Chapter 179
Chapter 179
Third POV
The International Werewolf Assembly chamber was packed and loud, voices bouncing off the old marble walls as representatives from sixty countries argued back and forth. The whole place felt tense, like the air itself was holding its breath waiting for something to snap.
"This is an act of war!" The Winterbourne delegate slammed his fist on the podium so hard it echoed. "Crown Prince Tyrant has surrounded a school—a school!—and is threatening thousands of students because one woman said no to marrying him. If we let this happen, we're basically giving every bully out there permission to do whatever they want."
The Ironfang representative jumped up, face red. "The betrothal was legal! The prince has every right to retrieve his contracted bride. The real crime is Princess Rhea breaking her promise, lying to get into a men's military academy, and Zenith hiding her from her legal fiancé."
Some people cheered, others booed. A silver-haired woman from the neutral countries stood up, raising both hands. "Look, I don't care what the contract says—the prince's reaction has been way over the line. He's got troops surrounding an internationally protected school, he's cut off their food and supplies, and he's threatening students who have nothing to do with any of this. That breaks the Treaty of Sanctuary, plain and simple. You can't bring a war to school grounds."
They went back and forth for hours. They showed satellite photos of soldiers ringing Zenith's walls, medical reports of injured students, testimonies about the brutal tactics Tyrant had employed in other campaigns. Ironfang showed family trees proving the engagement was legitimate, examples of other similar contracts being enforced, witnesses claiming Tyrant had shown remarkable restraint.
Finally, they called the vote. The whole chamber went dead quiet. Representatives voted through magic crystals that glowed red for no or blue for yes. The big board behind the judge's chair started filling up with lights, each one a country deciding whether old traditions or personal freedom mattered more.
The final numbers appeared, glowing in the air: sixty-seven votes to nullify the contract, thirty-three against.
The judge's gavel came down with a crack that seemed to shake the room. "By the power of this Assembly, we decree: First, the engagement between Crown Prince Tyrant and Princess Rhea Winterbourne is null and void—canceled due to evidence of coercion and the groom's violations of the bride's rights. Second, Ironfang troops must withdraw from Zenith University within twenty-four hours. Third, failure to comply will result in immediate trade sanctions and the freezing of international assets."
Half the room cheered, the other half shouted in anger. But hundreds of miles away, in a private room at the Ironfang embassy—where Tyrant had been forced to retreat from the front lines to manage the political fallout—there was only screaming.
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Tyrant's fist went straight through the projection screen. The magic crystal shattered, pieces hitting the floor and dissolving into smoke. He tore his office apart—ripped his desk in half with his bare hands, smashed chairs into the walls, clawed deep gouges into the marble floor as his wolf tried to break out. His eyes had gone that dangerous amber color that meant he was barely holding onto his human shape.
"Those cowards!" His voice came out half-growl, barely sounding human. "Those spineless parasites! They think they can take what's mine? She's my fiancée, my property, mine by law and her father's word!" He grabbed a bottle of expensive whiskey and threw it at the wall. It exploded, liquor running down like blood. "I won't be humiliated by some council of weaklings who think women deserve rights while their own countries crumble!"
His second-in-command Viktor stood by the door, trying to be invisible. He already had a black eye from earlier when Tyrant had struck him. He knew his prince well enough to see this was reaching the point where someone was going to die. "Your Highness," he said carefully, "we need to start withdrawing. Those sanctions they're threatening would cripple our trade, and without international support—"
Tyrant's fist caught him in the jaw before he could finish. Viktor went down hard, tasting blood, but he didn't cry out or try to defend himself. That would be challenging an Alpha, and that meant death.
"Shut up!" Tyrant roared, standing over him with claws extended and fangs bared. "I didn't ask what you think! You stand there whining about sanctions like I care what weak countries think!"
Viktor stayed down, head bowed, eyes on the floor—total submission. His wolf was whimpering in his head, begging him to flee, but he forced himself to stay still. Tyrant paced like a caged animal, movements jerky and unpredictable, occasionally destroying whatever furniture remained.
"Twenty-four hours," he muttered, voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow more terrifying than the yelling. "They give me twenty-four hours to surrender, to slink away with my tail between my legs while that bitch celebrates and fucks those mongrels she calls mates."
A knock at the door made Viktor flinch. "What?" Tyrant snarled.
"Your Highness," a guard's voice filtered through. "We've brought the traitor you requested. Professor Thorne—we found him hiding in a safehouse on the border."
Tyrant's lips pulled back in a vicious smile. "Bring him in."
The door opened and two guards dragged someone in. Professor Thorne looked awful—wrinkled clothes, bloodshot eyes, shaking hands. He reeked of cheap alcohol and fear, and his eyes went wide when he saw the destroyed office.
"Your Highness!" Thorne gasped, his voice high with panic. "There must be some mistake—I gave you everything you asked for! The information, the photos, the medical records—all accurate! I've been loyal, I swear, I—"
"Loyal?" Tyrant's voice went flat and cold, which was infinitely worse than the rage. He walked over slowly, predator stalking prey. "You call yourself loyal? You gave me information that was supposed to guarantee victory. You promised me she was vulnerable, that the school was unprepared, that taking her would be simple."
Thorne's face went white as he understood why he'd been dragged here. "I-I gave you accurate intelligence! Everything I said was true! How was I supposed to know she'd have those mates, that the school would—"
"Excuses." The word dropped like an executioner's blade. "You watched me invest resources, risk my political standing, commit troops to a siege that just ended in international humiliation. And now you want to talk about how accurate your information was?"
"Please," Thorne begged, trying to drop to his knees but held up by the guards. "I can still help! I know the school layout, when the patrols change, secret passages—give me another chance, Your Highness, please—"
"Another chance?" Tyrant laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "I don't give second chances to failures. And right now, I need to remind everyone what happens to people who contribute to my humiliation."
"No, wait—" Thorne's plea cut off in a scream.
Tyrant shifted fast and brutal, his human body exploding into a massive black wolf. Clothes shredded, bones cracked and reformed. Those jaws clamped around Thorne's throat—not a quick kill, but slow and deliberate, crushing and tearing. Blood sprayed across the marble floor in arterial spurts.
The guards maintained their grip until the body went limp, then let it drop. Viktor looked away but couldn't block out the sounds—wet tearing, bones crunching, the gurgling attempts at final breaths.
As darkness closed in, Thorne's dying mind flashed to violet eyes—the princess he'd betrayed for money and petty revenge—and the crushing realization that every choice had led him here, to this bloody end in a foreign embassy, executed by the monster he'd chosen to serve.
When it was over, Tyrant shifted back to human form, naked and covered in blood. "Clean this up," he ordered, voice eerily calm now. "And send word to Commander Vraxx at the siege camp. We withdraw in twenty-four hours as ordered."
"And then, Your Highness?" Viktor asked carefully.
Tyrant's smile was terrifying in its coldness. "Then we wait. The Assembly can nullify contracts, impose sanctions, play their political games. But they can't protect her forever. And when the moment comes—when she thinks she's safe, when she finally lets her guard down—I'll remind her and the entire world that some debts can never be forgiven."
He stepped over Thorne's corpse without a second glance. "No one humiliates me and lives happily ever after. Not the Assembly. Not Zenith. And certainly not that treacherous little bitch who thinks she can reject a prince and face no consequences."
Viktor bowed his head, already dreading whatever long-term vengeance Tyrant was planning. Because if there was one thing more dangerous than the prince's rage, it was his patience when plotting revenge.