C4 The Prince Who Could Not Win

I followed Damien into the council chamber with Lyra walking several steps behind us, and my stomach twisted tighter with every step across the marble floor. I hated rooms like this. Too many elders. Too many judging eyes. Too many chances for me to say the wrong thing and prove them all right about me.

The moment I entered, I knew something had changed. My father was standing instead of sitting, his shoulders rigid. Beside him stood Beta Ronan, Victor, Adrian, Noah, and three unfamiliar warriors wearing the insignia of the eastern border. One of them had blood dried dark on his sleeve.

My heart sank. "What happened?"

The Alpha King looked at me, his voice flat. "A patrol was attacked last night."

Damien's jaw sharpened. "By the Ironfang Pack."

A murmur rippled through the chamber. Ironfang, our oldest rival, the name alone enough to darken every face in the room. My father set a bloodstained piece of cloth on the table. "The patrol found this near the attack site."

Victor leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the fabric. "That is not Ironfang's insignia. Their warriors wear silver wolf marks. This is black." Adrian's expression hardened. "So someone wants us to believe Ironfang attacked us."

"Exactly," my father said. I stayed silent, arms crossed tight against my chest, until Beta Ronan turned toward me, his calm gaze pinning me in place. "Kael, you were in the southern district yesterday."

I stiffened. "Yes." Damien turned on him instantly. "What are you implying?"

"I am asking a question," Ronan said evenly. "Kael saw the southern trade routes. If someone wanted to move weapons into Bloodmoon territory, he may have noticed something."

My throat tightened around the words. "I did not see anything."

"Think carefully."

I hated the weight of every gaze in that room. I forced myself to remember, the warehouses, the crowded market stalls, the guards, the merchants haggling over crates. Then something surfaced.

"A red wagon," I said.

The room went silent. "What about it?" Victor asked, straightening.

"It was parked behind one of the warehouses."

"What was unusual about it?"

I frowned, trying to pull the memory sharper. "I do not know. The driver was not wearing a pack insignia."

Victor stood fully. "How many guards?"

"Two."

"Did you see their faces?"

"No."

Damien exhaled sharply. "So we have nothing."

I looked at him, heat rising in my chest. "We have something."

"No. You have a wagon." His tone was dismissive, cutting. "Unless you plan to interrogate every merchant in the territory."

My temper flared before I could stop it. "At least I am trying."

His eyes hardened. "You always do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like being kind makes you useful."

The words landed harder than I expected, and my fists curled at my sides. I stepped toward him. "And you act like being cruel makes you strong."

Whispers erupted across the chamber. My father slammed his palm against the table, and silence returned instantly. "Enough." He looked between us. "You will investigate the wagon."

I blinked. "Me?"

"Yes."

Damien's face went furious. "Father—"

"You will accompany him."

Damien froze mid-protest, and my father's voice left no room for argument. "If this attack is connected to the forged documents, then whoever is targeting Kael may be connected to the border incident. Find the truth."

The southern market was crowded, and for once I was not walking through it as a servant. People bowed as we passed. Others whispered behind their hands. I hated every second of it.

Damien walked beside me, looking entirely at ease. "You are staring."

"I am thinking," I said.

"You do that often?"

I frowned at him, and he almost smiled, the corner of his mouth twitching before he caught himself.

A merchant approached and bowed low. "Your Highness."

Damien stopped in front of him. "Where is the red wagon?"

The man's expression flickered. "I do not know what you mean."

I stepped forward, my patience already thin. "I saw it yesterday."

"I do not."

"You are lying."

The merchant backed away, and Damien's hand closed around my shoulder. "Kael."

I turned on him. "What?"

"Stop."

"He knows something."

"You are frightening him."

"So?"

Damien held my gaze, unflinching. "That is your problem. You think force will solve everything."

I pulled free of his grip. "I am not forcing him."

"You are."

The merchant bolted before either of us could say more. Without thinking, I chased him.

"Kael!" Damien shouted behind me.

I ignored him and followed the man into a narrow alley, my footsteps echoing off stone. The merchant vanished around a corner, and three men stepped into his place instead.

My stomach dropped. One struck me across the face before I could raise a hand, and I stumbled hard into the wall. Another grabbed my jacket, dragging me forward. I fought back, swinging wildly, but I was outnumbered, and a fist drove into my ribs with a force that stole my breath entirely. I collapsed against the stone, pain blooming white-hot through my side.

My wolf tried to rise inside me, some instinct clawing for control, but fear drowned it completely. For one terrible second, I was exactly the weak boy everyone already believed me to be.

Then a roar tore through the alley. Damien.

