The Alpha King of Wolfstadt

The moment the king entered, the air in the throne room grew thick with tension. His presence commanded absolute attention, and every conversation ceased. The noblemen straightened, their expressions tight with a mixture of fear and respect.

"Greetings to the Holy King!" they chanted in unison, their voices strained with deference.

The king barely acknowledged their greeting, his cold, golden eyes scanning the room before landing on Marquis Thornhowl. "Tell me about the breach, Marquis," the king commanded, his voice stern and sharp enough to make her flinch, instinctively lowering her head.

Marquis Thornhowl straightened, trying to compose himself. "Your Majesty, we seized the intruders before they could reach the main territory. Everything is under control now, and they've been executed."

"And who were these intruders?" the king asked, his voice calm but laced with underlying menace.

"Just some human mercenaries," Thornhowl replied with a dismissive wave. "Nothing to worry about."

The king's lips curled slightly, though his eyes remained hard. "Human mercenaries?" His tone was mild, but there was a dangerous edge to it. "How audacious, I'd say. Where was the breach?"

Thornhowl hesitated, a flicker of nervousness crossing his face. "It… it was near the former Grand Duke's abandoned manor. It seems to have been attracting rogue mercenaries looking for loot."

"And how did they manage to breach my territory?" the king asked, his tone carrying a chilling undercurrent of malice.

"That is… still under investigation, Your Majesty," Thornhowl stammered, his calm demeanour beginning to crack.

The room fell into a tense silence, the kind that made the air feel thick, heavy. She barely dared to breathe as the king, his voice soft but dripping with venomous mockery, broke the quiet. "It seems that since my ascension, Wolfstadt's impeccable security has been crumbling to the ground." His golden eyes glinted coldly. "And now, we've been breached by nothing more than lowly human mercenaries. Tell me, Marquis—do you have anything to say about that?"

Marquis Thornhowl visibly paled, his face ashen as he dropped his head low, clearly aware that no explanation would save him from the king's wrath. "Nothing, Your Majesty. I am deeply ashamed. I will gladly accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate."

"Execution," the king said simply, his voice emotionless.

Thornhowl's head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. "P-Pardon, Your Majesty?" His voice shook with disbelief, the arrogance he had once carried gone in an instant.

"You said you would accept your punishment," the king repeated, his tone as cold as the golden eyes that stared Thornhowl down. "Your punishment is execution."

"Y-Your Majesty, please, I beg for mercy," Thornhowl cried, collapsing to his knees in desperation. His pride, once so evident, had crumbled as quickly as his composure. "Please reconsider…"

She watched in stunned silence as the once-proud Marquis crumbled before her eyes, begging for his life. The sight made her wonder what kind of king ruled this land, that even a man like Thornhowl could be reduced to such fear.

Her thoughts were interrupted as a familiar figure stepped forward—the same nobleman who had violated her earlier. He cleared his throat, as if relishing the moment. "Your Majesty, since the Marquis is no longer capable of fulfilling his duties, may I offer a suggestion?"

The king's golden gaze shifted, cold and uninterested. "And who are you?"

"I am Count Edric Greyfang, Your Majesty."

"I thought Count Greyfang was a scrawny old mutt," the king remarked, his voice flat, but with a hint of amusement at the insult.

"I'm his son, Your Majesty. The late Count Greyfang perished in the Wolfbane attack last month," Greyfang replied, his voice steady, though she detected a trace of bitterness in his tone.

"I see," the king said, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You were one of the unfortunates."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Greyfang confirmed, though his voice remained measured.

After a brief pause, Greyfang continued. "I propose we burn the former Grand Duke's manor and increase the guard in the area. Afterward, we can discuss who will succeed the Marquis."

"You just want to take my position, you scheming bastard!" Thornhowl spat, glaring at Greyfang with venomous rage.

The king, unfazed by the accusation, simply hummed with mild interest. "Burning the manor does seem the most feasible option."

"Your Majesty!" Thornhowl's voice cracked with desperation, but the king ignored him entirely, turning his attention to a younger man standing beside him.

"What do you say, newly appointed Grand Duke?" he asked, voice deceptively calm.

She dared to glance at the young man, who looked to be about her age, his expression unreadable, detached from the drama unfolding before him. "I have no use for the manor," he said coolly, his tone as indifferent as his expression. "Do what you will with it, Your Majesty."

