Defying the Lycan King (Kira and Derek) novel Chapter 43

Chapter 43: No Truth, No Throne

Derek was alone in his study, pacing slowly. The room was dim, illuminated only by a single lamp on his desk and the soft glow of his laptop and monitor screen. In his hand, he held a glass of brandy. He had dismissed everyone else, Declan, Kai and Ruby, needing the isolation to think. The room was his now, quiet except for the faint tick of the wall clock and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath his feet. He was still in his ceremonial robes.

He was calmer now. The sharp, hot edge of anger had dulled into something colder and heavier. The earlier scene kept replaying in his mind in a loop he couldn’t stop: Kira standing in the centre of the room, chin high, eyes blazing, asserting her innocence. The maids’ trembling testimonies. Kira’s accusations.

"Is this how you run your court? You decide guilt before hearing the defence?"

He had been blinded by fury then, fury at her absence, at the humiliation in front of the entire pack, at the way she had made him look weak. But now, alone, with the brandy burning a slow path down his throat, reason crept in.

"Did I truly act without thinking?" he muttered.

He crossed to the desk and sank into the chair, setting the glass down with care. The security footage from earlier that day was still open on his laptop screen. He had watched it twice already after returning from the Queen’s Blessing Ceremony. The cameras showed the hallway, the entrance to the wing, and the transition of the maids who had brought her the dress. But he hadn’t seen any other servant go into her bedroom after those two left.

He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and played the clip again. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the faint stubble. If there was a maid with poisoned tea, she was either a ghost or she knew the blind spots of his security better than his own guards. Or unless Kira was exactly what he feared she was, a girl who had inherited her father’s talent for deception.

A sharp knock at the door broke his concentration. Before he could growl a refusal, the door swung open and Nana stepped inside without waiting for any permission. Derek didn’t look. His fingers tapped idly on the keyboard if his laptop. He wasn’t in the mood for this conversation. He couldn’t exactly tell Nana to leave, not in this house, so he simply pretended to be busy.

Nana didn’t seem bothered by his lack of a greeting. She moved across the room and took the chair opposite his desk, her presence filling the small space with the scent of lavender. She sat in silence for a few moments, just studying him.

"It’s late, Nana," he finally said, his voice clipped.

"How are you feeling, Drek?" she asked.

"I’m busy," he replied, still staring at the screen. He typed another meaningless line and deleted it.

"I didn’t ask if you were busy. I asked how you were feeling."

"I’m fine. I’m tired. It’s been a long day."

Nana stayed quiet, her gaze lingering on the tight set of his shoulders. "What’s going on with you?"

"Nothing is going on," he said, his tone clipped.

"Something is off," Nana countered, her voice gentle but firm. "You have been cranky for a few days now. You beat up your cousin in a spar, and tonight, you scolded your wife in a room filled with people. I know you too well, Drek. What is it? You’re are usually reserved, but now you seem angry, particularly at her."

Derek finally stopped typing, though he kept his gaze fixed on the glowing monitor. "There is nothing wrong. Anyone would scold an entitled person who thinks they can get everything by throwing tantrums. I have a responsibility to the pack, Nana. The Queen cannot simply decide not to show up because she is unhappy."

Nana leaned back, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you truly believe she missed that ceremony because she was being petty?"

The question hung between them. Derek’s hand hovered over the keys. He didn’t answer immediately. The doubt he had been trying to suppress flared up again, a cold itch in the back of his mind. He couldn’t say yes with total certainty, but he wouldn’t say no either.

Derek didn’t flinch, but his grip on the glass of brandy tightened slightly. Does this mean they have not been doing a good job convincing Nana? "What changed your mind, Nana?"

"Tonight was enough," she replied. "And I’ve been hearing rumours. Rumours that you only married her so you could be officially crowned in six months, and not because you truly care about her."

Derek stared at Nana for a long while. The coldness in the room seemed to deepen. "I see Brian has indeed been whispering in your ears," he said, his voice low and steady. "And you’ve believed him."

"It isn’t about Brian," Nana said quietly. "I wouldn’t want you to lie just to sit on the throne. I have faith in you as the King of Dravengard. You are passionate about the people and the pack. But I can’t change the laws of the bloodline to fit you if I find out you only married a werewolf woman to avoid really falling in love."

Derek leaned back in his chair. "I only got to know Kira for a few days before I brought her to Dravengard as my bride." His voice was more placating now. "We’re still getting to know each other. It takes time."

Nana rose from the chair, her presence as commanding as it had been when she held the crown herself. She looked down at him.

"I will take your word for it for now. But my eyes are on both of you." She stepped toward the door, then stopped, looking back over her shoulder. "No truth, no throne, Drek. And even if I love you so much, I won’t bend the rules for you."

She walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar. Drek sat motionless in the silence of his study, his glass of brandy forgotten on the desk, speechless as the weight of her words settled over him.

He exhaled, long and slow.

For the first time since she walked back into the residence tonight, he allowed himself to wonder, just for a moment, if he had been wrong.