chapter 3

"Old are wise," they said. Taruk did not believe it, for his age was nothing but a bearer of his worn-out body and weakened bones—a number that added nothing to his wisdom.

People also said that experience was a teacher above all. Rubbish, he said.

Experiences were mirages of bias and one-dimensional stories witnessed by people who saw the world in black and white. After all, mankind was notorious for seeing what they wanted to see. Taruk did too.

The fog of your own biases caged you like a succubus's allure—breathtaking and ruthless. But when the fog cleared, one was already on the edge of the cliff, from where no path of redemption returned.

Perhaps Taruk was on the cliff, but he wouldn't fall, would he? No, Chandra had him cursed to watch the fall of others. His deeds already wrote his verdict.

Can guilt kill you?

"You were absent in the state parliament today," a beautiful voice touched his ears, followed by an equally beautiful body that possessed it.

Amadel Tahik.

His godson was regal. They were standing in the courtroom of a royal palace constructed by the finest of artists, where diamonds and emeralds shone bright in every corner, yet all of that paled against Amadel's grandiose.

Taruk's godson was cursed and blessed by the heavens. His tall stature bore sculptured muscle, heartbreakingly telling the stories of wars he fought and men he killed. His handsome features deceptively hid the monster Taruk made. And his eyes—his disarming eyes—haunted Taruk in his dreams.

"I asked you a question, Maheem. Why were you not present in the parliament today?" Amadel asked again, the suppressed anger clearly peeking through.

Taruk sighed. Was he worthy of being called Maheem? He was no father to him. Fathers did not make monsters.

"I had personal affairs to attend to. And I don't think the parliament would run any differently in my absence," he answered. He didn't want to sound bitter but ended up just that.

Amadel's face betrayed the displeasure his scent didn't give away. Suppressants can't hide years of upbringing.

He walked towards Taruk with precise and measured grace.

"Maheem, you have been avoiding the parliament for three months; what is going on?" Amadel asked. He surely wanted to sound patient, but his frustration was something he had never been able to hide.

Taruk turned around, scanning the royal throne. The throne of Astromir indeed birthed incredible warriors, but it demanded blood in return. And the parliament that protected the throne had warriors who knew nothing but blood.

"Has there been any problem regarding my absence, son?" he asked, turning back his head. Usually, he was not one to answer a question with a question, but he didn't indeed have a slight idea of what was going on.

Amadel's jaw clenched and his eyes glowed like the sun. He let out a frustrated sigh.

"Maheem, your seat at the parliament represents us, represents YPL! Your absence raises questions about our authority. The opposition—"

"The opposition is our puppet, as is the entire monarchy," Taruk cut him off. Whatever protest was there, Amadel decided not to express it. His eyes returned to their usual color.

"The Carters are in Lunor. It has been three months, and it appears they have settled in that country for the time being," Amadel reported, like an eager child showing his new achievements. Taruk would know; he started it.

Taruk finally turned to face Amadel, meeting his godson's eyes. He slowly stepped down from the platform where the throne stood and walked towards his godson.

"Let the past go, son. You want to keep track of widowed women now?" Taruk held him by the shoulders.

His godson's face overcame with fury. His fangs extended.

"The young alpha lives. Let one wolf live and the sheep aren't safe. He has been gathering rebels; slowly but surely, old allies of the Carters are trying to help him. And bloodshed is always red, Maheem; whether conducted by new alphas or widowed women, it doesn't matter. A warrior is a warrior," Amadel declared.

Indeed, a warrior was a warrior, but wasn't the game of cat and mouse brutal?

"Then why did you spare him? Why did you not end their misery then? A king should be ferocious but not brutal," he asked. He had been wanting to ask that for quite a while now.

A cruel smirk took over his godson.

"He is the queen of my entire chess game, Maheem. He is the glorious future of my dream. He will bring me power. He will bring me eternity," Amadel's voice shook with gut-wrenching cruelty. A shark out for a hunt.

Taruk could not decipher what he meant. He despised not knowing. His godson, though a vicious predator, didn't take a breath without thinking it through, and if the Carter boy's life had been spared eleven years ago, then Amadel wanted more than revenge from him.

"He will live then?" Taruk asked the only question he knew would be answered.

Amadel looked into his eyes, cold and unnerving.

"It is his destiny to breathe for me," with a sinister smirk Amadel added, "and not breathe for me."

What was he thinking? What was the mad king thinking?

"But for now, I want you to follow him thoroughly, Maheem. Yesterday, he and his family gathered in their old family villa. You know exactly what yesterday was, Maheem," Amadel's sharp eyes pierced through him, "Their supporters are few, but it doesn't take long for an unattended infection to spread. Katana Carter's initiation as a wolf has completed; they are preparing for war. If we don't stop more allies from joining, a small gust of wind can turn into a hurricane."

Taruk wanted to protest; he wanted to utter the simple words "no." But he had always been a coward, a sinner, hadn't he?

"Lunor is not a country that will help any Astromirian. You—"

"Are you defying your king, Maheem?" Amadel cut him off with a tone that dripped mock innocence.

Taruk's lycan whimpered. Amadel Tahik didn't do well with "no."

Taruk hung his head low.

"Make sure no harm falls upon Mayhem Carter," Amadel ordered. Then he added as an afterthought, "He goes by Moros now."