Chapter 147

Chapter 147
Alexander's POV

When Cyril half-dragged, half-carried me into the sealed chamber, I heard myself repeating Fiona's name unconsciously.

With each utterance, Darius snapped another one of my ribs. That was how the bond's backlash worked—the more I yearned, the more excruciating the pain became.

Yet all I could manage was that one moment of decisive severance. I could never achieve the peace of mind to forget her.

"Can you reach Claremont now?" I collapsed onto the divan, addressing Cyril. "I know he might not have the capacity to spare attention at the moment, but I... I can't wait another second. I need to know how she is."

I forced the words out before doubling over again, dry-heaving. I expelled half-congealed blood clots that contained even a tuft of golden fur—remnants from when Rita had nuzzled against Darius, their affectionate neck-rubbing and intertwining having occurred mere hours ago.

Neither Fiona nor I could have imagined, until this moment, just how catastrophic the worst day of our lives would be.

As Cyril knelt beside me, wiping the sweat from my brow, his pocket watch slipped free. The reflected light from its glass face reminded me of that night when Fiona had revealed her golden hair before me—how the luminous strands had danced in the night breeze.

I couldn't stop thinking of her. Every detail, every association consumed what remained of my rational mind.

"I want to see her..." I closed my eyes, voicing my need once more.

Cyril hesitated. "You must promise me, Your Majesty—your emotions cannot become agitated again."

When Cyril carved the third blood mark across the silver coin's surface, the air in the chamber suddenly stilled. The coin levitated, and Professor Claremont's features gradually clarified through the rippling light projection.

"Your Majesty." His voice seemed to pierce through layers of fog.

I forced myself upright from the bed, every muscle screaming in protest. Cyril moved to support me, but I raised a hand to stop him. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth—I tasted iron mixed with the peculiar bitterness of wormwood that characterized bond backlash.

"You needn't bow." I wiped away the blood, my voice more hoarse than I'd anticipated. "You never have. The cooperation and assistance between us has nothing to do with submission."

"This is not obligatory protocol," Professor Claremont said, looking at me with genuine reverence. "This is my heartfelt respect for you. Everything you've done for our community deserves the most glorious entry in the historical records."

The light projection from the silver coin suddenly shuddered violently. When the image stabilized, I saw her.

Fiona lay in bed, her golden hair spread like melted sunlight. Her complexion was so pale it appeared nearly transparent, her chest rising and falling so weakly the movement was almost imperceptible. But her left hand clutched the bedsheet beneath her with stubborn determination—this defiant gesture made my heart clench painfully, as though Darius's fangs had pierced directly through the ventricle.

"The estate's barrier is complete," Claremont's voice suddenly dropped. "Neither the Wolf Clan Council of Elders nor the human parliament has authority to enter this territory now."

An edge I'd never witnessed before emerged on the old professor's face. The mixed-blood who had been scorned by both races for millennia now burned with remarkable vitality in his eyes.

The backlash pain struck suddenly. I pressed hard against the newly split wound between my ribs. The silver bowl Cyril handed me filled instantly with black blood, tiny golden motes floating within—traces of Fiona's essence still lingering in my bloodstream, now being excavated piece by piece by the bond's force.

"Don't tell her." I stared at Fiona's trembling eyelashes in the projection. "Never let her know any of this..."

"Why do you torment yourself so?" Professor Claremont sighed. "She has the right to know what you've done for her."

"Let her leave unburdened." I cut him off, watching as Fiona unconsciously reached for the side of her neck in her sleep. "She should be a soaring eagle, not a caged canary."

The only way I could conceive to break this impasse was to grant her the rights and status to speak with me as an equal.

She would not be my Luna. She would be an Alpha in her own right.

A soft knock sounded at the chamber door—three long, two short. The Shadow Guard Captain's coded signal.

Cyril immediately positioned himself protectively before the projection. Within seconds, all images vanished.

"Enter," I rasped, using my coat to cover the still-bleeding wound on my chest.

The Shadow Guard Captain knelt on one knee, his voice carrying a note of hesitation. "Your Majesty, Lucian Lefett has awakened."

"He's... out of danger." The captain continued his report, though his tone grew even more uncertain. "However, the medical team's examination revealed severe trauma to his brain. Which means... he's forgotten many things."

"Forgotten?" Cyril laughed coldly. "He must realize the only reason he's alive is to be retried and sent back to the gallows. Feigning madness doesn't seem his style."

I looked at him, my gaze heavy.

"Perhaps he's not trying to escape consequences." The image of Lucian's one eye blazing with madness surfaced in my mind—clearly the obsessive influence of those foolish, doomed heroes.

"He believed that if he could force Fiona to lose control, if he could muddy the waters and make her transform into a bloodthirsty beast before everyone's eyes, then even sacrificing a guard captain would be worth it for the Purple Wolf Clan to solidify the Golden Wolf Clan's guilt."

I closed my eyes as Darius released a mournful cry within my mental landscape.

"He was using this self-destructive method to render his final loyalty to his family. In his view, as long as Fiona died or was exiled, Fendia's position as Luna would be secure."

"I'll grant you that..." Cyril frowned. "The Purple Wolf Clan's anxious grasping these past centuries—everyone has witnessed it. Ever since the Golden Wolf Clan's fall, they've clawed their way to their current position. They fear losing it more than anyone, and they're greedier than anyone."

"Precisely because of that," I opened my eyes, ice crystallizing in their depths, "from a motive standpoint, they're the greatest beneficiaries. Arthur dead, Fiona driven mad—the Purple Wolf Clan could naturally assume control of the royal court's security and medical supply. A transaction guaranteed to profit."

Cyril fell silent.

"But in truth, he only drove the blade deeper. He wasn't the one with courage enough to strike first."

The ache in my chest made breathing nearly impossible.

This was the game of power.

No one was more ruthless than a true emperor, and no one understood better than those at the vortex's center that loyalty and honor were merely tissue paper before the altar of self-interest.

"Since he claims not to remember..." I gripped the table's edge, forcing myself to stand straight despite the agony of fractured ribs, my voice cold as Siberian permafrost. "Then we'll help him remember."

Cyril startled. "You mean—?"

"Find Caleb Thorne."

At the mention of that name, Cyril's expression tightened slightly.

The gray wolf professor versed in hypnosis and mental manipulation.

If I had my preference, I would never want him to appear before Fiona.

But I knew that now, perhaps only his words could make Fiona truly believe.