Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 219

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Lev’s POV

There was a pause after I said what needed to be said. Not real silence. The kind that

still had noise in it. Just trapped noise. Noise sitting behind teeth. Radimir stayed there

on my seat like the chair itself could protect him from what I had just thrown at him. His

hands were still, but his face gave him away. The shock. The insult. The anger trying to

decide what form it wanted to take.

I did not move either.

Not because I was waiting for permission.

Because I was measuring him.

Radimír had ruled Blackbirth so long he had started thinking the house answered to his

breathing. Like if he spoke, the walls would listen. If he frowned, grown men would

bend. If he threatened, everyone would rush to smooth the road in front of him like the

world existed to keep him pleased. I had seen that all my life. Watched him grow

comfortable being the loudest voice in the room. Watched him get used to people

lowering their heads when he spoke.

I had also seen something else.

The little shift in him whenever my father’s name came up with too much respect. The

quiet flinch. The tiny hardening in his face. Like it reminded him of something he hated.

Like it reminded him that regent was never supposed to mean king.

He was furious now.

Good.

I was not here to be liked. I was not here to be taught. And I was damn sure not here to

let him speak about Arya like she was dirt in my house and then hide behind rank like

that was meant to make me swallow it.

Radimir let out a slow sharp breath at last.

“You’re getting carried away.”

I said nothing.

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He leaned forward a little, eyes narrow now, trying to pull me back into the shape he

liked best. Young. Hot headed. Wrong.

“You forget,” he said, “that people’s opinion will always matter.”

That nearly made me smile.

Nearly.

Because that was always the heart of it with him. Not law. Not bloodline. Not duty.

Opinion. The room. The whispers. The people watching from corners and pretending

their gossip was wisdom. He lived for it even while acting like he stood above it.

“And right now,” he said, “you are not setting a good example.”

Still sitting on my seat.

Still trying to lecture me.

Still acting like this was correction and not desperation.

I straightened from the desk slowly and let my hands fall to my sides. I did not back

away. I did not soften.

“Blackbirth is not a popularity contest.”

Radimir’s eyes flashed.

“You,”

“It is a royal position,” I cut in. “From a bloodline of bluebloods.”

That word changed the air a little. Blueblood. Even Radimir did not like hearing it when it

was not coming from his own mouth. Because it reminded him of things he preferred

blurred.

“My grandmother’s line owns the land,” I said. “Owns the title. Owns the right. Not you.

Not your council friends. Not the Union packs that cling to our protection while

pretending they stand equal.”

His jaw flexed.

He tried to speak again. I did not let him.

“If anyone disagrees with how I lead,” I said, “they can leave.”

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It was a simple sentence.

It still landed hard.

Radimir stared at me.

“You can’t speak like that.”

“I can,” I said. “Because my seat is not up for debate.”

That was the part he hated. Not my tone. Not the disrespect. The certainty. He had lived

too long thinking certainty belonged to him. Thinking he was the only one allowed to

speak as if things were already decided.

I stepped back then, not because I was retreating, but because I did not need to loom

over him anymore. I did not need size. I did not need force. I had truth, and truth cut

deeper, when spoken calmly.

“And do not think I’m blind.”

Radimir went still at that.

I watched his face closely because I wanted to see exactly where the words landed.

“You have been trying to make me look incompetent,” I said. “Distracted. Unworthy. Not

ready. So you can push Diana forward instead.”

His eyes widened, then narrowed with anger so fast it almost would have been imp

ressive if it had not been so predictable.

“That is ridiculous,” he snapped. “She is my daughter. Of course I,

39

“Of course you would,” I said, bored now. “Because that is what you do. You gather power. Stack it. Tie it into your own blood and call it duty.”

His nostrils flared.

I kept going.

“The day I entertain that,” I said, “is the day I decide to put you in your place.”

His face reddened at once.

I leaned forward a little, just enough, and lowered my voice.

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“And if you keep pushing, I will send you and your daughter to Greenwich.”

That stopped him.

That one word hit where I wanted it to. Greenwich. My grandfather’s origin. The place he

hated being tied back to. The reminder that he was not pure Blackbirth no matter how

much he liked acting like he was the spine of this house. It reminded him his branch sat

under mine, not above it. That his place here had always been borrowed, never owned.

His fingers tightened on the arm of my chair.

I stayed calm because calm always frightened men like him more than shouting ever

could.

“You know I can,” I said. “You know I will if you force me to. So the sooner you remember

your place, the better.”

His eyes moved over my face, searching. Looking for the crack. The bluff. The sign that this was just anger and not decision.

He did not find it.

Because I was not bluffing.

I was tired of this. Tired of the games. Tired of him pulling strings behind my back and pretending it was for stability. Tired of him using the Union like a leash. I was done. Done letting him think he could spit Arya’s name out like it stained his mouth and walk

away from it.

Radimir swallowed.

Then he tried again, quieter this time.

“Even the Union,

“Will not help you,” I cut in. “Not if I decide it won’t.”

That made him shift properly in the chair.