Chapter 74: Chapter Seventy-four

Chapter 74

Brie’s POV

The night air clung heavy with the scent of pine and frost. I sat by the brazier in my private chamber, its coals glowing faintly, though no warmth reached me. At my age, warmth rarely did, yet it was not the chill of the air that made me restless, but the game I had spun, the threads that tangled tighter with every passing moon.

The boy, my son, though I could scarcely think of him without bitterness, was slipping from my grip. I had cursed him, bent the strings of fate until his strength waned, and yet somehow he lived. Poison had failed too. And now whispers reached me, whispers I had not sown, that his little mate had grown fragile, pale, with eyes brighter and softer than before.

I knew what it meant before others dared to shape the thought. Age sharpens instinct. I had carried life once too, long ago, when his father still breathed and Duskwood still danced to my tune. A woman’s body does not forget the signs.

She was pregnant.

The knowledge was both weapon and curse. Weapon, because with it I could twist the elders further against him. Curse, because it made her more dangerous than she had ever been. The pack would rally behind the promise of an heir. The goddess would lend her favor more fiercely than before. And Edgar, he would grow even more defiant, more difficult to uproot.

So I told myself patience.

Patience had won me power before. Patience would win again.

By morning, I moved carefully, draping the hood of my cloak over my hair before stepping into the council chamber. The elders were already gathering, drawn together like moths to the scent of unrest.

“Brie,” Elder Mara greeted, her thin smile as sharp as her gaze. “You rarely join us these days.”

I inclined my head. “I come when the pack’s future is in question. Last night’s council with Edgar left us all unsettled.”

A murmur of agreement rippled around the table. Good. They were already restless, already looking for a voice to echo their unease.

I lowered myself into a chair, folding my hands delicately in my lap. “You have all seen it, haven’t you? The way his mate withdraws from the gatherings, because of her fatigue.”

Rowen’s brows drew together, suspicion clear in his eyes. “You imply illness?”

I let silence linger just long enough to catch their breath. Then, soft as a knife sliding between ribs: “Not illness. Expectancy.”

The word landed with weight. Elder Kael leaned forward, his lined face unreadable. Mara’s eyes widened, then narrowed with intrigue.

“You believe she carries a child?” she asked.

I inclined my head, calm though my heart drummed. “I know the signs. I bore them once myself. The goddess marks such changes clearly for those who care to look.”

The chamber stilled, the crackle of the fire the only sound. Then Mara exhaled slowly. “If it is true… then everything changes.”

Rowen shifted uneasily. “Changes? Or stabilizes? An heir could secure Edgar’s claim, strengthen his position. The pack has long awaited continuity.”

Fool, I thought, though I kept my expression serene. Continuity for Edgar meant death for me, for everything I had built in shadow.

“Continuity,” I said aloud, voice cool, “is only as strong as its foundation. Tell me, Rowen, do you trust a boy cursed by his own mother to raise a worthy heir? Do you trust a girl who stumbled into this pack from nowhere to shape its future queen?”

His mouth tightened. He had no answer.

I leaned closer, lowering my voice so they had to strain to hear. “This is not merely about a child. It is about control. About whether we allow a weak Alpha and his frail mate to bind us with sentiment, or whether we hold true to the goddess’s will and choose what is best for Duskwood.”

Kael’s fingers drummed on the table. His silence was more telling than words. Mara, though, gave me a slow nod. She understood ambition. She always had.

After the council dispersed, I lingered in the corridors, letting my cloak brush the cold stone as I walked. Whispers trailed behind me already, carried by the elders who could never keep their tongues still. Good. Rumors spread faster than fire when fed the right kindling.

But patience, I reminded myself again. Patience.

Edgar was not yet defeated. The goddess’s favor lingered stubbornly upon him, though I had tried to strip it away. And the girl, Lia, she had a will stronger than any I had ever seen. To strike too soon would draw the pack’s sympathy, would turn whispers into rebellion.

No. I would let suspicion grow first. Let the elders’ unease turn to doubt, and doubt to resentment. When the time was ripe, they would demand answers, demand proof, and when proof came it would bind Edgar in chains of expectation heavier than any iron.

The boy would think a child saved him. He would think the goddess blessed him. But I would make sure it became the snare that dragged him under.

That evening, alone in my chamber again, I lit no brazier. The cold suited me; it cleared the fog of sentiment that sometimes clung too thick.

I sat at my table and unfurled a scrap of parchment, dipping my quill in ink. Not all wars were won with claws and blood. Some were won with words, seeded like poison in the right ear.

To the council, I wrote, each stroke measured. The pack must not be blind to what unfolds. The Alpha grows weaker even as whispers of an heir arise. It is our duty to ensure the goddess’s will is not twisted by sentiment or secrecy. Prepare yourselves. When the time comes, we must act swiftly and without hesitation.

I did not sign it. I did not need to. They would know its source.

Folding the parchment, I sealed it with wax, pressing the edge of my ring into the soft surface. Then I sat back, exhaling slowly.

Yes. Patience.

Let Edgar clutch his little mate in the shadows, whispering of unity and love. Let him believe he had won a reprieve.

When the truth burst into the open, it would not be salvation. It would be his undoing.

And I, I would be waiting when the pieces fell.