Chapter 35 The Curse of The Crown
Adrian’s POV
“Everyone else, out,” I growled. “You two…stay”
The doors thudded shut behind the last sniveling council member. The echo rolled through the throne room like a death bell. Only three of us remained…me, Lady Margaret, and her precious spawn.
I started pacing, slow, leisurely, one hand rubbing my chin as if I were actually considering whatever garbage he was about to spew. My boots clicked against marble with every deliberate step.
“Hmm. Tell me more,” I said, voice light, almost curious. “It’s just us now. Family.” I stopped behind the throne, rested my forearms on the jagged backrest, and smiled down at them. “So spill your garbage.”
Margaret leaned into Levi, lips barely moving. “Keep your mouth shut if you don’t want to ruin everything we’ve worked hard for.”
Levi’s whisper came back just as pathetic. “Mother, I’ve got this.”
I almost choked on my own amusement. Did these two honestly forget (for even one second) that enhanced hearing is literally a werewolf thing?
They were huddled together like conspirators in a children’s play, muttering as if the king three metres away was deaf.
I cleared my throat, loudly, and they turned in shock. Did they honestly forget that I’m in the same room with them?
“Use the mind-link if you’re going to gossip like old washerwomen,” I drawled. “Or do you enjoy performing for an audience?”
Margaret’s face flushed crimson. Levi’s jaw flexed. They shifted in perfect unison, two rats caught in the same trap.
I pushed off the throne and stalked closer, hands now clasped behind my back like a professor waiting for a particularly stupid student to recite.
“Spill, Levi. Who is this miraculous mate that conveniently appears the exact week that you’re supposed to marry the vampire princess? When did the Moon Goddess suddenly decide to bless your sorry ass with a mate?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but Margaret rammed her elbow into his ribs so hard I heard something crack.
I lifted a brow. “What? Am I not allowed to know her name?” I let my gaze slide down Levi’s body, slow and insulting. “Afraid she’ll smell real power and come running to me instead?”
Levi’s nostrils flared. Then, like the predictable little peacock he was, a smug grin crawled across his face. His eyes glittered with pure, vicious mischief.
“You know what, Your Majesty?” He practically purred the title. “I’ll reveal her myself. Today. At the feast.”
“Levi!” Margaret hissed, clutching his sleeve like she could still yank the words back into his throat.
I was already laughing…low, dark, delighted. “Oh, be quiet, Margaret. Let my cousin entertain me. It’s been a slow day for bloodshed.”
I turned on my heel, heading for the doors. “I can’t wait for your big revelation, Levi.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Levi called after me, voice dripping with arrogance. “But you have to promise me one thing.”
I paused, hand on the iron ring of the door, and glanced back. “Do enlighten me.”
“Let me keep her by my side. My mate. That’s the only way I’ll agree to marry the vampire princess.”
I threw my head back and laughed so hard. The sound bounced off the vaulted ceiling like rolling thunder.
“You want two women?” I wiped an imaginary tear from my eye. “Greedy little bastard, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” he answered, chin high, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
My gaze dropped deliberately, lingering on the front of his trousers. “And pray tell,” I said, voice honeyed, “can you even handle two women with that?”
His hands flew to cover himself like a blushing maiden. “Your Majesty—”
I raised both palms in mock surrender, still chuckling. “Fine, fine. Keep your mate by your side. Marry the vampire princess. Juggle both if you can. I’m feeling generous.”
“I need you to give me your word,” he added with an intense look that would have had me worried, but it’s Levi. He’s as spineless as they come.
“You have my word as the king.”
Levi spun to his mother, triumphant, but Margaret looked ready to skin him alive right there on my marble.
The doors swung open at my snarl and the guards snapped to attention. I stepped through without breaking stride.
“Better dig out your finest suit, Levi,” I tossed over my shoulder, voice cold enough to frost steel. “It’s a hell of a drama you’re putting on tonight. I want you to look good doing it.”
Their footsteps scrambled behind me, but I was already walking…boots echoing down the corridor toward my private study, a wicked smile carving itself across my face.
Let them scheme. Let them sharpen their cheap little knives and rehearse their revelations.
I had preparations of my own to make.
And mine, dear cousin, was going to be delicious.
The door to my private study slammed behind me with enough force to rattle the iron hinges.
I crossed the room in four strides, and stopped in front of the heavy cabinet carved with snarling wolves. My fingers closed around the brass handle.
I could feel Derek pacing inside my skull, claws scraping bone, hungry, so fucking hungry.
I opened the cabinet slowly, deliberately. The hinges didn’t even creak. Inside sat row after row of crystal jars and ancient bottles.
My hand bypassed the silver knives, the cursed daggers and ancient totems. I reached for the one thing that had saved entire kingdoms from me on days like this.
Blackthorn Reserve. Aged one hundred and fifty years. Distilled in the volcanic caves of the South. One bottle cost more than most packs made in a decade.
I pulled it out, uncorked it with my teeth, and poured three fingers into a heavy crystal tumbler. The scent hit me, smoke, oak, burnt honey, and something darker. I threw it back in one swallow. Fire raced down my throat and exploded in my gut.
One was never enough.
I’d been holding Derek back for three straight months. No public executions. No duels. No blood on my hands.
I’d been playing the carefree king just as lady Margaret wanted.
But today, one heartbeat, one twitch from that northern idiot, and I ripped a heart out in my own throne room like it was nothing. The taste of it still coated my tongue. Hot and addictive.
Derek roared inside me, claws raking, demanding more.
They called it the Throne’s Curse. Every wolf who sat on the black throne grew ten times more vicious once they tasted blood after a long drought.
My father had lost control the night my mother died. He shifted in the middle of the great hall and tore through three hundred guards before the royal guard managed to chain him with silver and drag him to a room.
He slaughtered half the Central nobility before sunrise. If I hadn’t discovered whiskey (and sex), I would’ve done worse.
I snarled, claws punching through my fingertips as the events of the day came pooling in.
They keep testing my patience.
The glass in my hand cracked. My shirt ripped at the seams as my shoulders broadened, bones grinding, fur bristling along my spine. Derek surged forward, teeth bared, ready to take control.
But I know what that would mean.
If I let him out right now, every warrior Ariston brought would be dead in four minutes flat. The northern delegation. Margaret. Levi. The servants. The omegas scrubbing blood off my floor. All of them. Ripped apart. Limbs scattered. Guts painting the walls.
Derek has tasted blood for the first time in months. He wants more. But I can’t let the curse consume me. I won’t end up like my father.
I slammed the second glass. Then the third. Fourth. Fifth. Straight from the bottle now.
By the fifth, the fire in my veins dulled to a smoke. Derek recoiled, growling low, curling back into the cage I’d built inside my mind. Silence echoed. Beautiful, cold silence.
I exhaled, chest heaving, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
Sex would’ve worked faster.