, you're the only one with the strength to harm our father. The most likely suspect is right here in front of us. So, why was he so easily ruled out? Why was he allowed to ascend to the throne without thorough investigation?"

He thunders out, his voice lashing out like a sharp whip. Jeremy feels sweat build on the back of his neck. His palms feel sweaty and under Micah’s piercing gaze, he takes a faltering step back. The minister’s questioning gazes make him feel burdened and just when he is about to lash out defensively, loud sounds of heels echo in the hall.

He looks up to find his mother, Alara, wearing a practiced smile of innocence as she walks in. Immediately, Jeremy feels composed again and a slow, treacherous smile appears on his lips.

"Ah Micah, always the rebellious one," Alara sneers, her gaze locking onto her step-son. "Your constant defiance towards your father was no secret. You've always challenged his authority."

Micah narrows his eyes at her.

"What does that have to do with my father's murder, Alara? And why were you and Jeremy the only ones in the palace that day?"

A sly smile curves Alara's lips as she steps further into the limelight.

"My dear Micah, you seem to have missed the truth. If only you cared to spend some more time with your father.” She bats her eyes sweetly.

“The last Lycan King had been secretly ailing for some time. His strength waned, his powers diminished. In his last days, anyone Lycan or not could easily cause him harm. That's why he fell prey to those who sought to exploit his weakness."

Micah’s gaze shifts between Alara and Jeremy, processing this new information.

"So, you're saying my father's vulnerability attracted his killers. That doesn't absolve Jeremy or you from suspicion."

Alara smirks, her eyes dancing with cunning. "Micah, you are too quick to judge. According to the officers who found your father, there was a distinct 'body scent' left in the room where he died. It did not belong to Jeremy or me."

A triumphant glint flickers in Alara's eyes as she says the next words.

"The officers ruled out both Jeremy and me as suspects. The 'body scent' in the room was a crucial detail. Neither of us left it, and it certainly wasn't one of a Lycan."

Then Alara, with a flourish of calculated drama, retrieves a bundle of letters from the folds of her robe. She holds them up for all to see, a glint in her eyes.

"Micah, my dear, it seems you've been blissfully ignorant of your own father's condition. These letters," she waves them for emphasis, "were written to you. We, Jeremy and I, implored you to return, to see your ailing father. But you, an undutiful son, ignored them. They were returned to me, unopened."

Murmurs take over the hall as the court officials look at Micah with disapproving gazes. After all, an unfilial son has no place on the throne.

Micah's expression tightens as he scans the letters, his disbelief evident.

"I've never received these so-called letters, Alara. You can't manipulate the truth with your deceit."

Alara, pointedly dabs her eyes and sniffs as if in great pain, "Oh, Micah, these letters were sent to your known addresses. We have always sought your return, but you've chosen to remain indifferent to your family's pleas and now, you are here trying to sow discord in the court when your father has barely been laid to rest. Oh, how disappointed he must be."

With that, she wipes her tears, effectively painting Micah as the villain.

Micah’s fist tightens and his jaw clenches. He knows the games his step-mother can play and the web of lies she has no trouble weaving.

"If you truly cared, Alara, you wouldn't be so hasty to crown Jeremy the king without even uncovering the truth behind my father's death. The real murderer is still at large, and you're more interested in power than justice."

Then, not waiting for her reply, he turns to look at every single person in the hall.

“Three days,” He says, his booming voice holding a dangerous edge.

"In exactly three days, I will unravel the mystery surrounding my father's murder. If I fail, I willingly relinquish my status as a prince. I will be no more than an ordinary commoner. But, if I succeed, and Jeremy or Alara are found to be involved, it will be they who are stripped of all power."

Shocked gasps grip the hall as he turns around to look at Jeremy with a purely wicked grin on his face and says:

“Let the countdown begin, brother.”