The monster in a crown.
1098 Words
ASHER
Blood pools at the base of my throne.
It’s still warm.
I watch it slither between the cracks of the stone floor like it's trying to escape the weight of what I just did. My knuckles crack as I unclench my fist, the remnants of a lesser werewolf's neck still staining my skin.
He shouldn’t have questioned me.
No one should.
Yet they all keep trying.
Lucas stands a few feet away, stiff-backed and silent. He doesn’t flinch, not even when the scent of charred fur still hangs in the air.
“You done?” he asks dryly, like I didn’t just rip a man apart in front of the court.
I don’t answer.
Not yet.
Because beneath the rage—beneath the carefully controlled cruelty—I feel it again.
The weakness.
My fingers twitch.
That hunter I bit… There's something wrong. Something rotting under my skin. I can’t heal very fast with my Lycan side like I used to. I hate him for it. Hate myself more for letting him live.
“You need to marry,” Lucas says after a long pause, slipping into the topic like it won’t make me want to rip his tongue out.
I arch a brow, eyes still locked on the blood. “I need a f**k, not a wife.”
“The council disagrees.”
“They’re welcome to f**k each other then.”
Lucas sighs, tired of repeating himself. “You’re too unpredictable and filled with bloodlust. The elders want stability. A queen gives you leverage, legitimacy. Without one, they’ll keep pushing back.”
I lean back, the cold stone digging into my spine.
Fuck, I hate this place.
“Let them push. I’ll keep burying them.”
Lucas doesn’t budge. “You’re the last pure-blooded Lycan, Asher. Half-vampire or not, your bloodline is sacred. They need you… but only just enough not to try replacing you.”
I know. That’s the only reason they haven’t slit my throat yet.
I laugh, low and humorless. “They couldn’t replace me if the goddess stitched one from silver and moonlight. Let them try. I’ll gut their abomination before it grows a spine.”
Lucas sighs tiredly, unfazed. “They’re not scared enough anymore. You’ve shown too much—rage, yes, but not control. Even with strength. We've all agreed that a mate will stabilize you. And since there's little to no chance of you getting a fated one, a chosen one is the best bet.”
I shoot him a glare. He holds it.
Brave bastard.
“I don’t need a queen,” I grind out. “I need loyalty. Fear. Obedience.”
Lucas shrugs. “Then marry someone who gives you all three.”
I snort. “And where the f**k do you find that? In the court of whiny nobles whose daughters blink too fast and piss themselves when I speak?”
“The clans will present options,” he says. “Strong ones. Unflinching. And if none of them survive your tests…”
“My tests will be the least of their worries.”
And the least of mine.
Silence settles again, heavy and cold like the halls of this cursed old throne room which I hate so much.
I stare at the blood now drying under my boots, and I feel it again. I’m the only thing holding this realm together, and I’m cracking. Not just from the poison still lodged in my veins because of that shitty hunter, but from the pressure.
They want a king who smiles.
They’ll settle for a king who marries.
But what they’re going to get… is a monster in a crown, dragging his bride through blood just to shut them up.
“Fine,” I say at last. The court still hasn’t moved. Good. They know better.
“Tell the council to bring their sacrificial lambs.”
At that moment, the heavy door creaks open. Talk about bad timing.
A court messenger steps in, sweat already glistening on his brow despite the chill in the air. His eyes dart to the corpse still sprawled across the floor, and he swallows hard.
“I—Your Majesty,” he stammers, dropping to one knee.
Lucas moves back into the shadows, amused.
I don’t rise. Just watch. Waiting.
The messenger glances up, eyes wide like a rabbit caught in a snare. “I… request an audience. It’s urgent.”
Of course it is. They always say that, as if urgency earns them the right to waste my time.
I stand up slowly, letting the silence stretch until his shoulders shake. Then, with a sigh sharp enough to slit throats, I sink back into my throne.
“Speak,” I say, voice cold and flat. “Before I make you part of the décor.”
He bows deeper. “A patrol… from the eastern cliffs. They brought news—an abnormality entered the Moon Realm through a breach in the veil.”
I tilt my head, intrigued despite myself. “Define abnormality.”
The messenger hesitates.
Lucas straightens slightly, eyes narrowing. “Now, that’s a word we haven’t heard in a while.”
I hear him whisper under his breath.
The man fumbles for words. “We—we weren’t sure what she was at first. She looked human, but the magic around her... it’s wrong. The guards tried to restrain her—she was unconscious—but the energy around her blood... it shifted. She’s dormant, my lord. Her wolf hasn’t awakened. But it’s there.”
That pulls a slow grin from me.
Dormant blood.
A rarity.
“Where is she?” I ask, though I already know.
“In the dungeon, Sire. She crossed the breach barely alive. We contained her before the realm reacted.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, fingers steepled beneath my chin.
An unawakened she-wolf.
A breach.
An accident… or a trap?
“Bring her to me,” I say. “I want to see this abnormality with my own eyes.”
The messenger bows again and hurries out, boots scraping the marble floor.
Lucas doesn’t speak.
Neither do I.
A dormant wolf or anyone with unawakened supernatural powers shouldn't be able to cross the veil.
That's how it's always been since the beginning of time in the moon realm. And that's what makes the moon realm the safest realm pack for supernaturals.
But this abnormality was able to.
How?
Not unless fate has finally decided to play its hand.
And I never liked fate.
Not when it kept me chained here.
- Writer
