Alpha Richard held his breath, waiting for the bedroom to go silent. His fingers gripped the edge of the mattress, his knuckles white against the blood-stained sheets. Beneath him, Elena’s chest rose and fell in shallow, erratic jerks.
The silver blade sat on the bedside table. It looked like an ordinary surgical tool used by the pack midwives, but the faint, metallic sting of aconite poison filled the air. Richard had coated the edge himself. He had waited until the midwives left the room to clean the newborn before he delivered the shallow cut to Elena's thigh, hiding the wound beneath the mess of the labor.
Elena’s eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused as she choked on her own breath. Her gaze lunged past his shoulder, locking onto the wooden bassinet in the corner where the newborn’s cries rose in pitch. A violent tremor took her entire body. She clawed at Richard’s forearms, her fingernails digging deep enough to draw blood, trying to push him away from the direction of the crib.
"No," she gasped, the word breaking into a wet rattle. She tried to drag her failing body upward, her chest straining for oxygen as she looked from the baby back to her husband. The defiance in her face dissolved into a frantic, desperate plea. "Richard... please. Not her. Take the pack... take everything. Just let her..."
The poison cut her off, locking her jaw. Her fingers slipped from his arms, dragging bloody trails down his skin as she thrashed against the mattress, her gaze pinned to the crib until the very second her eyes dilated and went completely still.
Deep in Richard’s chest, a sudden, violent wrench tore through his soul. The mate bond snapped. The physical impact hit his ribs like a sledgehammer, making his vision blur. He stumbled back, clutching his chest as his inner wolf howled at the loss, a hollow ache opening up in his gut. Richard forced his breath out through his teeth, pressing his hand hard against his sternum until the trembling stopped. He had known the bond would fight back, but he locked the pain away behind the memory of every time this pack had ignored his counsel to look to her for permission. The agony was temporary. The throne was permanent.
He spent the next three minutes preparing the room. He smeared Elena's blood onto his own hands and forearms, tearing his collar until the fabric frayed. He checked the baby’s crib, ensuring no trace of the poison had touched the child. He needed the child alive; a dead baby meant an investigation, but a living, breathing scapegoat meant a lifetime of leverage over the pack’s guilt.
When he was ready, he threw the heavy oak doors open and stumbled into the corridor.
The hallway was lined with the Down Pack’s elite warriors and elders, all waiting for news of the birth. At the sight of Richard covered in blood, the murmurs died instantly.
"She's gone," Richard choked out. He let his knees buckle, dropping heavily onto the stone floor. He buried his head in his bloodied hands, his shoulders heaving.
Beta Thomas, Elena’s lifelong friend and commander of the guard, rushed forward. He dropped to his knees beside Richard, his hands hovering in shock. "What do you mean? Alpha Elena was strong! The pack doctor said the labor was progressing perfectly!"
"The child," Richard gasped, reaching out to grab Thomas by the leather of his armor, dragging the Beta close. He forced his voice to crack into a whisper. "The child’s wolf... it was too aggressive. It tore her apart from the inside before the midwives could even sever the cord. I tried to stop the bleeding. I tried to give her my strength, but she... she couldn't fight it."
A collective gasp echoed down the corridor. Warriors looked at each other in disbelief, their faces turning pale in the torchlight.
"The Alpha is dead?" Thomas whispered, his voice trembling as he looked toward the open bedroom door.
"Murdered," Richard corrected, his voice hardening as he stood up, wiping the wetness from his face. He walked back into the room, the crowd parting for him in silence.
He approached the bassinet. The baby was still crying, a shrill, piercing sound that rubbed against his raw nerves. Richard reached down, grabbing the infant by the swaddling clothes and lifting her into the air. He did not hold her to his chest. He held her out away from his body, walking back to the doorway so every elder and warrior could see her.
"She will not carry her mother's name," Richard declared, his voice booming through the stone corridor, cutting through the sudden weeping of the pack. "She will not inherit the titles of this house. From this day forward, she is Nila. She will live in the shadows of this packhouse, working to pay for the life she stole. You will look at her and remember the Alpha we lost."
Thomas looked at the baby, his fists clenching at his sides. The grief in the room shifted, turning heavy and cold as it focused entirely on the crying infant.
Richard looked down at the newborn Nila. Her small, dark eyes seemed to look right through him, mimicking her mother's final stare. He tightened his grip on her blankets, making the child cry harder. He had stolen a throne, and he would spend the next twenty years ensuring this girl never grew strong enough to take it back.