Chapter 113
Chapter 113
Damon
The air in the apothecary vaults always smelled faintly of steel and scorched earth–like too many failed potions had been burned away and never quite
forgotten.
The torches here were magical, flickering with cold blue fire that cast long shadows across the shelves stacked with sealed vials, ancient herbs, and dust- covered records bound in dragon–hide.
It was quiet. That was part of the appeal.
No whispers. No rumors. Just science and magic and the possibility of truth.
Myra was waiting for me when I arrived, already gloved and leaning over her polished stone workspace. She looked the same as always–silver hair twisted into a tight braid, sharp eyes beneath thick lenses, posture straight despite the years.
She was a relic from my father’s reign, but one I’d chosen to keep.
She didn’t speak right away. Just offered a nod and gestured toward the table, where a rune–etched tray waited for the vial I carried in my cloak pocket.
I removed it carefully and placed it in the center. The glass was stained slightly along the inner edges, the pale golden residue clinging to the walls of the container. It looked harmless. Most poisons did.
“You’re certain it’s from the same batch?” Myra asked, voice low.
“It came from the Nightfall Pack’s confiscated stores. Same era. Same markings.”
She nodded once and began casting a preservation ward over the tray. I stepped back to let her work, arms folded behind me, posture stiff.
I hadn’t intended to investigate this myself. But the last few days wouldn’t let it go quiet in my head. The way Lila moved when she fought–sharp but uneven, as though something inside her was holding back.
The look in her eyes when her wolf should have surged forward but didn’t.
And that night in the garden… when I touched her hand, I had expected to feel her wolf on the edge of her skin. But there was nothing. Not absence.
Suppression.
Muted power, like a storm sealed behind glass.
“She’s strong,” I muttered aloud, more to myself than to Myra. “But it’s wrong. Off. Her instincts lag. Her wolf doesn’t push forward when she should.”
Myra didn’t look up. “And you suspect this is why?”
“I don’t suspect,” I said. “I know.”
She cast the final rune and picked up the vial with a pair of bone–handled tongs. “I’ve seen this type before. Rare. Not meant to kill. It doesn’t weaken the wolf. It severs the connection between wolf and host–slowly. Quietly. You’d never know unless you were looking for it.”
I stared at the vial, the liquid barely visible against the light.
“Could it be reversed?” I asked.
“Maybe,” she said. “Depends how long it’s been in her system. Depends who made it. Most of these compounds are derived from bloodroot, but this one… has echoes of something older.”
My mouth went dry. “How much older?”
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Chapter 113
I’ll have to test to be sure,” she said, finally meeting my eyes. “But this isn’t just potion work. This was alchemy. Magic woven in. Possibly dark.
Of course it was.
Someone in Lila’s birth Pack had done this to her. The question was who, and why?
“Look into its origin.” I said. “And keep it quiet. I want to know who created this, and if there are more.”
Myra inclined her head. “Understood.”
I turned away from the tray and looked toward the far wall of the lab–lined with shelves of records, so old some were sealed in enchanted frost. Somewhere in that room, there might be an order form. A name. A trail.
Someone had wanted Lila silenced. Not dead. Not broken. Just dulled enough to be forgotten. And I was going to find out who.
I left Myra to her work, and was halfway up the palace stairs when the guard intercepted me.
“She’s here,” he said, eyes darting to the hall behind me. “Lady Isabella. She arrived uninvited. She’s in the diplomatic chamber.”
I didn’t ask who let her in. That answer would only piss me off more.
My boots hit the marble with more force than necessary as I crossed the threshold into the upper hall. The cool air of the apothecary still clung to my cloak, but I let it stay draped over one shoulder, half–concealing the tension in my posture.
Let them wonder what I was doing in the dark corners of the palace.
The doors to the diplomatic chamber were already cracked open. Voices filtered out–measured, civil, threaded with just enough edge to mean nothing good was happening.
I pushed them open fully and stepped inside. The chamber stilled.
It wasn’t a full council, but several nobles from key border Packs were present, along with one of my trade envoys and a few foreign dignitaries. All seated in a crescent around the stone table.
And there she was. Isabella.
Draped in soft ivory silks, her hair coiled in a loose braid over one shoulder, she looked like a painting–carefully arranged, designed for effect. Her back was straight, her expression calm, as if she belonged here.
As if she’d never been dismissed from this court with a warning and a closed door.
The tension in the room shifted as I entered–like a wolf had just walked into a den of sheep, which wasn’t far off the mark, and none of them were sure if they were still safe.
“Explain,” I said, voice low, carrying.
Isabella turned her head with grace that was almost insulting. “Your Majesty,” she greeted, as if nothing at all had passed between us. “I was concerned. After the council, after all the unrest… I thought it best to offer my support. My experience, of course. I’ve served in diplomatic advisory roles before
“You were dismissed,” I said.
That silenced her for a beat. Not long. But enough to make half the room perk up.
She smiled–soft and polished. “Privately. Yes. And I assumed, given the circumstances, that the matter might be revisited.”
I let the silence stretch. Every eye in the room flicked between us.
“This is not a matter for debate,” I said finally. “Your assumption was incorrect. You are not part of this court. You are not to attend state functions. You are not to enter this chamber again.”
17:14 Thu, 12 Jun wr
Chapter 113
The words were ice. Sharp, deliberate. She blinked, just once, but her smile didn’t falter.
“I only meant to help,” she said. “Our kingdom needs stability.”
“Then stop undermining it.”
A few nobles shifted in their seats, uncomfortable. One cleared his throat like he might speak. I turned my gaze on him, and he shut his mouth.
I stepped closer to the table, resting one hand on the carved wood. “Let me make this clear: anyone who aligns themselves with a dismissed court member–publicly or privately–will be seen as challenging the Crown’s authority. And will be dealt with accordingly.”
That landed. I saw it in the way spines straightened, in the way eyes dropped in submission. The quiet ripple of fear that ran through a room when power made itself visible.
Isabella rose slowly, gathering her skirts with delicate hands. “Of course, Your Majesty,” she said, dipping into a shallow, elegant bow. “Forgive my overstep.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to.
She left without another word, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor like a metronome counting down to something only she knew.
The doors closed behind her with a soft thud. The room was silent for a beat too long.
Then I exhaled through my nose and finally sank into the empty chair at the head of the table. I looked at the envoy nearest me and gave a single nod.
“Continue.”
He fumbled with his notes, voice thin with nerves. Trade reports. Border tensions. Numbers and letters and names I barely heard.
But I kept my face still. Because under the calm, my blood still boiled.
ཆ
She thought she could just walk back in and play court again.
Not this time.
I’d let too many snakes whisper in my halls. I wasn’t my father–and this kingdom wouldn’t be ruled by ghosts of the past.
