Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 220

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Lev’s POV

I said it because I wanted him to understand something clearly. The threats he liked using were not threats to me. They worked on weaker men. On men like James. On packs still trying to build themselves into something solid. On people who still needed approval to breathe easy. That was where Radimir’s pressure worked best. Not on me. Not on Blackbirth. Not on blood that already came with a throne behind it.

Radimir stared at me for a long time after that. A very long time. Then something shifted. Not his pride. Not his beliefs. Nothing that deep. Just calculation. He sensed the edge. He sensed the place where one more wrong word might turn this into something he could not smooth over later. So he eased back in the seat slowly, shoulders loosening a little, face settling into something more controlled.

“You’re taking this too far,” he said, calmer now. “I’m only worried.”

I said nothing.

Radimir cleared his throat like he was trying to reset the whole room.

“I’m worried you’re spending too much time away from your seat,” he said. “That’s all.”

It was weak. A poor turn. But it was the best he had left, and I let him have it. Not

because I agreed. Because the important part had already happened. He had backed off Arya. He had felt the line. He had understood that if he crossed it again, I would not keep this civil just to protect his pride.

Then he moved. For the first time since I walked in, he stood up. He stepped away from

my chair. That alone was admission, whether he knew it or not. Then he walked to the

table by the window and picked up an envelope. Thick paper. Wax seal. Briarwood.

He turned back and held it out.

“The Countess’ invite.’

I did not move right away. I just looked at the envelope in his hand because I already

knew what it meant. I had smelled it when it entered Blackbirth. Old paper. Old seal. Old

power making a move after sitting quiet for too long. Radimir’s voice softened then, but

it was not kindness. It was persuasion.

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“I hope you’ll attend,” he said. “With Mary.”

There it was.

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Of course.

He could never leave anything alone. Could never accept that I had already cut through the conversation and left him bleeding in it. He still had to try one more angle. Still had

to try to drag me back toward the road he preferred.

I walked over slowly and took the envelope from him. The wax was cool under my thumb. Radimir watched me too closely, like I was a piece on a board and he was

waiting to see whether it would land where he wanted.

“The Countess may be quiet,” he went on, “but Briarwood still stands higher than

Blackbirth.”

I did not react.

He kept talking anyway.

“They have a larger army. More wealth. Older blood. If you can please the Countess, your

time as leader will be easy.”

Easy.

That word almost made me laugh.

There was no such thing as easy leadership. Not real leadership. Not when you sat on a seat men wanted. Not when wolves watched every move, every weakness, every hesitation. Only fools thought crowns made life easier. They only made the knives

sharper.

Radimir kept going, smooth now, like he thought he had found his footing again.

“I suspect the Countess wants to make Mary her successor,” he said.

My jaw tightened a little.

He saw it and took it for interest.

“That is why I agreed Mary would be a good match for you,” he said, as if he were explaining some wise gift. “If Mary succeeds the Countess and you mate her, then you become Alpha of both Blackbirth and Briarwood.”

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Meny

He looked pleased with himself when he said it. Proud even. Like he had just laid a

crown at my feet and expected gratitude.

“Two powerful royal bloodlines brought together,” he said. “No one would dare

challenge you. Or your descendants.”

Descendants.

The word came out of his mouth so easily. So carelessly. Like Arya did not exist. Like my

future was a breeding deal to be negotiated by older people in quiet rooms. Like all that

mattered was blood and heirs and whose daughter sat beside me at formal dinners.

I looked down at the invitation in my hand and let out a quiet breath through my nose.

Then I chuckled.

Not warmly.

Not because anything was funny.

Just because of course this was where his mind went. Of course.

Radimir’s eyes narrowed.

“What’s funny?”

“You.”

He stiffened at once.

“Watch your tone.”

I still had not looked up.

“I already knew this was the reason,” I said. “You’re not subtle.”

His face tightened, but he forced a thin smile anyway, trying to look untouched by it.

“You’re thinking emotionally,” he said. “This is strategy.”

Then I looked at him.

He stood there looking so sure of himself. So convinced he was the only man in the room who understood power. A crown on top of another crown. A seat tied to another seat. Mary folded neatly into my life like a bridge between territories, not a living woman. And

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