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All I can do is watch, unable to catch my breath, as the men are ripped away from their mates. Some of the men go stoically, some of the women cling. Some of the men are crying, the bravery of the attack long faded away in the face of the consequences. Maybe I should pity them, considering they’ve been sentenced to death, but they didn’t pity me when they drew up plans for ours.
It seems to take forever to clear the throne room of the condemned and their spouses.
The remaining pack members are stunned silent. Waiting for the ax to fall.
The two guards Nathan sent away return, Ashton in tow. They don’t take him to a seat but force him to his knees at the foot of the dais.
“This traitor,” Nathan pronounces, “deserves special recognition for his treachery. Not only did he participate in the planning of a thwarted attempt on my life, but it was also his hand that sunk the blade into my side at the coronation. He attacked his king and his pack leader. And he did so in conjunction with the Saint-Laurent pack, who only two weeks ago made another attempt on the queen’s life.”
Did Ashton have anything to do with that? I interrupt Nathan’s rehearsed tirade to stand and march down the steps, just out of Ashton’s reach. He glares up at me with pure hatred in his eyes and I am certain he regrets the day he asked my father for that mating pact.
I whip back my sleeve to reveal the bandaged stump of my arm, ignoring the murmurs of shock and intrigue that result. I’m only concerned with Ashton. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
A smirk slants his mouth. “Believe it or not, more than just one person in this pack wants you dead.”
My hand clenches to an unconscious fist. Unfortunately, it’s the hand that’s not there anymore and my brain still moves the tendons of my forearm, sending burning agony all the way up my neck. Somehow, I don’t crumple or swear. I turn around and walk calmly back to my throne.
Whether Nathan plans to do it or not, I want Ashton dead. I feel no compunction about it. He tried to kill my husband, twice. He almost succeeded. He tried to trap me into an abusive, controlling marriage. And I don’t believe for a moment that he had no hand—no pun intended this time—in planning the assassination attempt against me.
I’m not going to wait to find out. “Ashton Daniels, for the crime of treason, I sentence you to death by beheading at the next full moon.”
“And for the grievous sin of laying your hands on your king and pack leader, I sentence you to Lycaon’s banquet,” Nathan adds. “Your flesh shall be served to the rest of the traitors assembled here, as Lycaon served the flesh of his son to Zeus.”
What the fuck.
I’ve heard of that punishment before, but I thought it was a legend. A spooky story they told us to warn us not to cross our pack leader.
Judging from the deathly silence in the throne room, it’s having the intended effect.
“You’ll pay for this,” Ashton warns. And why shouldn’t he have his say? He already faces the worst punishment any werewolf could receive. He has nothing to lose. “The Saint-Laurent pack will not let this—”
“Let the Saint-Laurent pack rescue you then,” Nathan snaps. “If they’d like to send their men to die.” He jerks his head, and the guards roughly pull Ashton to his feet to drag him off in the direction of the other prisoners.
“Those of you who wish to avoid Lycaon’s Banquet have an option,” Nathan tells them. “You may confess your misdeeds to the council—” He motions to the small group standing beneath the windows, who definitely weren’t all council members a few weeks ago. “—and your sentence will be decided based on the quality of information you provide us about your co-conspirators. A full confession, and full cooperation, will spare you the shame of consuming your werewolf brother. And it may save your necks.
“In the meantime,” he goes on, “The pack will continue to hold your passports, your bank accounts, your drivers’ licenses, and the keys to your homes. The thralls stationed in your home will continue to report to me, and they are still authorized to use deadly force against hostile action.”
That was my doing, while Nathan was still living hour-to-hour. I’m strangely proud that he didn’t rescind my orders when he took the family business back.
“Spread the word of what happened here,” Nathan concludes. “Those still faithful to the pack will be heartened to hear that they have been protected today.”
He rises and turns to me, offering his arm. I stand and carefully maneuver my injured one through his, and we walk down the back of the dais together and out of the throne room.
