Chapter 209: The circle’s use

EDELINA

A small, broken laugh escaped her. It was an ugly sound, brittle around the edges and wet with tears.

"Your Majesty, if I had the power to save my father, do you honestly think I would be sitting here?" She wiped her cheeks with the heel of her palm. "I am a Luna without a pack strong enough to stand against Alpha Lysander. I am the daughter of an imprisoned Alpha, and the man responsible for his imprisonment is about to become King. Lysander holds the greatest power in the kingdom. What am I supposed to do against that?"

"Nothing," I said.

She blinked.

"Nothing at all, if you intend to fight him with the power you currently possess."

Her tears stopped falling, though they continued to cling to her lashes.

I watched the confusion settle over her features, followed by something more cautious. She was beginning to understand that I had not invited her here simply to commiserate over her father’s misfortune.

"Wait a minute." She straightened in her chair, her fingers tightening around one another. "What would you gain from helping me?"

At last, a sensible question.

"You are supposed to hate me," she continued. "My father and I betrayed a longstanding alliance with your family for the sake of what we were promised. We turned our backs on your son the moment we thought the balance of power had shifted against Johann."

She hesitated, then looked me directly in the eyes.

"Johann, I could understand. He might help me because he genuinely cared about me. But you?"

I set my teacup down with deliberate care.

"I am not a ruthless woman, Amaranthine."

She studied me in silence.

It was almost amusing how little she believed me.

"Power has a way of compromising people," I continued. "And absolute power has a way of revealing just how much they are willing to sacrifice to obtain it. Your father wanted to amplify his pack. You wanted a future in which no one could look down on you again. A crown, a royal title, a place in the history books." I tilted my head. "Those are powerful incentives, particularly for people who have spent their lives being reminded of what they lack."

Her jaw tightened, but she did not interrupt.

"I understand your choices, even if I disapprove of the manner in which you made them. A father will do almost anything to secure his pack’s future, and a daughter may be willing to do even more to secure her own. I might have made similar choices at your age."

"You would have betrayed your own son?"

"Do not mistake understanding for approval." My smile thinned. "And do not mistake my willingness to hear you out for forgiveness."

She lowered her eyes.

"But if you understand why we did it, then why would you help me?"

"Because I am not a kind woman either."

The warmth left my voice, and I watched her register the change.

There was no point pretending otherwise. Kindness was a virtue people praised in public and exploited in private. I had survived too long in this palace to confuse it with power.

"I want something from this arrangement, Amaranthine. I want my son on that throne, and I intend to see him there."

I leaned forward, resting my hands on the table between us.

"Lysander may have the strength, the alliances, and the loyalty of those who believe he is destined to rule. But he is not the only person in this kingdom who knows how to play a game of power."

I held her gaze.

"And if you are as desperate to save your father as you claim to be, then perhaps we can be of use to each other."

Her lips parted. She tried to hide her flinch, but I caught it.

"Forgive me if this sounds rude," she said carefully. "But how would that even be possible? The late King’s decree was explicit. He named Lysander in his will."

"Anything can be amended."

"Not by..."

"Anything." I leaned back in my chair, resisting the urge to rub at the sudden ache behind my eyes. "Surely you have noticed how unsafe this kingdom has become since he took the throne. A stronghold like ours, reduced to a fucking circus. Assassins in the great hall. Bodies in the infirmary. Heads on the courtyard stones." I shook my head, letting my disgust show. "My husband has been dead for days, and we have scarcely enjoyed a week of peace since."

Amaranthine fell silent.

I watched her consider my words, wondering how much of the kingdom’s unrest she had witnessed for herself and how much she had gathered from the servants and courtiers who whispered behind closed doors.

When she finally spoke, her voice had changed. It was more thoughtful now, measured in the way of someone who had been listening to gossip in precisely the right rooms.

"It might have been that way at first," she conceded. "His claim was certainly polarizing. Half the court thought he was too young, and the other half thought he was too quiet to command the respect of the packs."

She turned her teacup slowly in its saucer.

"But that was before the healer girl arrived."

My jaw tightened.

"She is a Blue Moon phenomenon, Your Majesty. People speak about her in the corridors as though she stepped straight out of scripture." She glanced at me before returning her attention to her tea. "His claim is hardly polarizing anymore. Many are already calling his coming reign blessed, touched by the goddess herself. They say that is why our enemies have suddenly begun crawling out of the woodwork, because the goddess has returned to place her chosen king on the throne."

She hesitated, then added, "They compare it to the era of the White Lord and his healer."

A laugh burst out of me.

It was a high, ugly sound, far too loud for the delicate glass room. Amaranthine flinched, and I pressed my knuckles beneath one eye as though I could wipe away the tears of mirth gathering there.

"The White Lord and his healer," I repeated, still laughing. "How very convenient."

I had heard the comparisons, of course. Everyone had. The servants repeated them over their washbasins, the courtiers dressed them up in elegant language at dinner, and the elders invoked ancient prophecies whenever they needed to make an inconvenient political development sound divinely ordained.

A girl with an unusual gift appeared at Lysander’s side, and suddenly every dead wolf became a sacrifice, every enemy a test of his divine right, and every failure an unfortunate consequence of the goddess preparing her chosen ruler for greatness.

It was a beautiful story.

That was precisely what made it so dangerous.

"Well," I said, finally recovering myself, "that is about to change."

Amaranthine looked up sharply. "How?"

"And you, my dear, are going to be the catalyst."

She went very still.

"Me?"

"The late King’s decree remains in force." I raised one finger. "He intended Lysander to marry a Chonto. A Chonto, and no one else. He made his wishes known, and he committed them to a legal document. That was not a casual suggestion to be discarded the moment his successor found himself infatuated with another woman."

Amaranthine’s expression tightened, but she said nothing.

"The girl, the breeder, still carries the rank he intended her to have. Mate or not." I dismissed the distinction with a flick of my fingers. "Their bond is a private matter. He can keep her as his soulmate for all I care. He can build her a shrine in his bedroom, for all the difference it makes to me. But you were meant to be Queen."

I leaned forward.

"She can be a consort, a companion, or whatever pretty name the court decides to give a woman who shares the King’s bed without wearing his crown. That is a matter for him to settle in private. The succession, however, is a matter for the kingdom."

A faint flush crept across Amaranthine’s cheeks. She lowered her eyes briefly, but she did not look away from me when she raised them again.

Good. I needed her angry, not embarrassed.

"So you will appeal to the elders," I continued, allowing my voice to soften. "Lysander may hold the throne, but that does not mean he is beyond question. There will always be checks and balances, no matter how powerful a king believes himself to be. That is how we prevent the crown from becoming a monster that devours everything around it."