He crashed into the nearest attacker with brutal speed, and the fight ended almost as quickly as it began, the men scattering into the shadows. Damien stood over me, chest heaving.

"You idiot."

I tried to push myself up. My legs gave out beneath me. He caught my arm before I hit the ground again.

"I told you to stop," he said, voice tight.

"I almost had him."

"You almost got yourself killed."

I looked away, jaw clenched. "I did not need your help."

His grip tightened around my arm. "Yes, you did." Then, quieter, almost unwillingly, "You did."

I had no answer for that. He hauled me to my feet, and his eyes caught the blood at the corner of my mouth. Something shifted in his expression, brief and unguarded, real concern flashing through before he buried it beneath his usual mask. "Come on."

By evening I sat in the palace infirmary while a healer wrapped my ribs in tight linen, and I hated every second of it, not for the pain but for the weakness underneath it. The fact that I had frozen.

The door opened. Lyra stepped inside, and her eyes found my bruised face instantly. She stopped mid-step. "Kael."

"I am fine."

"Do not," she said, walking closer, voice sharp with worry.

"Do not what?"

"Do not lie to me." She reached out and touched my cheek, and I flinched at the contact. Her expression softened instantly. "Does it hurt?"

"Not much."

Her fingers traced the bruise carefully, gently, and I caught her wrist without thinking. She looked into my eyes, and neither of us spoke. The room felt suddenly, dangerously quiet.

"You scared me," she whispered.

"I am sorry."

"Do you know what I imagined when Damien told me?" She shook her head before I could answer. "That I would never see you again."

My chest tightened painfully. "Lyra."

She leaned closer, her forehead nearly brushing mine, close enough that I could feel her breath warm against my skin. "You cannot keep throwing yourself into danger."

"I had to."

"No." Her voice was steady, fierce. "You do not have to prove your worth by getting hurt."

I looked down, shame curling in my stomach. "I wanted to help."

"I know." Her fingers slid from my cheek down to my hand, lacing between mine. "You always want to help everyone." She smiled, sad and soft at once. "But who helps you?"

I did not answer. Her eyes filled with something raw. "I will."

My heart pounded against my ribs, painful and alive. She leaned in slowly, and for one suspended moment I thought she might kiss me on the mouth. Instead, she pressed her lips gently against my bruised cheek, warm and lingering.

My entire body went still.

She pulled back slowly, cheeks flushed pink. "That is for surviving."

I stared at her, breath uneven. "Then I might start surviving more often."

She laughed softly, the sound wrapping around my chest like warmth. "Do not tempt me." Her fingers stayed intertwined with mine, neither of us willing to let go first.

Neither of us noticed the figure standing just outside the half-open door.

Damien had seen everything.

Later that night, my father summoned me alone. I entered his study to find him standing beside the window, silhouetted against the moonlight.

"You disobeyed orders today," he said without turning.

"Yes."

"You chased an unknown suspect without backup."

"Yes."

"You nearly died."

I swallowed hard. "Yes."

He finally turned to face me. "Why?"

I hesitated. "Because I wanted to prove I could help."

His expression hardened. "That is your weakness."

"You think being weak is my problem," I said, lifting my chin.

"No." He stepped closer, eyes locked on mine. "Your problem is that you are desperate to prove you are not. One day that desperation will get someone killed."

I lowered my eyes. "Then what should I do?"

"Learn." He walked past me toward the door. "Tomorrow you will train with the royal guard."

I looked up, startled. "Father?"

"You are not ready to lead anyone." His eyes met mine, something almost like patience buried in them. "But perhaps you can become ready."

I left the study with feelings tangled too tightly to name. Not praise. Not forgiveness. But not rejection either.

Lyra waited near my door, and her face brightened the moment she saw me. "How did it go?"

I sighed. "I was punished."

She stepped closer, brow furrowing. "What did you do?"

"I have to train with the guards."

Her mouth curved into a smile. "Good."

"Good?"

"Yes." She touched my arm, warmth spreading from the contact. "Maybe now you will stop getting beaten up."

I laughed despite everything, and she looked into my eyes, her expression turning gentle and serious all at once. "Kael."

"Yes?"

"Do not become someone else just to make them respect you." Her voice softened further. "Become stronger because you deserve to be safe."

I stared at her, throat tight. She squeezed my hand once, then walked away, and I watched her disappear down the corridor until the shadows swallowed her completely.

For the first time, I understood something I had never let myself admit. My greatest enemy might not be Damien. It might not even be the people who hated me on sight.

It might be the part of me that had spent years believing I was worthless.

And if I could not defeat that part of myself, how could I ever protect Lyra, survive my brothers, or possibly still be standing when the entire royal family eventually came crashing down around me.