“How?”
The question hung between them. She could see him calculating—how much to reveal, how much to hide, whether this small human female with her endless questions deserved answers at all.
Then something shifted in his expression. A decision made.
“The Alpha King’s power isn’t ceremonial.” He stepped closer, and she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “Lux’s Blessing grants strength. Speed. The ability to channel Moon Tear energy without the grid’s filtering. To use it directly.”
Her pulse kicked up. “Like what happened with me. When I touched the core.”
“Worse.” His voice dropped to a growl. “You held it for a minute and collapsed. I carry that energy constantly. Have since I won the Great Challenge and claimed the throne.”
“The Great Challenge?”
“Combat. To the death, usually. Three challengers tried to stop me from taking my father’s place.” His claws scraped along the railing, leaving gouges in stone. “They failed.”
She should be horrified. He’d killed for the throne. Probably killed many times since, to keep it.
But the way he said it—like reciting facts, not boasting—told her something different. Violence was currency here. Expected. The same way combat earned position in any military hierarchy she’d studied.
“The energy you carry,” she pressed. “What does it cost you?”
Sylas’s ears flattened. His entire body tensed, as if she’d pressed on a wound he’d kept hidden.
“Every use brings me closer to the edge.” The words came out low, rough. “The same edge the Fallen crossed. The power that makes me Alpha King will eventually be the power that destroys me.”
The admission crashed through her like a wave.
He was dying. Not today, not tomorrow—but inevitably. The very thing that made him terrifying was also consuming him from the inside.
“That’s why they fear you.” Understanding clicked into place. “Not just because you’re strong. Because you’reunstable.”
His laugh was harsh, humorless. “I’m the most stable Alpha King in three generations. The last two lost themselves to Moon Tear madness before their tenth year of rule. I’ve lasted fifteen.” His gaze bored into hers. “But yes. They watch me. Wait for signs of slippage. My rivals circle like cowardly scavengers, hoping the next Blood Moon will finally break me.”
The installation ceremony continued below. Blue light pulsed through the chamber, beautiful and terrible and necessary. The technology that saved lives also created monsters. The power that protected kingdoms also destroyed kings.
Elsa thought about the Fallen in the storm-woods. Their empty eyes and mindless violence. The way Sylas had fought them—efficient, ruthless, but not cruel. Putting down what had once been his own people.
He’d do the same to himself, someday. Let someone put him down when the madness finally claimed him.
“You carry that burden for them.” The words came out softer than she intended. “The exposure that would break others. You take it so they don’t have to.”
Sylas’s expression shuttered. “Don’t mistake necessity for nobility. I’m no martyr.”
“No.” She held his gaze. “You’re something worse. You’re a king who actually gives a damn about his people, even when it’s killing you.”
Something flickered in those cyan eyes. Something raw and unguarded that disappeared behind walls before she could identify it.
“You ask too many questions, little human.”
“You promised me answers.”
His muzzle pulled into something that might have been a smile. “So I did.”
Below, the Lux Priest completed his ritual. The engineers began final calibrations. The core’s light had settled into a steady, comfortable glow—the heartbeat of a civilization, pumping life through crystalline veins.
Sylas moved closer. Close enough that his fur brushed her arm, that his heat wrapped around her like a second cloak. He inhaled again—that same slow, deliberate breath—and something in her chest went tight.
Not fear.