Chapter 207. Samhain IV (Soren)
Soren
The moment Gareth, the head of my personal guard, came through the doors, I already knew what he was going to say.
"There’s movement on the southern border," he murmured, low enough that only we could hear. "They’ve gone dark..."
He tracked off, tapping the comms in his ear as I brought the liquor to my lips and Jericho said, "The east, too?"
Gareth nodded, his eyes shifting my way. "They took the bait. Just like you said they would."
I took a slow sip of my drink, letting the burn settle in my chest. Mercer stood beside me, wearing a nonchalant expression, but I felt the shift in his posture.
Of course Margaret would strike tonight.
She was many things. Vicious, brilliant, and utterly convinced of her own superiority. But in the end, she was also predictable once you’d spent long enough watching her.
And I had been watching her since I was five years old. Since the night she tried to slit my throat in my own bed. Since I was aware of the fact that she had taken my mother and father(s) from me.
I had never forgotten. I had never forgiven.
And now she had given me the perfect stage to retaliate.
To know one’s enemy, you had to know their mind. My aunt taught me that. And I had never departed from that lesson. Not while dealing with my aunt. And certainly not while dealing with Margaret.
It was why I knew Margaret would try to attack the wedding ceremony tonight.
It was the perfect opportunity.
The overwhelming amount of guests from all parts of Ashbourne. The guards of the Night Shade pack would be spread too thin securing the high standing guests—especially the members of the Council of Wolves present tonight—and they would hardly notice if a rogue slipped in.
I wagered the south borders would be hit first. I had ensured there would be fewer guards there tonight. The east border was also a good choice. It was the closest and easiest entry into the pack grounds.
I flexed my fingers around the glass. By my calculations, her people would breach the perimeter within the next ten minutes.
They would come for the Queen first. That was Margaret’s style. She liked to make statements.
Let her.
The Queen’s personal guards were already moving into position around the hall. My aunt had no idea that the extra security she thought was protecting her was, in truth, containing her.
She believed she was here to oversee a wedding. She didn’t know she had walked straight into a trap I had spent weeks setting.
Because why did I have to kill my aunt, when I could let Margaret do it for me?
I had no intention of dirtying my own hands with my aunt’s blood. Not when there were cleaner ways to remove her from the board. The Lycan court was many things, but it was not forgiving of those who committed open treason.
If the Queen accidentally died tonight at the hands of an Exile, the Council would demand blood and violence in return.
There was nothing my race loved more than a scapegoat.
And I would give them Margaret.
I would play the grieving, loyal nephew. I would try—and fail—to save my aunt in front of the entire crowd. I would let Margaret believe she had won, right up until the moment I had her delivered to the Council as proof of our devotion to the crown.
They would hesitate to name Maisie Queen, of course. But that would act as a sign of goodwill.
And once we had the throne, no one would ever touch her again.
Not Margaret. Not my aunt. Not the Exiled barbarians.
Maisie would hate me for this. I knew that. She would hate me for keeping her in the dark, for taking her mother from her before she ever got the chance to know her. She might even hate me for the rest of her life.
But she would be alive.
She would be safe.
And that was the only thing that mattered to me anymore.
I had lied to Mercer about the full extent of the plan. He still believed we were simply here to protect the Queen and expose Margaret. He didn’t know I intended to let the Queen die. He wouldn’t understand. His loyalty to my aunt ran too deep, even now, and I didn’t think he realized just how deeply her claws had sunk into him.
If she told him to jump, he would ask how high.
Some things were better left unsaid.
He would probably murder me for this. Ah well, good thing I wasn’t at all, an easy kill.
I caught Jericho’s eye. He gave me the smallest nod. He knew. He always knew.
"Stay close to her," I murmured. "When it starts, don’t let her out of your sight."
Because once the screaming began, once the blood started flowing, I would need her as far from the chaos as possible.
Quinlan tensed beside Mercer. "Where is she?"
Our heads swiveled towards the center of the hall where the fountain stood, where Maisie had been standing a few seconds ago. The redhead was standing alone, wobbling on her feet and Maisie was fucking gone.
My head blanked out and I began tearing past the guests, tracking her scent.
And then, I felt it.
A deep, low tremor rolled beneath the marble floor, so faint that any human would have missed it. But I didn’t. My Lycan senses snapped to attention, every muscle in my body going rigid.
Something was wrong.
The tremor came again, stronger this time, vibrating up through my boots and into my bones. The chandeliers above us swayed slightly. A few glasses on the nearest table rattled.
"Fuck! Get down!" Mercer yelled.
The world exploded.
A deafening crack split the air as the far wall of the hall burst inward in a shower of stone and fire. The force of it threw me backward. I hit the ground hard, ears ringing, the taste of blood in my mouth.
Screams erupted all around us. People were running, shifting, shouting. The air filled with smoke and the scent of burning flesh.
I shoved myself up, vision swimming.
There were bodies everywhere.