<h4>Chapter 127: The Ghost of Katrina</h4>


    <strong>Zane~</strong>


    The room was suffocating.


    Not because it was hot—the pce was always cool, scented with sage and wolfsbane—but because of the serious matter that came in with those two men. The moment the doors creaked open and Owen and Michael ckthorn stepped inside, the air fogged. Not with fear but with purpose.


    I sat straighter in my chair beside the throne, tea forgotten in my hand.


    "Owen ckthorn and his son, Michael," the herald announced.


    My father’s posture shifted by half a degree. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but I’d learned to read him well even though it had been long I shared a roof with him. He was no longer lounging with that bored <i>’I’ve seen worse’ </i>air. He was alert.


    The ckthorns weren’t here to talk about shrunken chickens or bird-possessed mates. No, their energy was too tightly wound, like a too stretched stic ready to snap.


    "Your Majesty," Owen said with a deep bow, his voice steady, carrying the age andmand of someone who’d seen far too many winters. "Wee before the crown with a grave matter."


    I didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. All I could do was stare at Griffin’s grandfather. And his father, Michael, who looked like he hadn’t slept in a decade. Shadows rimmed his eyes, and there was a stiffness in his gait like grief had settled into his bones.


    My father didn’t respond immediately. He let silence stretch just long enough to draw out every ounce of tension. Then he said, "Speak."


    Owen nodded. "We’ve uncovered evidence of a crime—a ughtermitted years ago by the Silverfang Pack."


    That name activated all my internal rms.


    The silence shattered inside me like ss.


    Even Red, usually quick with sarcasm, went still. <strong><i>"Well damn,"</i></strong> he murmured.


    I turned slightly toward my father.


    His knuckles were white on the armrests of his throne.


    "What crime?" he asked, low and dangerous.


    Michael stepped forward this time. His voice cracked like brittle ice. "They murdered a royal. Her name was Princess Katrina."


    The king stood so quickly from his throne. His eyes, usually cid like a frozenke, shed with fury.


    "When did this happen?" he barked.


    "Eight years ago," Owen said grimly. "Though we only just confirmed the truth. The details were hidden. Buried. By someone within the Silverfang pack."


    I looked between them, mind racing. Princess Katrina... The name rang no bells. Lesser royalty, probably. A distant cousin to some duke or a princess from one of the smaller bloodlines under the Lycan banner. Still, killing royalty—no matter how low in the hierarchy—was a direct offense to the crown.


    My father’s fury was... impressive. Almost theatrical.


    But I knew better.


    I knew that look. The furious mask didn’t hide the calcting gleam in his eyes. His rage wasn’t about the girl. Not really.


    It was about the name Silverfang.


    Because Silverfang was the same pack Jacob had warned my father about, plotting a coup. The same pack his spies had whispered about in the dead of night. The same pack that had exiled Natalie—my Natalie—and hunted her like some kind of animal. What they did to Natalie? That was personal. Silverfang was a poison, slowly rotting the heart of the kingdom.


    And now?


    Now my father had a reason. A royal reason. A justified reason to wipe them out before they even made their move.


    Red snorted. <strong><i>"Dad’s about to throw down the hammer and call it justice."</i></strong>


    I stayed quiet. Watching. Thinking.


    Why would the ckthorns report a crimemitted by their own blood? Darius ckthorn led the Silverfang pack.


    Were they trying to shift me? Remove Darius? Or was there something else? Did they even know Griffin was dead?


    My father finally asked what I’d been thinking all along.


    "And why," he said slowly, "do you bring forth a charge against your own kin? Youe here using your own family of murder of a royal nheless. What is your true purpose, Owen ckthorn?"


    Owen didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at his son.


    Michael.


    Goddess, the pain on that man’s face...


    Michael stepped forward, fists clenched, voice raw. "Because she was my mate."


    I flinched.


    Even Red cursed softly. <strong><i>"Well, things just got steamy."</i></strong>


    Michael’s eyes glistened, though no tears fell. "Princess Katrina was my fated mate. I didn’t know for years. I thought she’d disappeared. I searched for her. And when I found the truth—what Darius did—I knew I couldn’t stay silent. Mate or no, he killed a royal. And worse, he killed the woman the Moon Goddess gave me."


    The entire hall went still.


    The kind of silence thates after a scream.


    Mate-bond murder was one of the highest sins in our world. It was more than just loss. It was a spiritual desecration. Andbined with Katrina’s royal blood?


    It was a double offense.


    A death sentence.


    The king didn’t sit back down. He paced slowly, his robes dragging like shadows across the floor.


    "When did you discover this?" he asked, voice calm again. Too calm.


    "A month ago," Owen said. "One of the old scouts confessed on his deathbed. He’d witnessed the event, been sworn to silence. Said Darius bounded everyone in the pack to silence, just to seal the truth."


    "Do you have proof?" My father asked.


    Owen stepped forward. "We have evidence. Testimonies. Blood records. The moment we uncovered what happened, we came straight here. We will submit to any investigation you deem necessary."


    "But why now?" the king asked, voice still dangerously calm. "Why did it take you a month to report this?"


    Michael clenched his fists. "Because I wanted to be sure. I infiltrated Silverfang and I found her royal nest week in Darius’s private vault."


    My spine stiffened. Darius.


    That monster.


    Natalie’s mark red in my mind like a scar that never healed even though it was gone now.


    I felt my hands curl into fists. This wasn’t just some political y anymore. This was blood. This was betrayal. This was about a man who took pleasure in ruining other people’s lives.


    He murdered his own brother’s mate?


    My father turned toward me, his eyes alight. "Cole," he said.


    I rose. "Yes, Your Majesty."


    "You’ll oversee the investigation. Personally."


    "Of course." My voice was even, but inside my chest, my heart was pounding. Something about this made my skin prickle and didn’t know why.