Chapter 170: A Mother’s Grief
Chapter 170: A Mother’s Grief
(Celeste’s POV)
After leaving Eleanor’s place, I came to the royal territory.
The sacred burial grounds stretched out before me, cloaked in an eerie silence that seemed to amplify my every step. The scent of earthy incense layers, a staple of the sacred burial rituals,
enveloped the space.
Underneath the delicate shrouds laid Marcus, his body neatly arranged and prepared in
traditional royal fashion. His face, now serene in its stillness, bore little resemblance to the
man who had once been consumed by cruelty and arrogance.
I let out a slow, steadying breath. Even in death, Marcus wasn’t free from the weight of expectations thrust upon him by the royal blood that ran through his veins. It was ironic, really. The morticians had painted an image of dignity and strength, wiping away the fear and
desperation that had ruled his final moments.
I closed my eyes briefly. I didn’t come here to grieve or even to pay respects, though certainly,
the pack would expect such a display. No, this moment was simply a ritual of necessity
before I would face the storm that awaited me: Regina.
“Rest in peace, Marcus,” I murmured, though the words carried no warmth.
I turned on my heel and began the walk back toward Regina’s chambers. The steps felt
heavier than the weight of the emotions buried deep inside me.
The pack servants that lined the hallways parted at my approach. Their gazes lingered,
curiosity shining through their attempts at discretion. They knew.
“Sacred Immolation,” whispered one.
“Do you think she’ll survive this time?” added another.
Their murmurs stung, but I didn’t falter or meet their eyes. My silver–scarred wolf stirred
uneasily in my chest. Survival was a theme I was far too familiar with.
Reaching the gilded double doors that led to Regina’s chambers, I steeled myself. My
silver–scarred wolf crouched low, sensing the impending storm.
The heavy door creaked open to reveal a scene of devastation. Regina sat crumpled in a
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Chapter 170: A Mother’s Grief
leather armchair near the fire. Her once–immaculate appearance was in disarray–her long
black hair now a mess of tangles, her violet eyes bloodshot and swollen from endless
weeping.
Healers worked quietly around her, attempting to ease her shaking form with warm cloths and
whispered reassurances.
I stepped forward, sinking into the formal pack greeting without hesitation. “Your Highness.”
No response. Her sobs grew louder, more broken. A healer turned briefly in my direction, her eyes heavy with pity, before retreating back into her work.
“I offer my deepest condolences for your loss,” I said, my voice even, respectful. “Marcus was
n
Before I could finish, she erupted from the chair, feral energy coursing through her. Her hand
struck across my face with an impact that sent a ringing through my ears.
“How… DARE YOU!” Her voice was raw, a guttural snarl that could only come from a grieving
wolf.
The room grew still. Her violet eyes bore into mine, wild with hatred and pain. She lunged again, this time grabbing the front of my shirt.
“My son is DEAD, and YOU-” Another slap cracked across my cheek. “You DARE come here with that mouth.” Her accusations fell like blows. My wolf recoiled inside.
Her hands curled into fists now, slamming into my shoulders with unrelenting force. Push, shove–one after another, she hurled her pain at me as if I were the sole cause of Marcus’s
death.
“Admit it!” she screamed, her voice rasping as more tears fell. “Admit what you did!”
I stumbled but caught myself, unwilling to fight back. My mouth tightened. Each punch carried no malice, only grief twisted into a raw, biting storm.
“You killed him!” she continued. “You killed him out of revenge for my son’s… for his-” She
stumbled, the words choking in her throat.
I caught her wrists mid–swing before she could hit me again. My grip was firm but careful.
Even now, she was royalty.
“Your Highness.” My tone was quiet but cut through her rant. “You need to stop.”
Her wrists trembled in my grip, her violet eyes still ablaze with unrelenting fury. She pushed again but lacked the stamina to overcome the exhaustion wracking her wolf.
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“If you don’t stop,” I continued, my voice low and steady, “the pack will find out about Marcus’s truth. And you know what they’ll say. Everyone will know what truly happened in that den of
his.”
A strangled sound escaped her lips. The sobs that followed buckled her knees, and I released her wrists, letting her crumple back into the armchair.
“You killed him,” she whispered again, though the fight had drained from her voice. “I can see
- it. I can see the blood on your hands.”
My hands curled into fists at my sides. “I didn’t want Marcus dead,” I said flatly.
“LIAR!” She spat the word like venom, glaring up at me. “You hated him for what he did to
you!”
A bitter laugh escaped my throat. “You’re right; I hated him. I hated him for every bruise, every scar, every god–forsaken moment of torture in that wretched den. But,” I added sharply, leaning
in closer, “he was the only thing keeping pack politics from tearing me apart.”
Her lips quivered, caught momentarily off guard.
“Marcus’s mate claim was the only shred of protection I had left, Your Highness.” |
straightened but kept my voice steady. “So no. I didn’t kill him. I had far more to gain by keeping him alive than by watching him die.”
She blinked, stunned. Her full weight slumped back into her chair, the ferocity dimming
slightly. The logic struck at something rational in the haze of her grief.
“If you truly want to know what happened,” I said, softer now, “I’ll tell you. But not here.”
Her violet eyes darted toward the hovering healers lingering by the edges of the room. After a
tense pause, she waved them off with a flick of her hand. They bowed quickly, retreating out of
the chamber.
Once we were alone, I described that final night in the Dark Forest. I told her about Marcus’s
pathetic begging, how he’d tried to sacrifice me to save himself.
Regina’s face crumpled as I spoke. Each detail of her son’s cowardice seemed to physically
pain her.
“The rogue wolves were cruel,” I continued. “They mocked his royal status, made him crawl in
the dirt…”
A broken sob escaped her throat. This wasn’t the heroic death she’d imagined for her son.
“Then Jack Thompson arrived,” I said, watching her face carefully. “He killed the rogue wolves,
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but…”
Fear flashed across Regina’s features at Jack’s name. “Thompson?” she whispered.
“Sarah Thompson’s brother,” I confirmed. “Remember her? The seventeen–year–old wolf Marcus tortured to death three years ago?”
Regina’s perfect composure cracked further. “No… no…”
“Jack was sent by the Alpha King’s council,” I explained. “But when he saw Marcus, all he
could think about was Sarah.”
“Stop,” Regina pleaded. “Please…”
But I continued relentlessly. “It was karma, wasn’t it? All those wolves Marcus tortured in his
den… one of them finally came back to haunt him.”
“You’re lying!” she screamed. “The story you told the council…”
“About Marcus dying to protect me?” I laughed bitterly. “Of course that was a lie. I made it up
to preserve his reputation.”
“Why would you protect his reputation?” she demanded. “After everything he did to you?”
I met her gaze steadily. “Because his last words were ‘I’m sorry.”
The simple statement shattered what remained of Regina’s composure. A raw, animal howl of
grief tore from her throat.
“My boy,” she sobbed. “My precious boy… he wasn’t always cruel. Before that battle injury weakened his Alpha powers…”
“He was gentle once,” she whispered brokenly. “The injury changed him. The mockery from
other wolves… the loss of status… it twisted something inside him.”
I said nothing. There was nothing to say to a mother’s grief.
Regina collapsed into her chair, all her royal dignity stripped away by sorrow. I stood quietly, watching the proud wolf who had demanded my death through Sacred Immolation crumble
under the weight of her son’s true nature.
