Chapter 4 - The King's Judgment
The silence in the nursery was absolute.
Even the air seemed to freeze beneath the immense, crushing weight of Torin Cross's Alpha aura. Nurse Rebecca instantly dropped to her knees, her forehead pressed flat against the carpet, her whole body shaking violently.
Dr. Corvus stiffened, his face draining of whatever little color remained. He quickly smoothed his white robes, pulling Finn tighter against his chest.
"Your Majesty," Corvus said, bowing his head in a hasty, practiced show of deference. "We did not expect you back from the Blood Moon council so soon. Lord Vance assured us the high pack negotiations would last until dawn."
"The negotiations ended early," Torin said. His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble that sent chills down Abigail’s spine. He took three slow steps into the room. Every movement he made was filled with fluid, predatory grace. "I asked you a question, Corvus. Why did I hear my son growling from the end of the gallery?"
"It is this girl, Sire!" Corvus pointed a trembling, accusation-filled finger at Abigail. "She is a newly hired maid! She breached royal security, entered the nursery without supervision, and dumped the prince’s vital medicinal bath! She touched him with unsterilized hands! I was ordering her arrest for endangering the heir!"
Torin turned his glowing golden eyes toward Abigail.
Abigail felt as though a mountain had been dropped onto her shoulders. The sheer power of an Alpha King’s glare was enough to force ordinary wolves to their knees, begging for mercy. But Abigail wasn't an ordinary wolf—she was from the lost Solstice lineage, a bloodline known for their stubborn, unyielding spirit.
She did not drop her eyes. She did not fall to her knees.
She stood straight, her hands clasped tightly in front of her apron, hiding the heavy weight of the black needles in her wool pockets.
"Is this true, maid?" Torin demanded, taking a step toward her. His dark, masculine scent—pine, rain, and cold iron—flooded Abigail’s senses. "Did you touch my son against protocol?"
"I did, Your Majesty," Abigail replied, her voice remarkably clear, echoing off the high ceilings.
Corvus smirked triumphantly. "You hear her, Sire? She confesses! Guards, drag her to the—"
"Silence, Corvus," Torin cut him off with a single, sharp word that made the physician flinch. The King’s eyes remained locked on Abigail. "Why did you disobey orders?"
"Because the prince was dying in that tub, Your Majesty," Abigail said, stepping forward instead of stepping back.
Nurse Rebecca let out a horrified gasp. Corvus’s eyes went wide.
"You insolent, ignorant little wretch!" Corvus spat. "I am a master physician trained in the Capital! How dare you—"
"I disobey orders when those orders kill a child," Abigail said, ignoring Corvus completely. She looked directly into King Torin's golden eyes. "Your Majesty, look at your son right now. Look at his face. Look at his skin."
Torin frowned. He reached out his large, calloused hand—a hand that had severed the heads of fifty rogue Alphas—and gently took the little wolf from Corvus's arms.
The moment Finn was in his father's arms, the toddler didn't whimper. He didn't hide.
Finn lifted his small head, pressed his nose against Torin's cheek, and let out a clear, soft, rumbling purr.
Torin froze.
The iron-hearted King, a man who had not shown a single trace of emotion since his Queen died two years ago, stared at his son in utter disbelief.
Finn hadn't purred since he was six months old. He hadn't lifted his head without crying in over a year.
Torin’s large hand stroked Finn's back. His fingers paused. He felt the soft, smooth, healthy skin where weeping red sores had been just an hour ago. He felt the strong, steady rise and fall of the boy’s chest.
"What did you do to him?" Torin whispered, his voice stripped of its harshness, filled instead with a dangerous, razor-thin tension.
"The maid used unholy magic, Sire!" Corvus shrieked, panic finally cracking through his composed facade. "She must have cast a temporary glamour over the boy! It's a trick to mask his terminal symptoms! Give him back to me, Your Majesty, he needs his nightly dose of—"
"I didn't use magic," Abigail said loudly, reaching into her skirt pocket. "I simply removed the medicine Dr. Corvus has been feeding him for eighteen months."
She reached out her hand and opened her palm.
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Thirty-four silver, barbed, black-painted needles hit the hardwood floor with a sharp, terrifying, metallic clatter.
The Binding Spike—the thirty-fourth needle—rolled across the dark oak wood and stopped right at King Torin’s boots, its etched runes still faintly glowing with dark purple venom.
