Chapter 205 Wild card
Chapter 205: wild card
Milo pov
The war room was exactly how I liked it. Pristine maps spread across the massive table, marked with territories and troop movements. Candles flickered at every corner, casting dancing shadows across the ashen of my council members.
Five of my most trusted advisors stood around the table, their expressions ranging from confusion to concern and then back to confusion.
Good. Let them wonder what the Queen was planning.
"You summoned us urgently, Your Majesty," the bravest of them all, Elder Theron spoke finally. He was the oldest, the most cautious. He was among the council inner circle, and the one who questioned my decisions most often. "What crisis requires our immediate attention?"
I let the silence stretch, watching this once powerful man shift uncomfortably in their seats. Power was not just about making commands. It was about making people fidget when they don't know what will come next.
"We move our timeline forward," I said finally. "The attack on Damon's territory happens in two days."
The room erupted.
"Three days?" Kira slammed her hand on the table. "That is impossible. Our forces are not in position yet."
"The original plan called for next month," Marcus added, his brow furrowed. "We need more time to coordinate with the allied packs, to gather supplies, to…"
"The plan changed." My voice cut through their protests like a blade, silencing their complaints "Three days, and we move, that's final."
They stared at me, trying to process this sudden shift of plans. Elder Theron was the first to recover, his sharp mind already working through the implications.
"May we ask what prompted this change, Your Majesty? Has something happened we should know about?"
Yes, something happened,, infact a wild card has just sprung up, I thought. But I kept my expression carefully neutral.
"Damon is weakened," I said instead. "His alliance is fracturing. The unrighteous packs are ready to turn on him, just for a chance to join the Queen's council and be an elite in the world I am creating. If we strike now, while he is vulnerable, we can crush him completely. Wait too long, and he might recover."
"But three days," Elder Theron protested. "Our troops need proper preparation. Moving this quickly increases the risk of mistakes."
"Then do not make any mistakes." I leaned forward, letting my Alpha aura fill the room. The pressure made them all take a step back. "I am not asking for your opinions. I am giving you orders. Mobilize the forces. Coordinate with our allies. Everything happens in three days."
The seated elders exchanged glances with each. I could see the doubt in their eyes, the questions they wanted to ask but did not dare voice. They thought I was being reckless. Impulsive. Let them think as they want.
"There is one more thing," I continued. "During the attack, I will be hosting a dinner for all our allied pack leaders. A celebration of our impending victory."
Now they looked completely baffled.
"A dinner?" Elder Theron repeated slowly. "While our forces are engaged in battle?"
"Exactly. I want our allies here, in my hall, drinking my wine and eating my food while their warriors fight for my cause. It sends a message." I smiled coldly. "It shows them who holds the real power."
And it keeps them where I can see them, I added silently. Where they cannot betray me or change their minds at the last moment.
"As you command, Your Majesty," Elder Theron said, though his tone made it clear he thought this was madness. "We will make the necessary preparations."
"Good. And remember, no mistakes during the dinner. Everything must be perfect. I want our guests to understand exactly what they have aligned themselves with."
They bowed and filed out one by one, leaving me alone in the war room. The candles flickered as the door closed, casting strange patterns across the maps.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the mark indicating Damon's territory that was marked with a skull. We were so close now. After months of maneuvering pieces into position, of playing the long game, I was finally ready to make one of my master moves.
But there is a problem.
Milo just had to complicate everything.
I walked to my private chambers adjacent to the war room. The space I used for the work I could not let others see. Inside, spread across my desk, were reports. Dozens of them, detailing every aspect of the dungeon operations.
My fingers found the one I wanted. The incident report from a few hours ago.
Prisoner 247 attacked Prisoner 891 in the labor yard. Prisoner 891 defended himself. Prisoner 247 deceased from injuries sustained. Cause of death: broken neck and severe head trauma.
But that dry, clinical description did not capture what actually happened. I had spoken to the guards who witnessed it. Heard their accounts of how my brother moved faster than should have been possible, hit harder than any omega could, killed the strongest fighter in my dungeon with his bare hands.
Rax had been a former Beta from one of the northern packs. Trained warrior and a seasoned fighter. He could have torn through a dozen normal omegas without breaking a sweat.
But, Milo an omega killed him in seconds.
I pulled out another report. This one contains Rax's statistics. Height, weight, combat record, known abilities. He was ranked as the most dangerous prisoner in my entire facility. Guards avoided him when possible. Other prisoners feared him for his aggression.
And my little brother broke his neck like it was made of plastic.
Something had changed in Milo. Something significant that he was desperately trying to hide from me. He thought I wouldn't notice, but I had sensed it during our conversation before I threw him in the dungeon, and felt the power lurking beneath his weak omega exterior.
But this? This was beyond what I had imagined.
I sat down slowly, my mind racing through possibilities. Regular omegas did not have this kind of strength. Even Alphas would struggle to kill someone like Rax that quickly. Which meant Milo had undergone some kind of transformation. An awakening perhaps? But that was rare, almost unheard of in the history of werewolves.
Unless it was triggered by something. Or someone.
Damon.
My fingers drummed against the desk as pieces clicked into place. The severed mate bond was slowly healing in place. I had noticed it for a while now, but I never thought twice about it. But now?
I was not so sure any longer. What if that bond had changed him? Awakened something dormant inside him?
If that was true, if Milo possessed hidden power that I could harness or control, then he would become infinitely more valuable than just a bargaining chip against Damon.
He is a weapon.
But I needed to be careful. Push too hard, and he might break completely. Or worse, learn to fully control whatever this new power was and use it against me. No, I needed time to study him, to understand exactly what I was dealing with.
Which was why I had Aldrich put him in the deep cells. Isolated. Controlled. Where I could monitor his every move.
The clock on my desk chimed midnight. Time to sleep. Tomorrow will be busy with final preparations for the attack and the dinner. I needed to be sharp, focused.
I gathered the reports and locked them in my private safe. As I did, my eyes landed on one final document. The pregnancy confirmation from the healer who examined Milo after his arrival.
Two months along. Healthy, Strong heartbeat.
A union between an Ashbourne and a True Alpha.
My lips curved into a smile. Oh, the possibilities that opened up with that knowledge. The leverage I now had over both of them.
I extinguished the candles one by one, leaving only the moonlight filtering through the window. My chambers fell into shadow, silent except for the distant sounds of the estate settling for the night.
Everything was falling into place. In three days, Damon's pack would be under attack. His allies would be here under my roof where I could control them. And Milo would remain locked away, a secret weapon I was only beginning to understand.
But as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a small voice in the back of my mind whispered a warning. The same voice that had kept me alive through years of political maneuvering and dangerous games.
Something about this felt too easy. Too perfect.
And in my experience, when things seemed perfect, that was when they were most likely to explode in your face.
I pushed the thought away as quickly as possible.
I couldn't afford hesitation now. Not when I had planned for every contingency. Accounted for every variable.
Nothing would go wrong.