he isn't my brother

Meanwhile, outside the palace walls, hidden in the thick shadows of the trees, the assassins who were sent to kill Freya knelt before Fenrir.

The night air was cold and heavy. Raindrops from earlier still clung to the leaves, and the earth beneath them was muddy.

One of the assassins, his arm bleeding and torn, lifted his head nervously.

"My lord," he said, voice shaking.

"We failed. Most of our men were killed."

Fenrir's face twisted with rage. His sharp eyes glinted dangerously under the moonlight.

"You're telling me," Fenrir said slowly, voice low and tight, "that one man destroyed almost all of you?"

The assassin nodded, trembling.

"It wasn't just any man," he stammered.

"It was the emperor, Vladimirios. We all knew he was a hybrid... but when he shifted—"

He swallowed hard.

"It wasn't something we could fight. His beast form... it was beyond anything we've ever seen."

Fenrir's hands clenched into fists, his jaw locked.

"And what about Freya?" he barked.

"Did you at least capture her?"

The assassin shook his head.

"No, my lord. We couldn't even touch her. We never stood a chance."

For a moment, silence filled the clearing. Fenrir's breathing was heavy with fury.

Then, with a sharp wave of his hand, he growled, "Get out of my sight!"

The assassins scrambled up and fled into the dark forest.

Left alone, Fenrir stood still, shaking with anger.

After a few moments, he turned sharply and stormed back to the palace, his mind racing, heart pounding.

He burst through the palace doors, walking fast, ignoring everyone who bowed as he passed.

He headed straight to Freydis's private chambers.

He didn't knock.

He pushed the doors open roughly.

Inside, Freydis was lounging comfortably on a large bed piled with rich, hand-sewn cushions.

At the sound of the doors slamming, she sat up, her long golden hair spilling over her shoulders, her green eyes narrowing.

"What is it, Fenrir?" she asked coolly, though a faint frown crossed her face.

Fenrir rushed to her side, sitting heavily on the bed.

"Mother," he hissed urgently, "the assassins failed. They couldn't even get near Freya!"

Freydis blinked slowly, her face unreadable.

"Is that so?" she said calmly, almost without surprise.

Fenrir nodded quickly, his hands clenching the fabric of his trousers.

"Mom, this is bad!" he whispered fiercely.

"If Freya stays alive, it's only a matter of time before the truth comes out!"

Freydis raised an eyebrow slightly but said nothing.

Fenrir leaned closer, lowering his voice even more.

"Remember," he said, "you and Lady Elira gave birth on the same day.

Freya's real brother was born that night — the true heir."

He paused, his throat tightening.

"And you ordered the midwife to get rid of him... to throw him away... so I could take his place."

Freydis's eyes glittered in the low light, but she stayed silent, letting him speak.

Fenrir continued, his voice trembling slightly.

"I grew up as Elira's son... no one knows I'm not her real child.

But Freya... Freya carries the truth with her."

He gritted his teeth.

"She and her real brother shared the same birthmark.

If someone realizes this—if someone looks at Freya's birthmark and starts asking questions—

everything will fall apart."

Fenrir shook his head, fear flashing in his eyes.

"I'll lose my title as the future Alpha.

I'll lose everything!"

He sat back, breathing heavily.

"And now, the emperor—Vladimirios—is protecting her.

Why would he suddenly care?

It doesn't make sense... but if he keeps her close, it's only a matter of time before he finds out the truth."

Freydis finally smiled.

A slow, cruel smile.

She reached out and gently patted his cheek.

"My sweet boy," she said softly, "you are smarter than any fool in this kingdom."

Fenrir stared at her, desperate for a solution.

Freydis leaned back on her cushions, looking thoughtful.

"Listen carefully," she said.

"Your sister will turn eighteen in just two weeks."

Fenrir frowned, confused.

"So?"

Freydis smiled again, a wicked glint in her green eyes.

"When she turns eighteen, the emperor will have to either claim her... or risk losing her to someone else.

It's part of the sacred customs."

She leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper.

"You, Fenrir, must go see her before that happens.

Talk to her.

Pretend to be kind.

Pretend to care."

Fenrir narrowed his eyes, catching on.

"And then?" he asked.

Freydis's smile widened.

"Then," she said softly, "you look for her weaknesses.

Find out if she trusts Vladimirios.

Find a way to convince him that keeping her is a mistake."

She reached out and gently squeezed his hand.

"Make him believe she's dangerous.

That she brings bad luck.

That she will destroy everything he's worked for."

Fenrir's face darkened with understanding.

A cruel smirk crept onto his lips.

"You're right, Mother," he said in a low voice.

"I'll find a way to get rid of her."

Freydis leaned back against her embroidered cushions, looking like a queen on her throne.

"Good," she said sweetly.

"That's my boy."

Fenrir stood, his heart beating fast, ready to do whatever it took to protect his stolen crown.

Meanwhile, Freya sat by the window, staring out into the dark night.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a soft silver light over the palace gardens.

The room around her felt too big, too empty.

Lylah had taken a separate room tonight, leaving Freya completely alone with her thoughts.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, the cool breeze from the window brushing against her skin.

The thin white shift she wore for sleeping clung lightly to her legs, and she shivered slightly from the chill.

Her mind kept drifting back to what Lylah had said earlier.

If Fenrir doesn't have the birthmark... then he's not your brother.

Freya's heart squeezed painfully in her chest.

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, feeling the heavy weight of confusion and fear settle over her.

It made sense in a way that frightened her.

All her life, Fenrir had been distant. Cold.

He never treated her like family.

Even when they were children, he had always kept a wall between them.

And then there was the strange thing about his neck...

Freya's brows furrowed as she thought about it.

Fenrir never let anyone touch or even see the side of his neck.

Not once.

Whenever someone got too close, he would pull away sharply, almost like he was hiding something.

Was that why?

Was he hiding the truth?

The birthmark that should have been there—the mark that every true heir was born with—was missing.

And he knew it.

Maybe that's why he hated her so much.

Maybe that's why he always looked at her like she was a threat.

Freya's fingers clutched the hem of her shift tightly.

If he's not my real brother... then who is he?

And where is the real one?

The questions spun endlessly in her head, making her dizzy.

She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath, feeling tears sting the corners of her eyes.

Nothing made sense anymore.

The only thing she knew for sure was that something dark and terrible had been hidden from her all along.

And now, it was starting to come undone.

Slowly, painfully, the truth was beginning to slip through the cracks.

Freya opened her eyes again and looked out at the endless night.

Whatever happens, she thought, I have to find the answers... before it's too late.