Chapter 77 Conrad
I learned early on that ruling isn't about choosing what's right.
It's about choosing what you can carry afterward.
The castle has never seemed so narrow as it does now. Every corridor I walk through carries a gaze, a broken whisper, a bow too tense to be sincere. It's not fear of me. It's expectation. Everyone expects me to do something. To say something. To choose a side—as if that were simple.
My mother moves easily through this chaos. Solange always knew. She doesn't raise her voice. She doesn't threaten. She plants doubts like someone scattering seeds in fertile ground. And the people… the people grow with it.
I see it.
I see it when she approaches the right alphas. When she speaks of stability, of tradition, of security. When she uses the kingdom's name as if it were a shield—or a blade. Maya never stood a chance against that. She represents everything that cannot be controlled.
And me?
I am the mistake Solange didn't foresee.
I stop before a high window and observe the courtyard below. Small groups form and disperse. Selena's name emerges in increasingly less discreet murmurs. It's not out of love. It's out of comfort. She is what they know. Which changes nothing.
I clench my fists.
Maya is sleeping. Or trying to. The mark on her chest never leaves her in peace for long. And I know that, even when she rests, something in her remains alert. As if the world were always about to fall.
I think of Kael.
What they did to him wasn't a warning. It was a test. They wanted to see how far they could go without the kingdom reacting. They wanted to measure how much I was willing to protect my own.
And someone saved him.
That detail won't leave my head. Someone faced the erasers within the castle walls. Someone who knows the corridors, the guard shifts, the blind spots. This isn't invasion. It's ancient infiltration.
My mother knows.
Maybe not everything. But she knows enough.
I walk to the council room, even though it's empty. The smell of incense still lingers in the air. Hastily erased symbols on the floor betray meetings that took place without me. I run my hand along the back of the central chair. The wood is cold.
“You can't protect everyone,” she once told me.
“A king chooses what to sacrifice.”
But I'm not just a king.
I'm a companion. I'm an ally. I'm the bridge between two worlds that refuse to coexist.
And that puts me in danger.
I sit down and let the weight of the silence fall on me. For the first time, I admit in a low voice what I've been avoiding since the Judgment of the Bond.
“She's going to try to separate us.”
Not out of hatred. Out of strategy.
If Maya falls, the Bond weakens.
If I hesitate, the kingdom swallows me.
And if I choose Maya… the throne will not remain unscathed.
I hear footsteps in the hallway and immediately stand up, but it's just a guard bringing useless reports. Nothing about the erasers. Nothing about the magic that moves like a living shadow. Always late. Always one step behind.
I dismiss him and return to the window.
The sky is heavy. Low clouds hide the moon. It's the kind of night when wrong decisions seem easier to make. It's the kind of night my mother prefers.
“You're playing a game that's too long, Solange,” I murmur. “And I don't intend to be a pawn.”
Maya's mark pulses in the distance. I feel it. Not as pain—as a warning. Something is forming. Not in the council. Not in the streets.
Within the kingdom.
And when it comes, there will be no room for neutrality.
I don't know how this ends.
But I know one thing with absolute clarity:
If the kingdom forces me to choose between the crown…
and her…
Then let them learn what happens when a king decides not to obey fear.
I leave the council chamber with the feeling that the walls are closer than they should be. The castle has always been large, ancient, built to impress—now it seems like a living organism, attentive to my steps, ready to decide if it still recognizes me as part of it.
On the way back, two guards fall silent when they see me. It's not respect. It's caution. I note this silently.
When I reach the corridor of the royal chambers, I feel it before I hear it. That invisible thread that always pulls me in the same direction. Maya is awake. The mark calls, unsettling, as if something had grazed the limit of what can still be contained.
I open the door slowly.
She sits on the bed, knees drawn up, the fragment of Moon resting on the palm of her hand. Its light is weak, but constant. It doesn't react to my presence—it reacts to her.
“You felt it too,” I say, closing the door behind me.
Maya looks up. There's weariness there, but not fragility. There never has been.
“It wasn't a common warning,” she replies. “It was… as if something had been pushed forward.”
I sit beside her. I don't touch her immediately. I've learned that there are times when the body needs space to remain whole.
“My mother is moving,” I say finally. “Carefully. With the right support. They are preparing the ground.”
“For Selena,” Maya adds, unsurprised.
I nod. “She is the face that reassures. The name that doesn't threaten. Solange knows that.”
The fragment of Moon darkens for a second, almost imperceptible. Maya frowns. “And Kael?” she asks.
I take a deep breath. “Kael is proof that the game has already begun. What they did to him was to test us. And they failed.”
“Because he’s alive,” she says.
“Because someone protected him,” I correct. “And because they still don’t know which side that person is on.”
The silence stretches between us, dense, but not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence that precedes irreversible choices.
“Conrad,” Maya says, her voice lower. “If the time comes… if the council demands it—”
“No,” I cut in firmly. “Don’t speak as if that were an option.”
She stares at me. There’s no plea there. There’s understanding. And that, somehow, weighs more.
I finally hold her hand. The mark throbs, but doesn’t burn.
“They think they can isolate you,” I continue. “Turn fear into consensus. But they forgot something.”
“What?” I squeeze his fingers tighter.
“What happens when the king stops playing to keep the throne… and starts playing to protect what is real.”
Outside, a distant sound echoes through the courtyard. Voices. Many.
It’s not yet an organized protest.
But it’s the beginning of something.
And I know, with a cold certainty in my chest:
when the people decide to shout, the whole castle will hear.