Chapter 165: _Clever But Sloppy Kyren’s POV
The smoke from the maid’s body curled toward the vaulted ceiling like a prayer gone unanswered. But Kyren did not move. He stood over her corpse with his hands clasped behind his back, his crimson eyes steady and unblinking. The stench of scorched flesh wafted through the dining hall, a scent that made Beta Axel shift uncomfortably and Lucian tense like he might snap. But Kyren? He inhaled it slowly, memorizing it. "Burnt lungs," he muttered under his breath, tilting his head as though the girl’s twitching fingers were a curiosity instead of a corpse. "And rot from the veins outward. An old curse. Expensive, risky... Almost poetic." He crouched, not caring if the edge of his cloak brushed against her charred skin. Lucian and Axel stood across the room, watching him with open suspicion. He could feel their gazes burning into his back, but he didn’t give them the satisfaction of turning. The threads of crimson energy that had bound the girl’s throat moments earlier still shimmered faintly in his vision, ghostlike traces left behind by his magic. He could almost see the curse bleeding through her, spiderwebbing black veins that had burned themselves out from the inside. Kyren narrowed his eyes.
The smoke from the maid’s body curled toward the vaulted ceiling like a prayer gone unanswered. But Kyren did not move. He stood over her corpse with his hands clasped behind his back, his crimson eyes steady and unblinking. The stench of scorched flesh wafted through the dining hall, a scent that made Beta Axel shift uncomfortably and Lucian tense like he might snap. But Kyren? He inhaled it slowly, memorizing it. "Burnt lungs," he muttered under his breath, tilting his head as though the girl’s twitching fingers were a curiosity instead of a corpse. "And rot from the veins outward. An old curse. Expensive, risky... Almost poetic." He crouched, not caring if the edge of his cloak brushed against her charred skin. Lucian and Axel stood across the room, watching him with open suspicion. He could feel their gazes burning into his back, but he didn’t give them the satisfaction of turning. The threads of crimson energy that had bound the girl’s throat moments earlier still shimmered faintly in his vision, ghostlike traces left behind by his magic. He could almost see the curse bleeding through her, spiderwebbing black veins that had burned themselves out from the inside. Kyren narrowed his eyes.
If he hadn’t released his grip when he did, the curse would’ve triggered anyway. He hadn’t killed her—the moment she opened her mouth, she was already dead.
So then the question wasn’t "who sent her." It was: who was she supposed to reach?
And that, Kyren mused, was far more interesting.
.
.
He straightened slowly, brushing invisible dust from his gloved hands.
"Dispose of her," he said without looking back at the guards who lingered in the shadows. "And do it quietly. No word leaves this room."
The guards bowed and moved forward at once.
Lucian sneered. "Covering your tracks already?"
Kyren’s lips curved faintly, but there was no amusement in his eyes. "On the contrary, Alpha Prince. I’m making sure you live long enough to sneer at me again."
He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned on his heel, the hem of his cloak floating across the marble floor as he strode from the dining hall.
The echo of his footsteps carried long after he left the others behind.
The corridors of the palace stretched before him, lit by blood red crystal lights. Every step he took was measured, his mind a storm behind his calm expression.
A maid sent to poison him. A confession given too easily. A curse detonated with surgical precision.
No... Lucian was wrong. That girl hadn’t been sent to kill him.
If someone wanted Kyren dead, there were less strenuous methods. Assassins more skilled. Curses more efficient.
That poison in the wine was a decoy, a puppet’s blade.
The true target...
His jaw tightened.
...Could it be Elian?
He could still hear the maid’s final gasp, her eyes locking not on him, not on Axel, but on Lucian.
Why?
Because Lucian had been closest to Elian? Or because suspicion cast on Lucian would bleed over to his ties, his loyalties and his every movement?
The Dark Hand—or whoever had orchestrated this farce—wasn’t aiming for Kyren’s life. They were probing. Testing. Pushing him into a corner where suspicion might sever his grip on those closest to him.
"Clever," Kyren muttered under his breath, his tongue curling around the word like it was a taste he didn’t want to admit he enjoyed. "But sloppy."
Because they underestimated him.
He might have let Lucian live. He might have allowed Axel the courtesy of breathing the same air. But Elian?
His thoughts skidded to a halt, a rare pause in the endless machinery of his mind.
Elian.
That name alone was enough to break the rhythm of his steps.
He clenched his fists behind his back, forcing himself to keep moving. He would not allow sentiment to become weakness.
And yet.
The image of Elian—the stubborn set of his jaw, the defiance in his eyes, the way his pulse beat steady under Kyren’s touch—flickered in his mind.
A reminder that if Elian had been the one to drink first, that poison would’ve done its work.
And Kyren would’ve been too late.
The thought dug into his chest like a blade.
"Enough," he snapped to himself, his voice bouncing off the cold walls.
He couldn’t allow this. Not in his palace and definitely not under his watch.
If the Dark Hand had a spy in his court, then today’s stunt was only the opening move.
They had already breached his walls. They had already placed their pieces.
Which meant the next strike would be aimed sharper.
His paranoia sharpened into focus, every instinct screaming that someone close was feeding them information.
His dukes? His city chiefs? His staff?
He pictured each face in turn, dissecting them like cadavers in his mind.
Betrayal could come from anywhere.
And if Kyren had learned anything in his rise to power, it was this: better to suspect everyone than to suffer from trusting the wrong hand.
He stopped just then, tilting his head as a faint noise reached his ears.
A murmur.
It was too soft for normal conversation, but his hearing was sharper than most.
He continued walking, his mind snapping back into cold clarity. The air shifted as he approached a part of the palace few were allowed to tread.
The grand library.
A place bound with his magic.
The murmur grew louder, made by two voices.
He recognised one as an Omega lad he’d taken under his wing to be a servant.
Sylas.
While the other voice was one he did not expect.
Elian.
Kyren’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes gleamed like a predator’s.
So...
His little flame thought sneaking around his palace was a good idea. With Sylas of all people guiding him.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Kyren slowed his pace, silent as a shadow.
He did not announce himself. He simply watched from the corner of the corridor as Elian and Sylas stood before the library doors.
The magic wards shimmered faintly, resisting Sylas’s probing touch... until he brought out the magic pendant meant to open it.
Heck no.
"What in the name of everything unholy is going on here?!" He boomed, willing the pendant out of the lad’s grasp.