Page 44 of Pregnant, Rejected and Exiled By the Lycan King (Forbidden Alpha Kings #45)

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Damon

The great hall still trembled with the echoes of Lucinda’s exit, her final curse lingering in the air like smoke after a battlefield fire. No one moved. My mother’s departure had left a crater in the room, an emotional vacuum that sucked all breath and certainty from the pack’s gathered leadership.

Then they turned to me.

“What proof do you offer for this confession?” Yates was first to speak, his voice carefully modulated with caution. “We cannot accept royal guilt on word alone. You ask us to believe you killed your brother in a blood rage... for what? For touching an omega?”

I did not flinch. “I ask you to believe the truth. I lost control. I smelled my mate in distress, followed it, and found Laziel in her quarters, uninvited, aroused, and making demands. My wolf reacted. I didn’t think. I didn’t choose. I attacked.”

Several council members exchanged glances. Whispers stirred. The term alpha rage wasn’t new. But to admit it publicly, with no attempt to soften the truth, was rare enough to silence even Hampton, for the moment.

“I did not intend to kill my brother,” I continued. “But I did. And I tried to cover it up without realizing. That, too, is mine to own.”

A hush fell, broken only by the heavy double doors swinging open. Carlton entered with the measured precision of a soldier carrying live explosives. He held a secure folder in one hand, a holopad in the other.

“We’ve completed a full forensic re-examination,” he announced without preamble. “Blood trace, scent layering, security timestamps. All confirm Alpha Damon’s account.”

He placed the pad on the central table and tapped it, displaying three overlapping heat maps and claw pattern analysis. Murmurs rippled outward.

Carlton turned toward me, nodding slightly, then added: “We also have a private statement from Rhea Thornback. She confirms that Laziel entered her room unannounced, attempted to assert dominance, and that she called out mentally for her mate. The timeline aligns with Damon’s arrival and the start of the attack. ”

The effect was immediate.

Yates leaned back, jaw tight with reluctant understanding. Morell exhaled slowly, shaking his head. Even Hampton, still nursing his bruised ego from earlier, looked momentarily silenced.

“So the Omega’s distress triggered an unbound alpha response,” Yates muttered. “You didn’t kill your brother as a rival. You reacted to a mating threat.”

“That doesn’t absolve me,” I said, voice even. “But it does explain the loss of control. I don’t seek forgiveness. I seek acknowledgement of the truth.”

Morell was the first to nod. “You acted on instinct, not malice. It was a failure, but not betrayal. A punishment may still be warranted… but not condemnation.”

“Then what?” Hampton growled. “A slap on the wrist? A council-issued apology?”

“No,” Carlton said quietly. “But if we punish an alpha for responding to a direct threat to his mate, we set a precedent that endangers every bonded pair in this pack.”

That landed harder than anything I could’ve said. The council was full of mated alphas, fathers, bonded guards. The implications hit home.

I waited, letting the silence churn as they weighed duty against instinct, politics against bonds.

“Very well,” Yates said finally. “We accept your confession. The consequences can be debated. But no further deception. No more lies.”

“No more lies,” I repeated.

Only then did the tension shift, less absolution than grim détente. But it was a start.

***

The council chamber reeked of cigars and barely contained hostility, the same toxic combination that had flavored every meeting since my confession two weeks ago.

I sat at the head of the ancient oak table, maintaining the appearance of control while my kingdom fractured along invisible fault lines.

Half the council admired what they called courageous honesty.

The other half whispered about instability, about an Lycan King who couldn’t control his own blood rage.

“The Northern Alliance has formally withdrawn from the trade agreement,” Hampton announced with barely concealed satisfaction. He’d been the most vocal about my “weakness” since that morning in the great hall. “They cite concerns about dealing with a self-confessed kinslayer.”

“Let them withdraw,” I kept my voice level despite the financial implications. “We won’t build alliances on lies anymore.”

“Noble words,” Yates interjected, his thin face pinched with disapproval. “But nobility doesn’t fill pack coffers. We’ve lost three major contracts this week alone. At this rate, we’ll be bankrupt before the pups are born.”

