Chapter 7: Cracks in The Throne
1104 Words
Cracks in the Throne
POV: Kade
I knew it before Caleb even said a word.
The scent clung to his skin when he stormed into my office—wild jasmine, cedar smoke, and something darker, sharper.
Freya.
Alive.
And in my territory.
Caleb was soaked, bruised, and furious. The fountain had not been kind to his ego.
“She threw me like I was nothing!” he shouted, flinging his drenched jacket onto the desk. “She—she flipped me in front of everyone!”
I leaned back in my chair, letting the silence stretch.
“She should be dead,” he snapped.
“She isn’t,” I replied coldly.
“No one survives exile into rogue lands, not without protection. She has someone backing her.”
I already knew that. I’d felt the shift in the air weeks ago, something stirring beyond our borders. Now I knew its name.
Freya.
The girl I’d rejected and exiled.
The girl I’d once watched walk barefoot out of my territory, too weak to even shift, her omega blood barely keeping her upright.
Now she was back—and she’d turned my son into a public fool.
I should’ve been furious. And I was.
But not at her.
At myself.
I’d made her a ghost. Now she was haunting me.
“She didn’t come back to make peace,” Caleb added. “She’s dangerous, Father. You need to do something.”
“She already did something,” I said. “To you.”
His jaw locked.
I stood, walking to the window. From here, the entire eastern ridge was visible—the one leading toward the rogue forests. The border was quiet now. But it wouldn’t stay that way.
“You want revenge,” I said, still staring out. “But you’re thinking like a child. She didn’t return to fight you, Caleb. You’re just the warning shot.”
He blinked, confused. “Then… who?”
I turned.
“Me.”
By midday, word had spread. Wolves whispered in corridors, gossiped in the kitchens, paused mid-shift in training grounds. The name Freya was on every tongue, most in disbelief.
“She looked like royalty,” one warrior said.
“She made Caleb cry,” whispered another.
Elena came in just after dusk, her perfume thick enough to choke a bear.
“I take it you’ve heard the rumors?” she said, sauntering into my office without invitation.
“They’re not rumors,” I said. “They’re facts.”
She didn’t flinch. “Then you must be planning a response.”
“I am.”
“Good. Then allow me to suggest one.” She smiled sweetly, but her eyes were sharpened glass. “We send a patrol. Trap her. Bring her back. Kill her in public.”
My gaze turned to her sharply.
“You think we execute her?” I asked. “That would make her a martyr.”
“Better a dead martyr than a live threat.”
I stepped closer. “You’re not worried about the pack, Elena. You’re worried she’ll take something from you.”
She bristled. “She already did.”
There it was.
The truth beneath her polished mask.
“You hated her even before I rejected her.”
“She humiliated this pack,” she hissed. “Made you look weak. You kept defending that little omega in front of everyone. You let her linger far longer than she should have.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I rejected her.”
“But you wanted her.”
The air in the room turned still. Cold.
I didn’t answer.
Elena’s eyes flashed. “If you don’t kill her, she’ll take more than your pride this time. She’ll take your throne.”
“She’s not after power.”
“You think that? After she walked straight into the square, flipped your heir, and vanished like a damn legend?”
She was right.
Freya wasn’t the same.
She’d always had fire, buried under fear. Now the fear was gone.
Now the fire had room to breathe.
“I’ll handle it,” I said finally.
Elena frowned. “How?”
“First,” I said, “we don’t send patrols. We don’t show fear. We do nothing. For now.”
“You’d let her roam free?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll invite her.”
Elena blinked. “What?”
“I’ll send a formal request. For a meeting. Alone.”
Elena stared like I’d lost my mind. “You want to negotiate with her?”
“I want to understand her. If she’s here for revenge, I need to know what kind. If she’s here for war, I want her to declare it to my face.”
“And if she wants you back?”
That hit deeper than I expected.
My silence was answer enough.
“She’ll ruin everything,” Elena said. “Don’t let guilt blind you.”
“I’m not blinded,” I murmured. “For the first time, I see clearly.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I sat on the balcony of the alpha suite, overlooking the pack grounds. Below, guards moved through shadows. Wolves shifted and trained. Lights flickered in the infirmary.
And somewhere, out in the forest…
She was watching.
I could feel it.
That same pull. The invisible string that still hummed between us. Fated mates. A bond I thought I’d broken.
But maybe it had just gone dormant.
My wolf stirred inside me. Restless.
I’d buried it for years, numb after my mistakes. After the war. After Elena. After pushing away the only woman who made my heart feel alive.
Freya.
What had I done to her?
What had I turned her into?
By dawn, I’d made my decision.
Steven, my assistant, appeared at the door dressed in his usual black. Efficient. Calm.
“Send word,” I said. “A formal summons. To Freya of the Blood Rogues. Requesting a private parley.”
Steven’s eyes didn’t even widen. “Location?”
“The Whispering Glen.”
He nodded. “Time?”
“Three nights from now. No guards. Just me and her.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“No,” I said, “but it’s necessary.”
Steven turned to go, then paused. “And if she refuses?”
“She won’t.”
“How can you be certain?”
I looked toward the tree line far beyond the estate.
“Because she came back for a reason,” I said. “And I need to know if that reason is love…”
“…or death.”
- Writer
