An Alpha's Forbidden Mate-Chapter 45: Sins of Sovereignty

Chapter Forty Five:

The corridor stretched out in a long, opulent ribbon of velvet and stone, echoing with the soft, rhythmic cadence of laughter. Tom walked alongside Caroline, his stride relaxed, the tension of the previous battles momentarily forgotten. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the air around him didn’t taste of ozone and blood; it smelled faintly of lavender and the polish used on the castle floors.

Caroline tilted her head back, her amusement ringing clear like a bell against the stone walls. "You cannot be serious," she said, a playful shove against his arm. "You truly told the high priest that his hat looked like a mushroom?"

"A poisonous mushroom," Tom corrected, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "There is a distinct difference. One is culinary; the other is a warning."

They were approaching the turn toward Tom’s quarters. He felt a lightness in his chest, a rare commodity in this realm. But as they rounded the corner, the atmosphere shifted.

Olivia stood there.

She was not merely standing; she was positioned with the rigid, calculated precision of a statue placed to obscure a view. Her back was straight, her chin high, but her eyes darted with a frantic energy that betrayed her composed posture. Behind her, the hallway shadowed into darkness, but Tom’s heightened senses picked up something metallic—the copper tang of fresh blood.

Olivia stepped forward aggressively, cutting off the angle. She moved with a fluidity that was almost unnatural, placing herself directly in Tom’s path, forcing him to halt.

The laughter died in Caroline’s throat. She looked from Tom to Olivia, the sudden change in temperature palpable. "Is everything alright?"

Tom’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Olivia, really looked at her. Her breathing was shallow, controlled. She was hiding something. The princess, he thought, his mind racing back to the recent revelations. If she is blocking the path, she is protecting me from seeing something. Or protecting herself.

"Any problem, Miss Olivia?" Tom asked, his voice dropping an octave, losing its playful edge.

Olivia clasped her hands in front of her dress, her knuckles white. "Oh, no. Not at all, Sir Tom," she said, the lie slipping through her teeth with practiced ease. "I came looking for you, actually. I went to the training grounds, but you weren’t around."

Tom glanced over her shoulder. The shadows seemed to writhe. If he pushed past her, he would see whatever lay on the floorboards of his corridor. But the desperation in Olivia’s eyes gave him pause.

"Why were you looking for me?" Tom asked, keeping his gaze fixed on hers.

"The King," Olivia stated, her voice gaining strength. "He sent for you. Immediately."

The air grew heavy. A summons from the King was not something to be ignored, nor was it usually good news.

Tom turned to Caroline. The disappointment in her eyes was fleeting, quickly replaced by understanding. The politics of the realm waited for no one.

"I have to go now," Tom said softly to her. "Duty calls, it seems."

"I understand," Caroline replied, stepping back. "I will see you around, Tom."

She turned and walked away, her footsteps fading into the distance. Tom watched her go for a moment before turning his cold, analytical gaze back to Olivia. She didn’t flinch, though a bead of sweat traced a path down her temple.

"Lead the way," Tom said.

They walked in silence toward the throne room. The castle, usually a bastion of permanence, felt fragile today. Tom noticed spiderweb fractures running along the mortar of the high arches. The realm was degrading. The instability was no longer just a rumor; it was etched into the architecture itself.

When they reached the massive, iron-bound oak doors of the Throne Room, Olivia stopped. She placed a hand on the cool wood but did not push.

"This is where I leave you, Sir Tom," she said, stepping aside.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "You aren’t entering? You usually shadow the King like a second shadow."

"The King requested to see you alone," Olivia replied, her face a mask of neutrality. "Strictly alone."

Tom studied her for a heartbeat longer. What is he playing at now? he wondered. And what is rotting in the hallway outside my room? There were too many secrets piling up, layer upon layer of deceit.

"Very well," Tom muttered.

He pushed the heavy doors open. The hinges groaned, a deep, mournful sound that echoed into the vastness of the chamber beyond.

The Throne Room was dim, lit only by the flickering light of magical sconces that burned with a cold, blue flame. The air here was colder than the rest of the castle, biting at the exposed skin. At the far end, atop the dais, the King stood. He was not sitting on the throne; he was standing before it, staring up at the intricate carvings of the high ceiling as if searching for answers in the stone.

Tom walked forward, his boots clicking sharply on the marble floor. The sound was rhythmically aggressive in the silence. He stopped ten paces from the dais.

"You sent for me, Your Highness," Tom stated. It wasn’t a question.

The King did not turn immediately. He kept his gaze fixed upward, his hands clasped behind his back. His posture was slumped, the heavy velvet of his royal mantle seemingly weighing him down.

"Did I ever tell you the story of how Royalty came to be in this realm, Tom?" the King asked. His voice was hollow, devoid of its usual booming authority.

Tom crossed his arms. "No. You only told me how the realm came to be. The grand myths. The creation."

The King finally turned. His face was gaunt, the lines around his eyes etched deep with exhaustion. He looked less like a monarch and more like a man haunting his own house.

"When our ancestors created this realm with their life force, they bought us safety," the King began, pacing slowly across the dais. "Two centuries passed. We flourished. We chose five council members—the wisest among us—to decide the laws of the land. We thought we were free."

