LIAM'S POV.
"Alpha Zambia needs our help?" Elder Ping sneered, the sound like a jagged blade against glass.
"We can't just turn our backs on him now," Elder Hamel replied, his voice heavy with a sadness that reached his eyes. "Those rogues... they've bled for our soldiers more times than I can count. If our borders aren't littered with the bodies of our young men, it's because of their help. Help we didn't even ask for."
*Bang!*
The sound echoed through the council hall, a violent vibration that made my teeth ache. Elder Ping stood, his white garment flowing around him like a shroud of pure arrogance. "Insolence! Hamel, how dare you? Our kingdom, our nation... you want us to crawl into the dirt with a pack of rogues? To fight in a war that belongs to monsters?"
His gaze was a sharpened arrow, aimed straight at Hamel's heart. He didn't just want to win the argument; he wanted to draw blood.
"Yes. We should," Hamel countered.
He didn't scream. He didn't even flinch. He just opened and closed his eyes in a slow, rhythmic beat, his expression terrifyingly calm. It was the ultimate middle finger.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Ping staggered back a step, his face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.
*Bang!* Another hit to the table, even louder this time. "Hamel, when did you decide you were my equal?" Ping's voice went up a notch, vibrating with a desperate need for control. "I am the Grand Elder of this council. I am the law here".
He stood tall, his shoulders practically oozing a dark, suffocating pride. He wanted to look like a king, and feel like a tyrant.
Hamel just shook his head, a sad, mocking half-smile playing on his lips. "When did I start? I suppose it was the exact moment some lost their brains
He lowered his head slightly, the gesture looking more like a funeral rite than a sign of respect. The air in the room didn't just feel tense anymore—it felt like a war zone. And the first shot had already been fired.
The hatred between these two was carved into stone long before I took the throne as the Northern Lord. If the old stories were right, it all started eighty years ago over a marriage contract. Ping had promised the former Beta's daughter to his own son—a deal made the second the children were born. But she had other plans. She fell for Hamel's son, and they tied the knot in secret, leaving Ping humiliated.
A debt like that? In our world, it never gets paid off. It just rots.
I took a slow breath in, then out.
The council hall fell into a silence so thick it felt like it was suffocating the air. Even the wind seemed to sense the shift in the room. A sudden, violent gust slammed against the windows, forcing the glides open with a heavy, mocking crash.
Hamel and Ping both froze, their bodies shivering as if the temperature had dropped to sub-zero. Ping's gaze flickered eastward, his eyes widening with a sudden, jagged fear as they landed on Elder Miguel.
"Lord, we shall send troops," Miguel said, his voice cutting through the tension. "I will personally lead them."
I gave a short, sharp nod. The hall stayed deathly quiet. I could feel the heat of their anxiety radiating off them, a frantic pulse that didn't affect me in the slightest.
"About the girl who fought you the other day," Miguel continued. His voice was calm, but it had a rigid, icy edge. His eyes remained closed. "Regardless of the circumstances, Lord, she must serve as a monument. You need to set your footing in this region. They need to know who is in charge."
His head rose slowly, a predatory movement that made my skin prickle.
"She should be dragged," he said, the words cold and final. "Hands tied to a horse, paraded around the entire region for all to see…"
The air in my lungs turned to lead. I thought of her—the fire in her eyes, the way she hadn't flinched when we clashed. And now, they wanted to break her.
I didn't blink. I didn't even move a muscle as the suggestion hung in the air like the scent of fresh blood. The councilmen held their collective breath, waiting for a crack in my armor, a sign of mercy, or a roar of approval.
They got neither.
I leaned back, on my throne creaking under my weight—the only sound in the suffocating room. I let the silence stretch, long and agonizing, until Ping and Hamel were practically vibrating with nerves.
"A monument," I repeated, the word tasting like cold iron. I turned my gaze toward Miguel. My eyes were flat, devoid of the heat they expected. "You think my footing is so weak that I need to bleed a girl to keep it?"
Miguel's throat bobbed, but he didn't look away. "It is about the message, Lord. The Northern Region must know that rebellion ends in agony."
"The message," I echoed, a dark, sharp smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. It wasn't a kind smile. It was the look of a predator deciding which part of the prey to eat first. "Very well."
I stood up slowly, my presence filling the room until the walls felt too small. I looked down at them, my shadow stretching across the council table like a shroud.
"If she is to be a monument, she will be *mine* to carve," I said, my voice dropping to a low, lethal rumble. "Tie her? Parade her? No. That is a quick death for a weak mind. I want her broken in a way that doesn't leave scars on the skin, but on the soul."
I walked toward the door, my boots clicking rhythmically against the stone. I stopped at the threshold, not looking back.
"Bring her to my chambers tonight. If anyone touches her before I do—if a single hair on her head is harmed by anyone other than me—I will ensure your heads are the next monuments the North sees."
I slammed the door behind me, the sound final and cold. They wanted ruthless? I would show them a version of it that would make their blood run cold. Because in this game, if I didn't own her completely, they would destroy her immediately. And I wasn't finished with her yet.