It had been a week since Rowan vanished from the Vlandia kingdom and still no trace of him had surfaced. His brother, Rhydan, worked tirelessly and in silence, sending trusted men to search every corner while concealing his desperation from prying eyes.
Yet no matter how many leads he pursued, Rowan remained a shadow lost to the wind. Ravik, on the other hand, maintained his cold indifference, moving through the days as though his omega son's disappearance were of no consequence. What he failed to realize was that his alpha heir was defying him quietly, refusing to abandon his younger brother to the void.
Meanwhile, Magnus had unleashed a storm of his own within the royal court. In a decision that shook the foundation of his bloodline, he had his own mother, Maliah Duskbane, imprisoned after uncovering her monstrous crimes—stealing away commoner children of rare beauty and selling them into slavery across distant kingdoms.
The heavy gates of the Duskbane estate thundered open as Magnus strode forward, his black cloak trailing behind him like a shadow and dozens of knights followed in his wake, steel boots striking against the stone floors with a rhythm that silenced the entire palace.
No longer did he move at his mother's command—this was Magnus's march and his will carried out by his men.
When the doors of the grand hall were flung open, Maliah rose from her gilded seat with fury twisting her once-dignified face. "Magnus," she spat, her voice cutting across the silence, "what is the meaning of this?"
"Arrest her…"
Her demand went unanswered as the knights surged forward. She staggered back as they seized her arms, dragging her down from her seat of power like a common criminal.
"How could you do this to me, Magnus? I'm your mother!" she screamed, her voice raw with disbelief and rage.
But Magnus stood unmoving at the foot of the dais. For so long he had been her puppet, dancing on the strings of her ambition and bound by guilt and filial duty but not anymore. His gaze did not waver as she was pulled past him and her jeweled gown tearing against the knights' gauntlets.
"You really are shameful, Mother," he murmured, low enough for only himself to hear. "I will not tolerate your greed any longer."
"Unhand me!" Maliah shrieked while thrashing in vain against the iron grips that bound her.
"Do you know who I am? I am the Duchess Mother of Duskbane! No guard dares lay a hand on me without a consequence!" Her voice grew shrill, rising higher as panic began to bleed through her fury.
Then she jerked her head toward the gathering servants and attendants who had begun to cluster in the hallways, drawn by the commotion. "All of you, witness this outrage! This is treason against your lady! Speak, damn you! Defend me!"
But the crowd did not move.
The servants whispered behind their hands, pale-faced and trembling. What's happening…Why is his grace arresting the duchess? one muttered. What about the Patriarch…? another asked.
A few of the attendants turned their eyes away, unwilling to meet her gaze and fearing the stain of her disgrace would cling to them. Where once her presence commanded reverence, now there was only fear, murmurs and the rustle of scandal spreading like fire through dry grass.
"Magnus!" she cried again, her voice breaking as the knights dragged her toward the doors.
"Magnus, you ungrateful brat! After all I have done to raise you! You owe me everything! You are nothing without me!"
Her screams echoed across the estate, carried through the marble corridors and out into the courtyards where servants stood frozen while watching the fall of the Duchess Mother. And whispers spread like wildfire, scandal searing itself into the memory of Duskbane.
But the betrayal cut even deeper than her crimes alone.
When the evidence surfaced, it was revealed that Magnus's grandfather, Lord Ardan who was once revered as the proud patriarch of the ducal house—had stood by her side, aiding in the selling of children into chains. Both now rotted in the dungeons, stripped of privilege and dignity while awaiting the trial before the ducal council.
Their legacy, once a pillar of nobility now lay shattered and blackened beyond repair yet their fate did not weigh on Magnus.
Their downfall was but a necessary step, a sacrifice demanded for the cleansing of his house. What mattered now was his reign—his sovereignty. No longer would he be the puppet of his mother's greed nor the pawn of corrupted bloodlines. This was not the chaos of a reckless son but the deliberate defiance of a Grand Duke determined to carve his reign with his own hands.
His rebellion was not born from rage but from resolve.
Later, in his private chambers, Magnus bent over a desk littered with parchments, maps and half-burned scrolls. The firelight cast sharp shadows over his face as he scanned document after document with relentless focus.
"Your Grace," came a steady voice.
Lucas, his aide and the twin brother of Luke, bowed before him. "Luke's men have already infiltrated the Patriarch's estate. What are your orders?"
Magnus did not look up.
His eyes narrowed on a ledger before him and his jaw tightening as if locking away every trace of hesitation. "Collect every piece of evidence you can find—documents, ledgers, records, anything that will prove their guilt. I will not allow them to escape punishment for these crimes."
His hand brushed aside another scroll, rifling through the chaos on his desk with cold determination. "Their corruption ends here."
And for the first time in his life, Magnus knew he was no longer anyone's pawn. He was the Grand Duke—master of Duskbane and a wielder of his own destiny.
"Understood, Your Grace. Then, I will take my leave."
After hours of combing through the ledgers, Magnus finally leaned back, his fingers smudged with ink and his mind heavy with revelation. Every page he turned, every hidden record he uncovered only to confirmed the dreadful truth that his mother and grandfather had been running their vile trade for far longer than he could have imagined.
The numbers stretched back years, even decades, a legacy of cruelty and greed written in careful, damning lines.
Then a bitter sigh escaped his lips as he pressed a hand against his temple.
"Did Father even know of this?" he murmured into the silence of his chamber.
But the question lingered and unanswered, as his eyes drifted upward toward the ceiling, as though the cracked beams could offer clarity where his own thoughts could not.
For a moment, Magnus let the ledgers slip from his desk while their pages fluttering against the floor and allowed himself to retreat from the world of treachery and politics. Then he sank onto his bed with the stern mask of an heir slipping away into something more fragile,
more human.
And then, as though drawn by instinct, his thoughts wandered to Rowan.
His chest tightened and his composure faltered as the corners of his lips curved in the faintest, most private smile with blush warming in his face. Closing his eyes, he let the memory of the prince linger—his laughter, his presence and the quiet comfort he brought.
But the warmth of memory turned quickly into a fire.
His body flushed hot with a shiver running down his spine as his hand slipped lower, driven by a hunger he could no longer suppress. Then he touched himself with hesitant strokes at first as though ashamed but the thought of Rowan—his smile, his voice and the way his gaze softened—pushed Magnus past hesitation.
His breath grew ragged, breaking in quiet, needy gasps.
"My prince… I miss you," he whispered with the confession trembling out of him, his voice thin and raw. Each movement only tightened the coil of pleasure as he squeezed his eyes shut, imagining that it was Rowan's hand guiding him and surrounding him.
The ache in his chest mingled with the sharp rush of desire until it was unbearable.
His back even arched with a muffled moan escaping as he came undone, spilling over his hand while Rowan's name ghosted past his lips. The release left him trembling while his body was quivering with both shame and aching relief.
Panting, he pulled his arms around himself while hugging his own body tightly as though in doing so, he could pretend it was Rowan's embrace. In that fragile aftermath, the burden of betrayal and duty faded, leaving only the raw, tender ache of longing and desire.
"I will come to you, I promise," he whispered into the silence with voice unsteady but filled with resolve.
"So please… wait for me and take care of yourself until then."