Chapter 132: Collared by the Crown

LYSANDER

I should have counted my breaths. I should have measured the space between my heartbeats and forced them into submission.

I knew the diplomatic answer. I knew exactly what I was supposed to say, some careful, hedged phrase that acknowledged old contracts without setting fire to them outright.

But when I looked at Edelina’s face, at the red still bleeding through the whites of her eyes, at the satisfaction coiling in the corner of her mouth, I felt something inside me snap clean in half.

"Amaranthine will never be my mate." The words fell out of my mouth before I could catch them, heavy and final as stones dropped into deep water. "She will not be my partner, my queen, or anything at all."

The silence that followed had texture. I could feel it pressing against my skin, thick and suffocating.

Edelina blinked once, slowly, like a predator catching scent of wounded prey. "Never?" She drew the word out, tasting it. "How curious. You do realize this creates rather a significant conflict regarding the royal seat itself?"

Edelina’s mouth then curved, slow and satisfied, like she’d been waiting for me to hand her exactly that.

I said nothing. My hands had curled into fists again, the knuckles screaming from their earlier work against Johann’s face.

"The blessings and the aura of the goddess herself were called upon to witness the years-long arrangement," Edelina continued, her voice dropping to something almost sympathetic, which made it worse. "You are aware that thrones do not exist in isolation, Lysander. They come with obligations attached. Alliances and promises." She paused, letting her gaze drift toward the high windows where afternoon light slanted through the stained glass and painted the floor in fractured reds and golds. "Amaranthine only became entangled with this family because you refused her. Do you remember that? You cast her aside, and so she became Johann’s alternative, or rather... the throne’s companion, much like the crown itself. You cannot separate them now any more than you could separate the scepter from the hand that wields it."

I could hear Bradley breathing beside me, shallow and careful.

"But of course," Edelina added, her smile returning, thin and sharp as a blade, "you can reject it. Just as you rejected her. The throne, the alliance, the entire arrangement. You have proven yourself quite capable of rejection, haven’t you?"

My jaw ached from clenching it. "This meeting was convened to address the matter of Bonnie and my cousin," I spoke slowly, each word deliberate, fighting to keep my voice level. "The attack. The violation of my direct orders. I find myself wondering why the goalposts appear to be shifting. Why we have moved from adjudicating violence to discussing my personal romantic history."

I looked around the semicircle of elders, watching their faces carefully. Several nodded, murmuring among themselves. The presiding elder raised one hand, his fingers gnarled and spotted with age.

"While that is true," he acknowledged, his voice carrying the weight of decades spent parsing legal minutiae, "the matter of succession is equally important. The two are not separate but intertwined. Who sits beside the Alpha King, especially when it is the case of a promised marriage, determines the stability of the realm. Just as who holds influence over the healer who has already demonstrated lethal capability determines the security of the court. These questions cannot be compartmentalized. They bleed into one another, as you well know."

I turned to Bradley. He stood rigid, his shoulders squared, his eyes fixed on some point beyond the elders’ table. I needed something. Anything. A lever to pry this conversation away from my throat and redirect it toward the woman who had orchestrated this entire disaster.

"The blood," I muttered, low enough that only he could hear. "Do we have something? Anything?"

He glanced at me, a flash of understanding passing between us. If we could prove Johann was illegitimate, if we could undermine Edelina’s position entirely, this entire farce would crumble.

"The test result is not yet ready," he whispered back, his lips barely moving. "I have also not received word from my contacts about the healing witches. What I do know is that the samples require more time."

I faced the elders again, spreading my hands in a gesture of forced reasonableness. "I have not yet taken the throne. That discussion can wait."

The presiding elder stroked his beard, considering. "Yes," he agreed finally. "That can be discussed later. When you have assumed the seat properly."

"Now," he continued, straightening the papers before him, "for the verdict regarding this morning’s events."

My stomach twisted. I could feel sweat gathering at the base of my spine, cold and unwelcome.

"What occurred with Prince Johann was, of course, horrible," the elder began, his tone measured and judicial. "An assault upon royalty cannot be dismissed lightly. However, the circumstances complicate matters significantly. This connection between the regent and the healer, this mate bond he claims, introduces elements we have not encountered in living memory. The ancient texts speak of such bonds, but we have no modern precedent for how they affect questions of culpability and jurisdiction."

He paused, gathering his thoughts. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

"However," he continued, and I heard the word land like a stone, "the healer cannot be recognized as a legitimate future queen at the moment. The protocols governing succession have been established for generations, and a promise has been made. They are immutable. There is no leeway here, no mechanism by which this healer, of unknown origins, with abilities we do not fully understand, can be elevated to that station and let free."

I felt the blood draining from my face.

"Therefore," the elder pressed on, "we must find an alternative means of ensuring accountability. A specially crafted magical collar will be created for the girl. Wrought of silver and specific alloys designed to suppress her anomalous abilities. She will wear it continuously, and only you, as her alleged bonded mate and future Alpha, will possess the means to temporarily release those powers when circumstance demands."

The room tilted. I gripped the arms of my chair to keep myself anchored.

"That is barbaric." The words came out hoarse, scraped raw from my throat.

Bradley’s hand found my shoulder, pressing down with warning pressure. I shook him off.

"For generations," I continued, my voice rising despite my efforts to control it, "healers have been abused by us. By their own people. We hunted them. We feared them. We drove them to the brink of extinction through our cruelty and our ignorance. And now, when one finally returns to us, when a healer chooses to save my life and serve this kingdom, the immediate response for a mistake is to shackle her? To collar her like some dangerous animal?" I looked from face to face, searching for any sign of comprehension, any flicker of shame. "Do you hear yourselves? Do you understand what you are proposing?"

The presiding elder’s expression hardened. "There must be punishment regardless of these sentimental appeals. The healer assaulted royalty. She used abilities that frighten the populace. For such an offense, others would be beheaded. This collar represents mercy. A slap on the wrist, as the common folk say. She will live. She will retain her position and be by your side. She will simply be... managed."

I heard Edelina shift in her seat, fabric rustling against leather. When I looked at her, some of the tension had left her shoulders. Relief softened the lines around her mouth, though her eyes remained calculating.

"Not quite enough," she murmured, almost to herself. Then, louder: "But if the council sees this as appropriate, I will accept it. At least my son will heal. And once he recovers, this girl will no longer pose a threat to him or anyone. Which is what matters the most."