“Of course, Your Majesty,” Erin said finally.
An hour later, Erin and her father escorted King Evander’s body back to Blood City.
The journey was suffocating.
Kyllian remained silent the entire trip.
He sat opposite the sealed royal casket in the transport, his hands clasped so tightly that the veins stood out along his wrists.
His face was turned toward the window.
Blood City would not receive this news well.
The politics alone would be a fucking nightmare.
The only one with a true claim to the throne now was Magnus.
Kyllian swallowed hard.
He should never have allowed Evander to go.
He had known it then.
He knew it now.
He had tried to stop him, yes, but not enough.
How would he absolve himself of this guilt?
Could he?
When they reached Blood City, the great gates opened beneath a sky heavy with artificial sun screen.
The moment Evander’s body was identified, a cold darkness settled over the guards at the entrance.
The guards went still.
Then one dropped to his knee.
Another followed.
Then another.
Within seconds, every vampire soldier at the gate had knelt.
No one spoke.
The casket was received with careful hands and lifted from the vehicle.
The soldiers carried their king on foot.
Through the central avenue.
Citizens slowly emerged from buildings and stopped dead at the sight of the royal coffin.
One by one, they knelt.
Blood City fell silent.
By the time they reached Blood Castle, thousands lined the streets.
Magnus was waiting.
He sat at the top of the castle steps, still as carved stone, flanked by members of the Blood Council and royal guards.
The casket was opened.
When Magnus saw his brother’s cold, burned body, he could not take a breath.
His green eyes bled crimson.
Erin stood beside her father, unable to move.
Then came a scream.
Everyone turned.
Evander’s mate had arrived.
She ran through the courtyard, her hair loose, her face already broken before she reached the casket.
She crashed beside the coffin, gripping its edge with both hands. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
“Evander!”
Again and again, she called his name.
*****
Garrick and the rest of the soldiers arrived back in the werewolf capital hours later.
It should have been a glorious entrance.
For him, especially.
Garrick stepped down from the transport, uniform torn, one arm bandaged, dried blood still dark beneath his collar.
After the werewolf commander fell, Garrick had carried the troop.
He had taken charge, barking orders through smoke and fire, dragging wounded men behind barricades, cutting through dragonian soldiers.
On the battlefield, he had become a beast.
But Evander’s death sat over the victory.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
He would not be allowed to shine.
Not even now.
Not when he had bled for glory.
The dead vampire king had swallowed the story.
Everyone was grieving Evander.
Fine.
Let them grieve.
Garrick had no quarrel with the dead.
Evander had fought well.
Died well.
His own reward was coming.
The Alpha King had promised that the bravest soldier would be granted anything his heart desired.
Anything.
Garrick knew exactly what he would ask for.
Any man with a brain would make the same request.
It was finally his moment.
Garrick could feel it.
The soldiers were ordered to rest after their return, but rest was a laughable instruction for men who had survived dragonian fire and still had blood drying beneath their fingernails.
The barracks had become a strange mixture of celebration and mourning.
Some slept where they sat.
Others told stories.
Garrick listened.
He stood near the far end of the common hall, one shoulder bandaged, his uniform jacket folded over the back of a chair, his shirt still stained with smoke and blood.
Around him, soldiers spoke loudly enough for Crown Princess Lyra to hear every word.
“He took command after Commander Raul fell.”
“Bastard was barking orders like the Alpha King himself.”
“Did you see him cut down that dragonian captain?”
“Cut down? He fucking dismantled him.”
A few men laughed.
Another raised a cup.
“To Gamma Garrick!”
His name rose through the barracks again and again.
“Garrick! Garrick! Garrick!”
His pride swelled.
He had earned his place.
He glanced around, searching without making it obvious.
Erin was not there but he dared not ask where she was.
The war had left something brutal running through him.
The beast in him had not settled yet, and a fuck would do him good.
*****
Magnus, Kyllian, and the members of Blood City’s council gathered in the high council room of Blood Castle before Evander’s body was even cold beneath the mourning rites.
The council was already fighting.
Magnus sat at the head of the long obsidian table in his wheelchair, silent.
Kyllian stood behind and slightly to his right, arms folded, watching the vampires tear dignity apart.
Lord Vale wanted immediate coronation.
Lord Nocturne argued that Damien should be formally petitioned to resume the throne.
Someone else claimed Magnus was the only legitimate heir.
Magnus listened to all of it without speaking.
Kyllian saw the faint tremor in Magnus’s fingers.
The tension in his jaw.
The crimson flicker beneath the green of his eyes whenever Evander’s name was spoken too casually.
It had not even been twenty-four hours since they received the news, and already there was a battle for the throne.
The shouting grew louder.
“Blood City cannot appear weak!”
“Prince Magnus is not prepared.”
“Prince Magnus has been regent before.”
“Regent is not king.”
“Then summon Damien!”
The voices overlapped, rising higher and sharper until the room became a storm.
Magnus closed his eyes.
The quiet before the storm settled around Magnus.
Kyllian felt it before he heard it.
The sudden stillness of something ancient.
Then Magnus opened his eyes.
“Enough!!!”
The entire council fell silent at once.
Kyllian almost bowed.
The instinct hit him so suddenly he had to lock his knees against it.
Authority rolled through Magnus’s voice, dragging obedience out of the room.
But that was not what shocked him most.