Desmond
The silence of my confinement was no longer merely deafening; it was the suffocating emptiness of a tomb. I paced the confines of the Alpha-in-waiting suite, now just a gilded cage, the metallic tang of shame filling my mouth. My father, Alpha Alaric, hadn't just stripped me of my title and rank; he had stripped me of my very identity. He left me alive only to suffer the ultimate humiliation: irrelevance.
He didn't trust me with the final plan. He chose Torvin, a brute, over his own heir.
My mind churned, an internal vortex fueled by the corrosive revelation whispered by the Shadow Gamma before dad sealed his findings: we—the Conrads—were not the true Alpha bloodline. We were ambitious descendants who had seized the throne, usurping the power meant for the Alpha King’s Bloodline
