Chapter 41 Morning Duties
DAGNOTH DRACULIS
Each time I closed my eyes, the same image returned. Dahlia standing at the edge of firelight, her face half hidden in shadow, half exposed to truths I could not name.
Sometimes she reached for me. Other times she only watched as the world behind her burned. The nightmare never chose a single ending. It felt like it was waiting for me to make a choice.
Before It was fully morning, I was already awake… My brain couldnt take a proper rest.
Was I meant to save her or was my damnation.
I rose from the bed, The first thing I did was to take a run, I headed into the wounds, I hated to admit but for some reason shifting was more difficult than usual.
My wolf paced inside me, restless but controlled. He wasn’t angry or violent… Just circling the same thought again and again like a wound that refused to heal.
She is still here.
“I know,” I muttered as I fastened, I could feel the warmth of the weather. The word still carried weight. Guests were meant to leave. Problems were meant to be solved. Dahlia was neither, and that unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.
When I was done, I made my way back. The corridors were quiet at this early hour, the kind of silence that pressed against the ears. Torches burned low along the walls, their flames dipping as I passed, as if even the stone still remembered me.
Servants bowed deeply, eyes fixed on the floor. Warriors struck their fists to their chests in salute. Respect followed me without question—without effort. Too easily, perhaps, for a man whose thoughts were anything but calm.
Outside, the training grounds were already alive.
Steel rang against steel. Wolves shifted in the middle of combat, muscle and fur crashing together in disciplined chaos. This was order. This was control. I watched from the balcony, letting the rhythm steady my breathing.
“Harder,” I barked.
The warriors obeyed instantly. Blows sharpened. Movements tightened. Power answered power, as it always had.
And yet my focus slipped.
Dahlia’s face surfaced in my mind without warning. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t pleading. She was simply watching—standing apart from the world, weighing it, weighing me, with a quiet, unflinching defiance.
‘Focus Dagnoth’ My wolf ordered.
A warning growled in my chest.
I turned away.
The council took most of the morning.
Reports of border tensions along the northern ridge. A trade dispute with the eastern clans over salt routes and iron rights. Quiet murmurs of unrest among the lesser packs—too small to challenge me openly, but large enough to rot from the inside if ignored. I listened. I spoke when required. I issued commands that would be carried out without question.
Yet it all felt distant, like I was reciting lines from a role written long before I understood what it would demand of me.
The meeting with Kael loomed only a few full moons away. Too close. Close enough that every decision now felt measured against it.
We were nearly done when Elder Merek cleared his throat, the sound deliberate. The others followed suit, shifting in their seats, exchanging looks that spoke of a discussion already held without me.
“Your Grace,” Merek began carefully, “there is a matter we must address.”
I leaned back slightly in my chair. “You have the floor.”
“There are… concerns,” Elder Gideon added, fingers steepled, his gaze sharp beneath the guise of respect. “Concerns regarding the guest.”
The word struck like a blade.
“What concerns?” I asked, keeping my voice even.
“She walks freely,” Gideon continued. “She speaks with guards. With servants. There is curiosity. Whispers.”
Of course there were. There were always whispers.
“She is under my protection,” I said. My tone left no room for argument.
Several elders bowed instinctively, but the tension did not ease. If anything, it thickened.
“As you command,” Merek said, though his eyes betrayed unease.
Then Elder Rovan spoke—the oldest among them, his voice rough with age and authority earned long before my reign.
“This is not only about the guest,” he said. “It is about the future.”
Silence followed. Heavy. Expectant.
I did not interrupt.
“You have ruled for many years now, Your Grace,” Rovan continued. “Your reign has been strong. Decisive. The pack has prospered under you.”
“But,” Gideon cut in softly, “there is no heir.”
There it was. The blade finally driven home.
“A king without an heir invites instability,” Merek said. “History has taught us that.”
“My father,” Rovan added, “had already presented his heir before his tenth year on the throne.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“Your father understood the importance of continuity,” Gideon said. “The packs were united behind him because they knew what would follow when he was gone.”
I leaned forward slowly, resting my forearms against the table. “And do you believe my rule is unstable?”
“No,” Merek said quickly. “But time does not wait, even for kings.”
“The lesser packs watch closely,” Gideon pressed. “They count the years. They question. Some already wonder whether alliances will hold once your reign ends—with no clear successor.”
I said nothing.
Rovan met my gaze, unflinching. “We do not question your strength. We question the silence surrounding your future.”
Their concern was not new. It had followed me for years, circling like a patient predator. But today, it felt sharper. More urgent.
“Are you suggesting I take a mate?” I asked coolly.
“We are suggesting,” Merek said, choosing his words with care, “that the pack needs assurance. An heir would secure loyalty. It would silence doubt.”
“And strengthen your position,” Gideon added. Too quickly.
My instinct flared. Gideon’s interest was too keen. Too invested. Kael’s shadow stretched long, and some men were already choosing where to stand when it fell.
“I will not be pressured into producing an heir like a bargaining token,” I said.
The room stiffened.
“We mean no disrespect,” Rovan said. “Only duty.”
“Duty cuts both ways,” I replied. “Mine is to rule wisely. Yours is to trust that I know when the time is right.”
Silence followed again—this time uneasy.
Finally, I stood. “This council is concluded.”
They rose with me, bows deep and obedient, but their thoughts lingered like hands still gripping my neck.
When the meeting ended, I did not return to my chambers.
On my way out, a child came running down the corridor, laughter spilling from him as he barreled straight into me, his small head bumping against my leg….