Kael's POV
I hadn't wanted to attend.
But I was Lycan King, and duty did not bend for preference.
Silver Ridge Pack was not among the strongest territories, nor the wealthiest, but they had endured through strategic alliances and careful diplomacy. Their leadership lacked sharp political instincts, yet they ruled with tolerable competence.
That alone earned them my presence.
Still, ceremonies like this tested my patience.
Their heir, Ronan Vale, stood on the raised platform beside a smiling she-wolf, accepting the mantle of Alpha. The former Alpha gave a lengthy speech, publicly acknowledging me, and the crowd applauded as if my attendance alone guaranteed their prosperity.
When the vows were spoken and power formally transferred, music swelled and the celebration began.
"Can we leave now?" my Beta muttered beside me, already irritated.
"Tomorrow," I said, taking a glass from a passing server. "Endure it."
He quickly found distractions among admiring guests, leaving me to endure conversations with lesser Alphas asking predictable questions about Lycan borders and trade.
Then my Lycan stirred.
Hard.
Mate.
I froze.
Where? I demanded internally, scanning the ballroom. Perfume, wine, sweat, silk ,too many scents tangled together.
Faint… but close, my Lycan growled.
I left the ballroom at once.
The Alpha's office was occupied unmistakable sounds told me not to enter. I found the former Alpha instead, still entertaining guests.
"Are all pack members present tonight?" I asked, my tone already edged.
He stiffened. His mate clutched his arm.
"Y-yes, Your Majesty."
My Lycan snarled.
Lie.
"I can scent my mate," I said, voice dropping to something dangerous. "She is not here."
Fear rippled through the small gathering.
The former Luna spoke, trembling. "Some… some females are being held below. They caused trouble."
I didn't wait for more.
I was already moving.
The dungeon corridors beneath Silver Ridge Pack were cold, damp, and thick with the stench of suffering. Guards scrambled out of my path as my aura flooded the halls, heavy and suffocating.
My scent grew stronger with every step.
Sweet. Faint.
Fading.
Rage sharpened my vision.
A cry echoed from behind a barred door at the end of the corridor.
I didn't slow down.
Metal shrieked as I ripped the cell door open.
Inside, a frail girl lay on the stone floor, wrists bound, body marked with bruises and lash wounds. A guard loomed over her, but he barely turned before my fist sent him crashing into the wall hard enough to crack stone.
The second man reached for a weapon.
He never got the chance.
Silence fell.
"Mate," I said, the word torn from somewhere deep and primal.
The remaining guards outside the cell dropped to their knees, trembling.
I ignored them.
I crossed the cell and knelt beside her, brushing tangled hair from her face.
Her eyes fluttered open pale, exhausted, holding pain far older than she should have carried.
She looked at me like I wasn't real.
"What did they do to you…" I murmured, voice rough.
She tried to lift her hand. It barely touched my jaw before falling.
My body went limp.
I caught her before her head struck the stone.
And as I held my unconscious mate in my arms, one truth burned brighter than any crown I wore
Silver Ridge Pack had just signed its own death sentence.