Chapter 34 An Heir
DAGNOTH DRACULIS
The corridors toward my chambers felt longer than they had any right to be.
Not because of distance but because my wolf would not shut up.
I constantly felt his presence beneath my ribs, restless, claws scraping the inside of my skull like he was testing the strength of my restraint.
He knew better than to do that.
The stone walls glided past, banners hanging, guards bowing as I passed. I acknowledged none of it. My mind was still in the council chamber, still circling that single word like a wound that refused to close.
Heir.
“They are right,” my wolf said.
I ignored him and pushed open the doors to my chambers. The familiar scent of leather, smoke, and old power wrapped around me. I dismissed the guards with a flick of my hand and sealed the doors myself. Only then did I loosen my shoulders, just enough to breathe.
“They are afraid,” I said aloud. “That does not make them right.”
My wolf laughed—low, knowing. “Fear sharpens instinct. You heard it too.”
I poured myself a drink I didn’t intend to finish. The glass cracked slightly in my grip.
“This is politics,” I said. “Nothing more.”
“You lie poorly when you’re tired.”
I set the glass down harder than necessary and turned toward the wide windows overlooking the inner court. Night had fully settled now, the moon hanging heavy and bright. A good moon. A strong one.
A moon my brother would be watching too.
“Kleon,” I muttered.
At the sound of his name, my wolf stiffened.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Him.”
Silence stretched between us, thick with memory.
We had been born on the same night, under the same blood-red moon. Two heirs drawn from the same line, raised side by side, sharpened against each other from the moment we could stand. The law of our land was brutal and simple—strength chose the crown.
We had fought.
I won.
I still remember that night, I was lucky to win, Kleon was sick but I still barely won.
“He has waited,” my wolf continued. “He waits for weakness. He waits for doubt.”
“I have given him neither.”
“Not openly.”
I closed my eyes.
Kleon had never challenged me outright after the trial. He had smiled instead. Stepped back. Played the loyal brother. But loyalty sat on him like borrowed armor—convincing until struck.
“What the elders said matters,” my wolf pressed. “Because others will say it too.... Quietly. In corners. In beds, in prayers.”
“They dare not.”
“They will,” he said. “Especially if they believe the future is uncertain.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose. “I am not dying.”
“No,” my wolf agreed. “But you are unbound.”
The broken bond rose between us like a specter. A past I had buried under war and rule and discipline. A wound I had never allowed to heal properly.
“And now,” he added softly, “there is Dahila.”
I turned sharply. “Do not.”
“You think I don’t feel it?” he asked. “The way your pulse shifts when she stands her ground. The way your attention bends toward her even when you fight it.”
“She is a complication.”
“She is balance.”
I barked out a short, humorless laugh. “You sound like a poet.”
“I sound like survival.”
I paced the room, boots echoing against stone. “If Kleon senses opportunity, he will move. Not openly but through doubt. We grew up together, he was wiser than I would like to admit.
“And through bloodlines,” my wolf said. “He has already taken lovers meant to strengthen his claim.”
I stopped.
That was news.
“He plans,” my wolf continued. “As he always has. The difference now is that the elders may listen.”
“They will not betray me.”
“They don’t need to,” he replied. “They only need to prepare for the possibility that you fail.”
The word fail scraped something raw inside me.
“I will not lose my throne to him,” I said coldly.
“Then act, Kleon has been waiting for ths all his life... we both know that.
I turned back toward the window. Below, the palace slept, unaware of the fault lines running beneath its foundations. “Act how?” I asked. “Take a Luna like a treaty? Produce a child like proof of strength?”
“You know it’s not only about them,” my wolf said. “It’s about what you want.”
“I don’t want—”
“You do,” he cut in. “You want legacy. You want continuity. You want someone who looks at this crown and doesn’t see a cage.”
Dahila’s face rose uninvited again. Her defiance. Her clarity. The way she never lowered her eyes unless she chose to.
“She would never accept being used,” I said quietly.
“Which is why she would never weaken you.”
I clenched my fists. “She is not a solution.”
“No,” my wolf agreed. “She is a risk.”
A dangerous one.
And Kleon thrived on risks left unattended.
“If he moves,” I said slowly, “he will not strike at me. He will strike at perception.”
“Yes.”
“He will question my stability. My future.”
“Yes.”
“And he will circle Dahila.”
The thought sent a sharp spike of heat through my chest.
“No,” I said flatly.
My wolf smiled. “Then you see it too.”
I straightened, decision crystallizing not into certainty—but into readiness.
“I will not be rushed,” I said. “But I will not be careless.”
“Good,” my wolf murmured. “Because the game has already begun.”
I stared out at the moon, its soft glow casting its shadows in my room.
An heir.
A rival.
A woman who refused to be small.
A heart allergic to love.
For the first time since I took the crown, the future did not look like a straight road.
It looked like a choice.
And whatever I chose—Kleon would feel it.