The Play-Toy Of Three Lycan Kings-Chapter 362: Banquet V

ADAM

Oddly enough, I was pleased—actually pleased—that Sage had just sidelined Darius. A dangerous thought, if there ever was one.

The moment she said he wasn’t needed for the dome casting, I had to stop myself from smirking. It wasn’t just the satisfaction of watching Darius’s composure falter; it was something deeper, a strange sense of contentment that came from her decision. And that irritated me.

Since when did her choices dictate my mood?

I scoffed under my breath, masking it as a cough, while my gaze drifted toward Darius. He was staring at Sage as if she were a puzzle he hadn’t been given enough pieces to solve.

I couldn’t even blame him—half the time, I was trying to understand her myself. The woman was a contradiction wrapped in fire and silk: fierce one moment, calm the next, unreadable always.

Darius’s expression shifted slightly when he turned to look at me. There was a flicker of something—defiance? amusement?—before he leaned back, cool as ever. "I want to be around for the dome casting," he said simply, as though his word was law.

Sage turned her head toward him, the faintest smile curving her lips. "You didn’t win," she reminded him sweetly. "So why do you think you have a say?"

Gasps rippled through the tent. Her tone wasn’t loud, but it carried—sharp and cutting in that deceptively calm way she had.

Darius didn’t even blush for shame. He looked her straight in the eye, almost lazily. "The two of us were told to do it," he countered. "So unless the kings have changed their minds, I’m not going anywhere. Unless"—his voice dropped a note—"you’re planning something, Sage?"

The tension that followed could have been sliced clean through with a dagger. Every noble within earshot went stiff, and I found myself watching Sage with renewed alertness.

Was she planning something? I searched her face for a reaction—any crack in that perfect composure—but she only smiled that infuriating, knowing smile of hers.

"Or maybe," she said softly, "I’m just trying to protect the people from you."

A muscle twitched in Darius’s jaw. It was subtle, but I caught it. The same flicker I’d seen on the field during their fight. It wasn’t anger—it was... something else.

Recognition? Guilt? Whatever it was, it made the back of my neck prickle.

Was she telling the truth? Was Darius really here for something more than the contest? Because he didn’t deny it. He didn’t even defend himself.

They just stared at each other, that unspoken language stretching between them again, and I hated it. Hated that it excluded me.

When they finally looked away, Darius sighed and reached for his glass of wine. "Fine," he said with that lazy charm of his. "I’ll leave the pack. The day after tomorrow."

I blinked, thrown off for a moment. He wasn’t even looking at me. He said it like my opinion didn’t matter. Like the crown itself didn’t.

My fingers tightened on my goblet. What was it between the two of them? This strange familiarity, this tension that kept circling them like smoke.

Every time they locked eyes, the air thickened, and I found myself wondering what exactly had transpired between them on that field.

This was why I needed to get closer to Sage. Why I had to. She was a wildcard—and in my kingdom, wildcards were dangerous. But to tame her, I had to understand her first.

I took a slow breath, forcing my tone to stay level. "Is what she said true, Darius?" I asked, my voice cutting across the murmur of the hall.

Darius didn’t answer immediately. He just snorted, that half-smile still on his lips, and lifted his glass again. "To Sage," he said lazily, toasting toward her. "The victor of the night."

I bristled, jaw tightening. My brothers caught my eye from across the table, their expressions warning me not to react. And they were right. Losing my temper in front of our people—especially with both Sage and Darius watching—would only make me look weak.

Still, the insult burned. These two had no regard for the crown whatsoever. They acted as if power bent to them and not the other way around. Was it because of their magic? Did they truly think they were untouchable?

My wolf stirred, a low growl echoing in my chest. Let them keep thinking that. I’d remind them who ruled here soon enough.

Darius’s words hung in the air long after the toast. When the clinking of goblets faded, Sage turned to me with a calm, unreadable expression. "Anything else?" she asked. "Because if not, I’d like to retire for the night."

Her tone was polite, but it wasn’t a request.

My father leaned forward then, his gaze sharp beneath his silver crown. "When will you cast the spell?" he asked. "The sooner, the better. We can’t afford more losses."

Sage’s eyes flickered to him, thoughtful for a heartbeat. Then she said, "A week after Darius leaves."

A murmur of discontent rippled through the elders’ side of the table. The same old men who thought they had a say in everything. One of them, Elder Byron, rose halfway from his seat, frowning deeply. "A week? People are dying, witch. Do you think this is a game?"

Sage’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood, the sound sharp in the tense silence. "And yet, here you all sit, eating and drinking while people die," she said evenly.

Her voice didn’t rise, but it was enough to silence him. "So forgive me if I don’t take your outrage seriously, elder."

Her tone wasn’t cruel. It was worse—it was honest. Cold, clean honesty that cut deeper than anger.

She looked down at her untouched plate, then backed up. "I’m not changing my mind," she said simply. "A week. Not a day less."

Byron’s face reddened, but before he could speak again, she turned and began walking toward the exit. Isla stood immediately, trailing after her.

Sage didn’t even glance back as she disappeared through the drapes of the canopy, her dark hair catching the lantern light.

Silence lingered for several long seconds. Then came the low murmurs.

"She’s too arrogant—"

"—shouldn’t have been allowed that kind of freedom—"

"—Darius should’ve stayed, he’d keep her in check—"

I let them talk for a moment before setting my goblet down, the sound of glass meeting wood cutting through their whispers. "Did any of you not understand what we agreed to?" I said quietly. The weight in my voice was enough to make Byron sink back into his seat. "She won. We made a vow to honor the victor’s request. That’s how this works."

I looked from one elder to the next, letting my words sink in. "Be grateful she didn’t demand something worse. She could’ve asked for land, titles, even a crown." 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

And she could have. The memory of her earlier grin, that half-mocking suggestion that she might ask to marry one of us—or rule outright—still lingered. A joke, perhaps. But only perhaps.

"So Darius leaves," I said finally, settling back in my chair. "And Sage stays. Those are her terms."

No one argued after that.

But my thoughts refused to settle. If Darius was leaving, that left Sage—and me. Alone, in a sense. I’d be the one responsible for keeping an eye on her, for "managing" her until the dome spell was complete. A dangerous task, one that part of me almost looked forward to.

What did she even like? What would draw her closer? I’d spent years manipulating alliances and bending loyalties to my will, but with her, every trick felt inadequate. She saw through things too easily. Saw through me.

My gaze flickered to Darius again. He was still at the table, swirling the wine in his glass, watching me with an unreadable expression.

"What?" I asked flatly.

He shrugged, faint amusement glinting in his eyes. "Nothing," he said, and turned back to his food.

Of course, he wouldn’t answer. Darius was just the male version of Sage.