"If you allow me, Your Majesty," Greyfang interjected smoothly, "I can instruct my men to burn the place immediately."

The king remained silent, though a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. His attention, once again, shifted elsewhere, and her heart lurched when she realised where his gaze had landed—on her.

The cold intensity of his golden eyes bore into her, making her skin prickle with fear. She immediately lowered her head, her body trembling under the weight of his attention.

"It seems," the king drawled, his voice laced with amusement and mockery, "we've been so engrossed in this tedious conversation that we've nearly forgotten about our guest."

She flinched at the sound of his voice, feeling every syllable cut through her.

"Your Majesty," a familiar voice interjected—it was Duke Wolfhart, the older nobleman who had first identified she spoke another language. "The girl is a Drachen. We believe she was captured by those human mercenaries, likely to be sold to a brothel," he explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "The young Grand Duke was the one who found her trying to escape."

The king's gaze shifted to the Grand Duke. She dared to lift her eyes slightly, catching a glimpse of the man who had saved her. So it was him… she thought, her mind spinning with the revelation.

"How noble of you, Grand Duke," the king remarked, though there was a biting mockery in his tone.

"I merely did what I believed to be right, Your Majesty," the Grand Duke replied, his voice calm and unruffled, unaffected by the king's taunt.

The king's gaze flicked back to her, but this time, it seemed colder, more deliberate. His eyes swept over her torn camisole. "Who did this to her?" His voice was eerily calm, yet the weight of the question hung in the air like a storm cloud.

She froze, not daring to speak, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.

"I did, Your Majesty," Count Greyfang answered, his tone almost smug, as if he expected approval. Her blood boiled at the casual cruelty in his voice.

"Why?" the king asked, uninterested, his gaze fixed on Greyfang with a dangerous indifference.

"I... I thought you would like it if she appeared... tattered," Greyfang stammered, his earlier arrogance faltering under the king's scrutiny.

The king's eyes narrowed, a cold menace creeping into his voice. "And what made you think I'd like that?"

Before Greyfang could answer, there was a sudden, swift movement—a breeze cutting through the stillness of the room. Without warning, Greyfang's head plopped to the ground, rolling a few feet away from his body before the lifeless form crumpled to the floor. She gasped, her eyes snapping shut in terror as the room plunged into silence. She could hear the sickening thud of Greyfang's body, but she didn't dare open her eyes.

The rest of the room remained eerily quiet, as if the sudden execution had been expected. The king, sitting loosely on his throne, and unbothered, simply muttered, "Insolent bastard. Dare to compare me to a lustful animal."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Get this filthy thing out of my sight."

She flinched, fearing for a moment that he had referred to her, but the sound of heavy boots dragging Greyfang's lifeless body confirmed otherwise. She kept her eyes tightly shut, too afraid to witness any more horror. The coldness in the king's tone, the casual cruelty of his actions—it left her trembling.

Minutes passed in tense silence before Duke Wolfhart broke it, his voice carefully measured. "Your Majesty, now that Count Greyfang is dead, there's no one assigned to oversee the Aster region."

"Doesn't he have any heirs?" the king asked, sounding almost bored.

"He was unwed, my King," Wolfhart replied.

The king gave a dismissive shrug, waving his hand lazily. "Well, the Marquis will handle that. Right, Marquis?" He turned his attention to Thornhowl, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. "I mean, you don't have much choice, do you? After all, it could've been your head rolling on the ground if Greyfang hadn't been such a big-mouthed fool."

Marquis Thornhowl visibly paled, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. He bowed his head deeply in submission. "Yes, Your Majesty," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The king gave a soft, almost dismissive hum, clearly pleased by Thornhowl's submission. "Now that the bastard is out of the way," he said, his voice casual, as though they were discussing something as trivial as the weather.

She trembled, her body stiff, afraid to move. She could feel his gaze—cold, unrelenting—locked on her, making her skin prickle with dread, but she didn't dare to meet them, feeling the weight of his attention unbearable.

"Let's talk about you," the king said, his voice soft, but laced with menace. Each word felt like a claw scraping down her spine, and her body shook with fear. Whatever he wanted from her, she knew instinctively that it wouldn't end well.