Third Person’s POV
<b>+10 </b>Free Coins
The sharp articles published in underground journals, the vivid stories being told in high–end cafes and gritty taverns alike–every narrative thread painting Alpha Zander as a tragic hero was tied back to a single architect: Cyrus.
Clearly, Cyrus wasn’t even trying to hide it from the young King. He had left obvious breadcrumbs during the operation, a silent but firm way of dering exactly where he stood.
Inside the Pce study, Lycan Erasmus stared at the intel report for a long time. The silence in the room was heavy.
Finally, he looked at Jeremy, who remained motionless in the shadows.
“Act like we never investigated this,” Lycan Erasmus said. “Keep your mouth shut.”
Jeremy bowed deeply. “Yes, Lycan Erasmus.”
Lycan Erasmus’s mind was a mess of conflicting emotions.
Before the old Lycan King passed away, Cyrus had already nned to retire and head back to his pack for a quiet life.
But when the old Lycan King died suddenly, Cyrus feared the throne would be too unstable–that the rival pack factions would tear Lycan Erasmus apart. So, he stayed. He chose to remain as Lycan Erasmus’s advisor and shield.
In the entire city, Lycan Erasmus only truly trusted two people: Cyrus and Doug Watson.
Lately, the royal parliament had met several times to discuss the situation at the Bloodscar Border. Cyrus, usually the most cautious and tight–lipped man in the room, had looked like he was biting back words every single time. The signs were all there.
Cyrus and Alpha Zander had fought side–by–side back in the old King’s day. Their bond was forged in iron and blood.
Lycan Erasmus remembered Cyrus saying privately.
“Your Majesty, without these border warriors building a wall out of their own flesh and bone, there would be no peace or prosperity in the interior. We sit in this parliament hall and talk big only because they are out there holding the line.”
On the surface, they didn’t seem close. They rarely met. But there was a deep, unspoken respect between them that transcended politics.
February 13th, early evening, Magnus led Alpha Zander’s escort through the final stretch, finally reaching the North Gate of the capital.
Word had traveled fast. For days,moners had been gathering outside the city walls.
They knew Alpha Zander wasing, and they had waited in the biting wind just to see him.
As the sun began to set, the sky turned a deep, tragic crimson–the color of blood.
The legendary Alpha Zander wasn’t sitting in a prisoner’s carriage. He was mounted on a massive ck warhorse.
He was nked by Lycan Erasmus’s personal guards, their faces nk as they monitored his every move.
<b>1/3 </b>
2:19 pm <b>D </b>
Zander’s skin was a healthy, weathered bronze, glowing like polished metal in the sunset.
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The months of frost and rain at the border hadn’t broken that face; his skin looked like a fortress that time itself couldn’t breach.
However, when he saw the massive crowd outside the gates, his iron–hard expression faltered. A look of pure shock crossed his
face.
Thousands ofmoners, low–tier warriors, and even omegas holding their pups were packed along the roadside. They weren’t there to throw stones or insults. Their eyes were full of heat and respect.
Zander had expected to return to a city full of condemnation.
The official Pce documents used him of “negligentmand” that put the kingdom on the brink of war.
And Velda’s massacre was a stain on werewolf morality that most wouldn’t forgive.
But seeing this, his eyes grew hot.
It was mid–February, and the wind was sharp enough to cut, yet these people had waited for hours, rubbing their frozen hands together just to cheer for him as he passed.
“Alpha Zander! We believe in you!”
In the middle of the chaos, Alpha Theodore stood in a crowd, wearing a in coat with a ck hat pulled low to hide his face.
As the crowd surged forward, blocking the horses, Theodore used his strength to skillfully navigate the throng until he reached Alfred.
“Alfred,” Theodore whispered, using a coded dialect known only to their family. “Pack emergency. Come home right now.”
Alfred snapped his head down, stunned to <i>see </i>the Alpha of the Hornbeams himself.
He hesitated for a second, then turned to Zach.
“Hey man, my family butler just found me. He says my grandmother is in bad shape. Look at this crowd–the horses aren’t moving anyway. I’m going to head back to the packhouse for a bit.”
Zach nced at the man in the ck hat. The hat was amon style, and since he couldn’t see the face clearly, he figured it was just an Hornbeam staffer. He nodded.
“Go ahead. We’ve got Alpha Zander covered. He isn’t going anywhere in this mess.”
Alfred grabbed Theodore’s sleeve. “Let’s go!”
The two of them ducked low, weaving through the crowd like fish swimming against a current.
The disorganized shouting from the people began to sync up, merging into a deafening, rhythmic roar that shook the air.
“ALPHA ZANDER! WE STAND WITH YOU<i>!</i>”
“ALPHA ZANDER! INNOCENT!”
Alfred had to cover his ears; the sound was loud enough to burst an eardrum.
<b>2/3 </b>
12:19 pm <b>D </b>
As they pushed their way out of the main square, the number of people only seemed to grow.
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Alpha Theodore grabbed Alfred’s wrist with a grip like a vice. He yanked him into a quiet side alley, away from the madness and the
noise.
At the end of the alley stood a maple tree, its new buds swaying in the wind.
They stood under the branches, face–to–face.
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<strong>Olivia Harris</strong> is an emerging author celebrated for her captivating romantic and steamy novels. With a talent for crafting deep emotional connections and fiery chemistry between her characters, Olivia’s stories offer readers an escape into worlds filled with passion, intrigue, and heart-stopping drama.