Sovereign Sins⁠

Chapter 2: Shadows and Ribbons (Blade's POV)⁠

"Clear the ridge," I ordered, my voice cutting through the damp night air like a blade. "Burn the rogue carcasses. Leave no trace of werewolf blood on our soil."

"At once, Your Majesty," my commander bowed deeply, signaling the remaining guard to sweep the area.

I adjusted my dark cuffs, brushing off the lingering dust from the tree trunk where Lyall had pinned me. My skin still stung from his claws, a raw heat that irritated me far more than it should have. He was an animal—a wild, undisciplined beast driven entirely by impulse. Yet, as I watched his shadow disappeared into the tree line without killing him.

Lyall wouldn't let this go. A wounded wolf with his pride crushed was far more dangerous than a calm one.

"You look like you've been wrestling with a tempest, My King. Or perhaps just a very angry dog."

I didn't need to turn around to know who was stepping out from the shadows of the obsidian pillars. Dante, my general and long-time confidant, strolled forward with a silk handkerchief hanging loosely between his fingers. His lips were curved in that insufferable, half-amused smirk he wore whenever chaos unfolded around us.

"Watch your tongue, Dante," I said coldly, though there was no real bite to my tone. "I am in no mood for your theatrics."

Dante halted a few feet away, his dark eyes narrowing as he took in my disheveled state. He held up the silk handkerchief, offering it to me with a mock bow. "I only state what I see. Your collar is torn, your breath is uneven, and if I am not mistaken, that faint scent of pine and ozone clinging to your coat belongs to none other than the Alpha of the Iron Pack."

I snatched the handkerchief from his hand, dabbing at the hairline scrape on my neck. The blood on it was already drying, my vampiric healing closing the wound, but the phantom phantom pressure of Lyall's grip remained.

"Lyall was at the boundary," I muttered, tossing the cloth back to Dante. "He brought enforcers. He claimed our scouts executed his omega pups along the southern trail."

Dante’s playful expression flickered for a fraction of a second, a sharp glint of strategy replacing his idle amusement. "Did we?"

"No," I replied sharply. "My sentries have strict orders. We enforce borders; we do not slaughter whelps. Someone is baiting him. Or he is using it as a thin excuse to breach our perimeter."

"And yet," Dante murmured, stepping closer as we began walking toward the palace courtyard, "you didn't kill him. You had three elite guards within striking distance. A single order, and we could have bled the Werewolf King right there on the moss."

I stopped in my tracks, throwing a glance so frigid it could have turned the night fog to ice. "Do you take me for an i***t, Dante? Executing Lyall in a blind skirmish on disputed soil wouldn't have ended the conflict. It would have united every wolf clan on the continent into an unstoppable crusade against our gates. A king must calculate, not merely slaughter."

Dante raised his hands in lazy surrender, though the grin returned to his face. "Of course, Your Majesty. Forgive my ignorance. I simply noted the way he had you pinned against that oak before his men dragged him back. From a distance, it looked less like a battle and more like a rather aggressive dance."

"Dante." My voice dropped an octave, laced with lethal authority. "Another word about that encounter, and I will have you parsing border patrol logs for the next three decades."

"Understood, My King," Dante said, bowing his head, though the amusement never left his eyes. "Though I must warn you, your father is already waiting in the grand court. He felt the surge of your aura from five miles away. You might want to fix your collar before he assumes the wolves actually managed to draw real blood."

I smoothed down the lapels of my coat, ignoring Dante’s muffled chuckle as he fell into step behind me.

By the time I reached the core of the Obsidian Palace, the moon was high. The massive stone gates swung open, and the grand halls lit with soft, crimson fire that cast long, flickering shadows against the marble floor.

"My son."

My mother, Queen Celestia, stepped down from the grand dais, her silk robes trailing behind her like a curtain of liquid shadow. Beside her stood my father, King Silas. Despite centuries of ruling over a ruthless empire, the look in my parents' eyes whenever I entered a room was always the same: absolute, unwavering pride. I was their only child, the sole heir to the Vampire Throne, and the absolute center of their realm.

"Blade, you're back," my father said, walking down the dais steps and resting a heavy, warm hand on my shoulder. "We felt the surge of your aura from the northern border. Were the rogues dealt with?"

"Handled," I replied smoothly, slipping off my riding gloves and handing them off to a waiting attendant. "The rogues were slaughtered. But it wasn't just rogues, Father. Lyall showed up himself."

My mother gasped softly, her dark, elegant eyes narrowing as her hand drifted to her collarbone. "The Werewolf King dared to cross into our territory alone?"

"He brought enforcers, but he acted on emotion, as usual," I said, walking toward the high arched windows that overlooked the vast expanse of our night-cloaked kingdom. "He was reckless, blind with rage over those phantom claims on his pack. His own men had to drag him back before my guard surrounded him."

My father let out a cold, dark laugh that echoed through the vaulted ceiling. "Typical of the wolf bloodline. Hot-headed fools who act before they think. You handled him well, Blade. You brought honor to our name, as you always do."

"Do not mistake his retreat for surrender," I warned, turning back to face them both. My voice dropped, heavy and serious, cutting through my father’s confidence. "We won tonight's skirmish, but Lyall was humiliated in front of his own top warriors. A king like him cannot swallow that kind of shame. He will go back to the Iron Pack, assemble his full strength, and come back for blood."

My father’s smile faded, replaced by a dark, calculated expression that had secured our lineage for centuries. He nodded slowly, exchanging a brief glance with my mother.

"Then we make ready," my father declared, his voice booming through the hall. "Alert the council. Double the sentries at the boundary lines and reinforce the perimeter wards immediately. If the Werewolf King wants a full war, we will give him one he won't survive."

I turned back to the window, staring out into the dark night toward the distant, jagged mountains where the wolves ruled. The phantom burn on my neck flared once more, a stark reminder of the golden eyes that had glared down at me with pure hatred—and something far more dangerous.

"Prepare for a bigger war," I added softly into the quiet of the hall. "Because Lyall is coming."