Chapter 135
Damon
The council chamber was still humming with posturing and layered innuendo when the phrase drifted past me, though I was sure it wasn’t meant for my
ears.
“…illegitimate heirs are always the most dangerous,” one of the lesser lords muttered, lips half–concealed behind a goblet of mulled wine.
I almost let it pass.”
Almost.
The words snagged something deep in my chest, a splinter of memory I didn’t want to name. I turned slowly, watching the noble lean toward his companion, chuckling over his own cleverness like it was unique.
And maybe to him, it was. A casual insult. A jab at some unrelated scandal. But for me-
It was too sharp. Too close.
I sat motionless, spine straight, palms flat against the carved arms of my chair as the discussion shifted toward trade routes and escort fees.
I heard none of it. My pulse had begun to throb at the base of my throat. Not rage, not yet. Just something colder.
Uncertainty.
The meeting eventually adjourned, nobles filing out in their ornate layers and carefully directed whispers. I waited until the chamber had emptied, until the guards stood alone at their posts, before I finally let my shoulders relax.
I didn’t stand. I didn’t move until Jackson stepped beside me, his footsteps soft despite the marble.
“Something’s wrong,” I said, not looking at him.
“Yes,” he agreed. “And it may be worse than you realize.”
I turned. Jackson held a sealed envelope in both hands–plain, old, thick with meaning. His expression gave nothing away, but the tight set of his jaw spoke volumes.
“I found this in the late King’s archive,” he said. “It was mislabeled. Intentionally, I believe.”
I took it.
The parchment was brittle with age, the wax seal bearing the mark of the Elders‘ Council from nearly three decades ago. I didn’t open it. My fingers hovered at the edge.
“What is it?” I asked, though I already suspected.
“A bloodline assessment, Jackson said carefully. “For you.”
Words caught in my throat.
He continued. “It predates your official registry by years. There’s only one reason something like this would be kept hidden. Someone wanted it forgotten.”
The envelope felt heavier than it should’ve. My breath moved slower in my chest
Everything I’d ever built–my rule, my name, my place in the world–It all came from my bloodline. That heritage
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And now, sealed in my hand, was the possibility that it wasn’t mine.
My thumb pressed against the wax. Then stopped. I didn’t open it. Not here.
Jackson watched me with the careful stillness of someone who knew what it might mean to be wrong.
“I’ll alert the record keepers,” he said, “begin pulling related documents. Quietly.”
I nodded once. “No one else sees this. Not until I say so.”
“Understood.”
He turned to leave. I stared down at the envelope again. My reflection rippled faintly in the polished surface of the table, distorted by the lamplight.
Was I a king born… or made?
And what would Lila say if I wasn’t either?
I rose slowly, the letter still unopened in my hand. Not tonight. Not yet. But the truth was coming. And I wasn’t sure it would be kind.
I rose slowly, the letter still unopened in my hand. Not tonight. Not yet. But the truth was coming. And I wasn’t sure it would be kind.
I moved mechanically, each step down the corridor echoing louder than the last.
The guards straightened as I passed, but I didn’t acknowledge them. I didn’t have the energy to wear the crown in my posture tonight.
My grip on the envelope tightened, the edges digging faint lines into my palm, grounding me in a reality I wanted to escape.
When I reached my quarters, I didn’t call for anyone. I didn’t light the lamps. I crossed the room in darkness, relying on memory–muscle familiarity forged from years of solitude.
At the hearth, I knelt to stir the coals back to life with bare hands. The heat bit at my skin, but i welcomed it. Pain was simple. Understandable.
I stood again and went to the basin, splashing cold water over my face, letting it drip from my jaw onto the front of my tunic. My reflection stared back from the darkened mirror–too tired, too pale, too uncertain.
Then I sat at the desk, letter before me, unopened still. I rested both hands flat on either side, caging it like a threat.
I wasn’t ready.
Outside, I could hear the faint murmur of guards switching shifts. The distant clatter of armor, a laugh that didn’t reach the corridor outside my door. The world went on, unaware that something inside me was beginning to unravel.
E
My thumb traced the edge of the seal again. The wax was cracked slightly from age, still intact. Still official. Still damning.
A bloodline test. A sealed one. Buried in my father’s archive like a dirty little secret.
The late King had always been strategic, calculating in the way only a man with too many secrets could afford to be. If he’d ordered this–if he’d hidden it -then the truth inside wasn’t benign.
1 sat back in my chair, elbows braced on the arms like I was holding myself together. My wolf stirred uneasily, pacing beneath my skin without words. Not angry. Not afraid. Just… unsure. Like something primal was waiting for me to acknowledge it.
For most of my life, I’d worn my lineage like armor. Damon Sinclair, son of the Lycan King, born with silver in his blood and command in his bones. I hat trained for this, fought for this, ruled as if it were inevitable.
But if the blood in my veins wasn’t what gave me this place if it had been borrowed, mistaken, or outright falsified what was left?.
Would the Council still kneel?
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Would the Packs still listen?
Would Lila… still look at me the same way?
Her face appeared unbidden in my mind, the way it always did when everything else started slipping sideways. I pictured her eyes–wide, soft, stubborn. I could almost hear her voice: What difference does it make? You’re still you.
But was I?
I reached again for the envelope, fingers closing around it. It felt warmer than it should have. Heavy. Like something living inside it waited to be released.
My pulse thrummed against my wrist as I pulled the letter opener from the drawer. The blade caught the candlelight, pale and precise.
One cut. One truth.
I stared at it for a full minute, my hand unmoving.
Then I dropped the opener.
Not yet.
Not when Lila was still recovering from the last wound this palace had delivered. Not when Ella still walked its halls waiting for my next move. Not when I
needed every shred of control just to keep the nobles in line and the kingdom from turning on itself.
The envelope would keep.
But the damage was already done. I could feel the fault line forming inside me–hairline, quiet, but a slow, creeping fracture.
I leaned forward, pressing my forearms against the desk, head bowed between them like a man preparing for war. Not with swords. Not with armies.
With truth. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.
From the shadows near the door, Ronan cleared his throat. I hadn’t even heard him enter.
“Everything alright, my King?”
I didn’t lift my head. “Tell the guards to increase patrols tonight. Quietly.”
He hesitated. “You think something’s coming?”
I finally looked up, the envelope still untouched. “Something always is.”
Ronan lingered a moment longer, as if waiting for me to change my mind. When I didn’t speak again, he gave a tight nod and slipped out, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
I stood slowly, pacing across the chamber with restless energy I couldn’t channel. My fingers flexed and fisted at my sides. My wolf still hadn’t settled- circling beneath my skin, agitated.
He d