The casual mention of my children sent a protective growl through my chest that I barely suppressed. Everyone knew about the twins now, pack gossip had spread that news within days of my confession. Some saw it as hope for the future. Others whispered about cursed bloodlines and omega manipulation.

“The pack’s stability matters more than profit,” I countered, though the words tasted hollow. Stability was exactly what we didn’t have.

“Stability?” Hampton laughed, the sound sharp as breaking glass. “Three alphas have already declared their intention to challenge your rule. The eastern territories are in open discussion about secession. This isn’t stability, it’s dissolution.”

“Because I told the truth?” I asked, voice low.

“No,” Morell said. “Because they don’t know what you’ll do next. Kings who confess to fratricide don’t often return to their thrones. And you didn’t just return. You kept your crown and brought the omega with you.”

Yates nodded reluctantly. “We need a stabilizing gesture. Not to punish you, this isn’t about justice anymore. It’s about narrative control.”

“What kind of gesture?” I asked, wary of what they’d suggest.

“A royal edict reaffirming command. Reassert your authority, not just over the council, but over yourself. Let the pack see that you are capable of ruling with structure, not passion,” Morell said.

I considered them both. They weren’t wrong. The pack didn’t need more apologies. It needed leadership. Vision.

The litany of disasters continued for another hour. Lost alliances, withdrawn support, challenges both formal and informal. My father had built this kingdom over forty years of careful negotiation. I was watching it crumble in weeks, all because I’d chosen truth over comfortable lies.

“We need to bolster protection around Ms. Thornback,” Yates replied. “She’s no longer just your mate. She’s carrying the next generation. Political symbols matter, and she’s become one.”

“I won’t parade her,” I said flatly. “She’s not a leverage.”

“No one is asking for that,” Morell assured. “But visible, controlled security, just enough to remind the pack she’s guarded. And by extension, that the future is, too.”

Carlton stepped forward. “We’ve already increased her detail quietly. I can elevate it further. Add perimeter shields, double rotations, verify food lines.”

“Do it,” I said. “Quietly. If she notices changes, I’ll speak with her myself.”

“Then we’ll consider this matter addressed,” Yates said. “A course of action has been set.”

“Very well,” I concluded. “This meeting is adjourned.”

The walk from the council chambers to our private wing felt like crossing a battlefield.

I was still navigating the aftermath of my confession, and from the bowed heads in front of me, I knew it would take me some time to earn back their trust. But today felt like a small win.

We had reached a conclusion without anybody being threatened or claws being bared.

I found Rhea in the sitting room, curled in the window seat with a book she wasn’t reading.

The past two weeks had brought color back to her cheeks and softened the defensive angles of her shoulders.

But worry lived in her eyes now, the kind that came from sensing danger but not being able to identify its source.

She looked up as I entered, and I saw the moment she catalogued my exhaustion.

The council meeting had left its marks, tension in my jaw, the lingering scent of aggression from my altercation with Hampton.

Her nose wrinkled slightly, picking up the cocktail of hostile pheromones I carried like a second skin these days.

“Bad meeting?” she asked, setting aside the book.

“They’re all bad meetings lately.” I crossed to pour whiskey from the decanter, needing something to burn away the taste of political failure.

“You’re drowning in damage control. I understand.

” Her hand moved unconsciously to her belly, where the twins had been especially active lately.

“But something feels wrong, Damon. The servants won’t meet my eyes.

My food comes from different kitchens each meal.

Guards I’ve never seen before stand outside our door. ”

She was right. While I’d been fighting political fires, someone had been making subtle changes to her daily routine. Patterns disrupted, familiar faces replaced, small alterations that added up to something sinister. My wolf stirred uneasily, recognizing threats I’d been too distracted to see.

“I won’t let anything happen to you or our children.” The vow came out fiercer than intended, alpha instinct overriding political exhaustion.

“You can’t fight every battle alone.”

“I’m not alone,” I said, covering her hand with mine. “I have you.”

She studied my face for a long moment, seeming to weigh truths against lies, present actions against past betrayals. Then she leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead that felt like benediction.

