Chapter 125 — The Weight of Kingship

Chapter 125 — The Weight of Kingship
Blood. It was everywhere.

Caius stood a few paces behind Cass, hands clenched into fists, jaw locked so tightly it ached. Alder’s lifeless body was still sprawled on the stone floor, his blood dark against the pale gray. And Cass—his mate—was sobbing into her hands, crumbling under a grief so fierce it laced through the bond and cut him open from the inside.

He felt it all. Every tremor. Every cry. Every heartbeat full of pain.

But what gutted him more than the raw sorrow was her silence. Her rejection.

She had looked at him like he was the monster. Like Alder had died because he needed it, not because it had been necessary. Maybe she was right. Maybe a part of him had wanted Alder dead—for the countless nights Cass had cried in silence, for the bruises she had to hide, for the bond that had been forcibly severed. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t also been to protect her.

That didn’t mean it hadn’t cost him something.

Caius turned away, walking toward the crumbled wall, where the battle still echoed in distant howls and the stench of magic hung in the air. Wolves were still clearing the last of Alder’s forces, but the fight had ended in this room. The war had ended here.

And yet, he felt no triumph.

He pressed both hands against the cold stone, shoulders bowed as the weight of what he’d done settled in. She hated him.

The bond was awake now—alive and brutal in its clarity. There were no longer walls to shield him from her pain, no more distance to dull her anger. He felt her bitterness like poison through their connection. He felt her grief for another man.

His stomach twisted.

Cass had every right to mourn. But he couldn’t deny the burn in his chest, the savage sting of jealousy and guilt braided into one impossible knot. He had waited weeks to get her back. To reclaim what was his. And now that she was here, she wouldn’t even look at him without flinching.

“She’s not yours,” he muttered to himself, the words acidic.

Not yet.

He sank to the floor, back against the stone. The chaos outside was distant now. Inside this room, the only thing louder than her sobs was his guilt.

He hadn’t said what he needed to. Hadn’t held her. Hadn’t begged for forgiveness.

Because he didn’t know how.

A king didn’t kneel.

But Caius—the man—would’ve crawled if it meant easing the pain in her eyes.

He closed his eyes and let the bond pulse. He didn’t try to silence it. He let it flood him with everything she felt: the sorrow, the rage, the confusion.

And beneath it all... something else.

Fear.

Not of him. But of losing herself. Of what this moment had taken from her.

He understood it. Gods, he felt it. Because he was afraid too.

Afraid that in doing what he thought was right, he had broken something too fragile to repair.

Afraid that even with the crown, the power, and the bond reawakened—he might still lose her.

He opened his eyes slowly. Her back was to him now, shoulders trembling. She was still weeping. Still mourning.

And still so far away.

He wanted to go to her. To wrap himself around her and pull the grief out with his bare hands. But what right did he have?

His mate.
His queen.

But not yet his heart again.

He rested his head against the wall, and for the first time since taking the throne, Caius felt small. Human. Undone.

This was not a victory. This was the cost of survival.

He whispered into the silence, knowing she wouldn’t answer. “I’m sorry, Cass. I’m so godsdamned sorry.”

“I don’t want your sorry.”

Her voice was hoarse, but it struck him like a blade. He turned slowly, finding her still kneeling by Alder’s body, arms now wrapped tightly around herself.

“What do you want from me?” he asked quietly.

She finally looked up, her eyes rimmed with red. “I wanted a choice. I wanted one person—just one—not to take that from me.”

Caius crossed the distance between them slowly, but stopped short of reaching for her. “You think I didn’t want to give you that?”

“You didn’t,” she said bitterly. “You saw him as the enemy, so you made a decision without me.”

“He was the enemy,” Caius snapped, then bit back the rest. He exhaled, trying again. “He had a blade to your throat, Cass.”

“And in the end, he didn’t use it,” she said, voice breaking. “He didn’t strike. He let go.”

“He could have—”

“But he didn’t!” she cried, rising to her feet now, her grief fueling her fury. “You talk about protecting me, Caius, but when have you actually listened to what I needed?”

“I’m listening now,” he said, his voice quiet.

Her eyes softened a fraction. “Then hear this—what you did may have saved me physically, but it shattered something I wasn’t ready to lose.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with grief and what-ifs.

“I never wanted to grieve him,” she whispered. “I wanted to hate him. It was easier that way.”

“I didn’t mean for this,” he said. “I didn’t want to take something else from you.”

Cass looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since Alder fell. “Then stop pretending like this doesn’t hurt you too. If the bond is truly open—then feel it. All of it.”

“I do,” Caius said. “Gods, Cass—I feel everything.”

“Then say it,” she demanded. “Say you regret it. Say you wish it could’ve ended differently.”

He stepped closer. “I regret that you’re in pain. I regret that it came to this. But if it meant keeping you alive, Cass... I’d do it again.”

Her lips trembled, and for a moment, she looked as if she might collapse again. “That’s the difference between us,” she whispered. “You’d choose survival. I wanted peace.”

His voice broke. “Then let me try to give you that now.”