Kieran's POV
The underground living room was quiet. The kind of silence that came not from peace but from the weight of everything unsaid.
I sat alone on the middle couch, elbows resting on my knees, eyes locked on the floor like it had all the answers I didn't. The others surrounded me, Cyrin, Astrid, Magnus, Varya, Thorin, the handful of survivors from our blood-soaked war, and Lorraine.
The air was thick with tension, with expectation. They had just named me king.
Alpha King.
It echoed in my head like a curse.
I didn't ask for this. I never wanted it.
My father wore the title like it was part of his skin, brutal, brilliant, untouchable. Every decision he made rippled through the kingdom like gospel. Every mistake he buried in fire and silence.
Me?
I was the son who broke rules, the prince who disobeyed, the wolf who let his emotions claw at his sense of duty. How the hell was I supposed to rule a kingdom when I couldn't even hold myself together?