“The twins need their father whole,” she said softly. “Don’t let the pack tear you apart before they’re born.”

The simple wisdom of it, the quiet support despite everything I’d done, threatened my composure more than any council hostility. I caught her hand, pressing it against my cheek, borrowing strength I desperately needed.

We prepared for bed with the careful choreography of two people relearning intimacy.

She changed in the bathroom while I checked locks and reviewed security reports.

When she emerged in one of my t-shirts that fell to her knees, the domesticity of it made my chest tight.

This was what we could have had from the beginning if pride and blood rage hadn’t poisoned everything.

The bed felt too large with the space maintained between us, but her presence alone eased the heaviness of the day.

I lay facing her, watching the twins’ movements play across her belly in the dim light.

They were active tonight, responding perhaps to their parents’ proximity after so much separation.

“Dr. Mira wants to see you tomorrow,” Rhea said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. “We’re starting week twenty-four. She says it’s important to check the twins’ development, especially with...”

Her hand found mine in the darkness, guiding it to where movement was strongest. “They’re bigger than they should be for twenty-four weeks. Dr. Mira says it’s because they’re alphas, but...”

“But she’s worried.” I felt the firm press of what might have been a foot against my palm. My children, growing stronger every day despite the chaos surrounding them. “What time is the appointment?”

“Ten in the morning. If you can make it with everything else…”

“I’ll be there.” The promise came instantly. Council meetings, political crises, pack challenges, none of it mattered against the health of my mate and children. “I should have been at every appointment. I’m sorry I haven’t been.”

“You’ve been trying to save a kingdom,” she said softly. “I understand the priorities.”

“You are the priority. You and them.” My hand spread wider across her belly, trying to encompass both twins. “The kingdom means nothing if I lose you.”

She was quiet for a long moment, processing the weight of that admission. In the darkness, with only the sound of our breathing and the occasional movement of our children, the truth of it settled between us like a third presence.

She shifted closer, closing the careful distance we’d maintained.

Her scent enveloped me, pregnancy hormones mixing with her natural sweetness and so uniquely Rhea that had driven me to madness and back.

I wrapped an arm around her carefully, mindful of her comfort and the precious cargo she carried.

“Tell me what else Dr. Mira said,” I prompted, needing to know every detail, every risk, every possibility I needed to prepare for.

“She wants to do more frequent ultrasounds. Weekly, maybe twice weekly as we get closer. She mentioned the possibility of bed rest if the twins continue growing at this rate.” Rhea’s hand covered mine on her belly.

“And she wants to test your blood against mine, something about compatibility markers affecting the birth.”

“Whatever she needs.” I pressed a kiss to her hair, breathing in her scent. “I’ll clear my schedule for tomorrow. The council can wait.”

“Damon...” she started to protest, but I cut her off gently.

“No. I’ve let politics keep me from what matters for too long. Tomorrow, you and the twins come first. The pack will have to understand or challenge me for it. I don’t care anymore.”

She relaxed against me, and I felt some of her tension ease. We lay in comfortable silence, her breathing gradually evening out as exhaustion claimed her. But I remained awake, mind racing through everything Dr. Mira might find, every risk we might face, every contingency I needed to plan for.

The room grew cooler as night deepened, and I pulled the blankets higher over Rhea’s sleeping form. She murmured something, pressing back against me in unconscious seeking of warmth. I curved my body around hers, protective, and finally felt my own exhaustion winning.

“Everything will be fine. I’ll make it fine.” My last coherent thought before sleep claimed me.

“You can’t fix everything through sheer will, Damon.” Her sleep-whispered response suggested she wasn’t as unconscious as I’d thought.

But I was already drifting, pulled under by the first real rest I’d had in two weeks. Which is why I didn’t immediately notice the strange sweetness creeping into the air. Why the unusual heaviness in my limbs seemed like natural exhaustion rather than chemical interference.

A musky scent began to fill the room, and Rhea’s breathing turned shallow. But I was too tired and exhausted to be awake or to make sense of what was happening.