He let out a dry, bitter laugh. "We were fools. We thought the outside world would forget us. We thought hatred had an expiration date. But outsiders started intruding on our territory. They hunted us. They killed us like flies, breaching the barriers we thought were impenetrable."

Tom listened, his face impassive. He knew the brutality of the outside world better than anyone.

"The cracks began showing in the domain back then," the King continued, gesturing vaguely to the walls around them. "The sanctuary was failing. The five council elders scoured the ancient records, desperate for a way to fix the domain before it collapsed entirely. They found something. Do you know what they found, Tom?"

How the hell would I know? Tom thought, irritation flaring. I am not a historian of this cursed place.

"No," Tom said aloud. "I don’t."

The King stopped pacing. He looked directly at Tom, his eyes dark pools of regret. "They found a solution. But it came at a price."

"What price, my King?"

"They discovered that the realm, having been forged from life force, required a continuous supply of life force to stabilize it," the King whispered, the words hanging in the cold air. "Fuel. It needed fuel."

The King walked to the edge of the dais, looking down at Tom. "My great-grandfather volunteered. He offered himself and his lineage to be used as a living battery for the realm. That is why my family was crowned. We were not made Royalty because we were better, or stronger, or richer. We were made Royalty because we were the sacrifice."

Tom frowned, processing the information. It made sense in a twisted, magical logic. But there was a discrepancy.

"If your lineage is a battery," Tom said slowly, "then why aren’t you dead? If your life force is being drained to keep this sky from falling, you should be a husk."

"I didn’t say the realm drained all the life force at once," the King corrected quickly.

"But you implied—"

"I said the realm needed life force to stabilize!" the King interrupted, his voice snapping like a whip. He took a breath, composing himself. "It takes it little by little. A slow, agonizing siphon. That is why, unlike other supernaturals who can span centuries, the Royals of this realm live for no more than a hundred years. We burn bright, and we burn fast."

The King leaned forward. "Now do you understand why we have Royalty? We are cattle, fattened up to keep the wolves at bay."

Tom nodded slowly. "Yes. They made your lineage royalty because of your sacrifice." He paused, his eyes drifting to a large crack running down a nearby pillar. "But... if you are sacrificing your life force as you say, the realm shouldn’t be fracturing. The barriers should be holding. Unless..."

Tom’s eyes snapped back to the King. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow.

"Unless you aren’t paying the price," Tom said.

The King’s lips curled into a sad, twisted smile. "Now you are catching on. You are sharp, Tom. Sharper than my advisors."

"You stopped giving your life force," Tom accused, his voice low.

"I did."

"Since you don’t want to give your life force out, why don’t you just catch somebody in place of you?" Tom asked, his moral compass skewed by the pragmatism of survival. "Drain their life force. Feed the machine with someone else’s blood."

The King let out a groan of frustration. "You think I haven’t thought of that? You think I haven’t tried?"

The King turned away, walking back toward the throne, running his hand along the velvet armrest. "I tried. I captured different beings, different bloodlines, magically gifted commoners. I hooked them into the connection. Nothing worked. The realm rejected them. It only craves the specific signature of my bloodline. Only I can feed it."

So he is scared of dying, Tom thought, looking at the man’s trembling back. The mighty King is just a coward facing the void.

"I know this sounds selfish," the King said, his voice muffled as he faced the throne. "I am not about to die off and be forgotten. That is not how my story ends. I will not be a footnote in history, a battery that ran dry."

"Why hasn’t anyone complained?" Tom asked. "Since the cracks are your fault? Since the intruders are your fault?"

"Turns out, only the five elders knew about the true nature of the pact," the King replied, turning back around. "After they died, the secret was passed down only to the next sacrifice. I mean, the next King. The people believe the cracks are natural disasters, or the result of external attacks. They do not know their savior is their executioner."

Tom stared at him. The selfishness was staggering, yet... understandable. Every living thing fought to survive.

"I am sorry," Tom said.

The King looked surprised. "Why are you apologizing? It isn’t your fault. It is my fault. If I weren’t so weak... why would I fear anyone? Why would I fear death?"

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. The sconces flickered, casting long, dancing shadows that made the King look distorted, monstrous.

"I guess that is one thing we can agree on," Tom said, his voice hard as iron. "In this world, the weak can only listen to laws, while the strong make the laws."

The King chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Do you know what is really funny, Tom? Many men wish they were in my shoes. They covet this crown. They envy the power, the adulation, the throne." He gestured widely to the empty, freezing room. "If only they knew. The crown is not gold. It is lead. And it crushes everyone who wears it."

Tom looked at the King, seeing not a monarch, but a frightened man standing in the ruins of his own making.

"Are you going to fix it?" Tom asked.

The King didn’t answer immediately. He looked at the cracks in the ceiling, then back at Tom. "I have a plan, Tom. But like all solutions in this realm... it comes at a price."

Tom turned to leave. He had heard enough. The air in the room was choking him. As he reached the heavy doors, he paused.

"Just make sure the price isn’t paid by the innocent," Tom said, though he knew, in this world, that was rarely a request that could be granted.

He pushed the doors open and walked out, leaving the King alone with his throne and his decaying kingdom.