Lycan Prince Matteo

Third Person

They lounged in the midst of tranquil serenity, a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts swirling within him. What was wrong with them? How could they carry on with a carefree tournament and revel in it? A twisted sense of disbelief washed over him as he observed them lounging, laughing, and enjoying a sense of camaraderie that he believed they had no right to. Didn’t they sense any impending threat-the storm brewing on the horizon, ready to shatter their idyllic existence?This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

An overwhelming urge welled up within him, compelling him to make them keenly aware of the imminent danger that lurked, veiled by their current blissful ignorance. He couldn’t wait to witness the torment etched on their faces when the reality of their predicament dawned upon them. They had taken what rightfully belonged to him-his title, his mate, and the opportunity to have a family of his own. The throne should have passed to his son, not to theirs. The injustice of it all gnawed at his very core.

In the midst of his disquiet, a voice broke through the maelstrom of thoughts that swirled within his mind. “My Lord,” it intoned with a respectful but firm undertone.

He turned his attention to the source of the voice, his piercing gaze fixating on Caleb, his loyal confidant and right-hand man. He was the conduit through which he received updates on Matteo and his mate, the ones who seemed to bask in an oasis of tranquility amidst the impending tempest. His presence had always provided him with a sense of reassurance, and he now looked to him for insights into the enigma that was Matteo’s newfound peace.

“Are you certain about this?” he inquired, his voice carrying a weight of both curiosity and determination.

Caleb met his gaze unflinchingly and nodded with conviction. “Yes, my Lord,” he affirmed. He was known for his shrewdness and competence, qualities that had earned him a place of trust and esteem in his inner circle. The fact that he had reported this unusual development regarding Matteo only served to intensify his intrigue. It was as though the calm surface of a tranquil pond concealed unseen depths of turmoil that begged to be unearthed.

He had always excelled at gathering crucial information, a skill that had often impressed him. As for Matteo’s sudden change in demeanor, it remained a perplexing enigma. The report indicated that Matteo and his warriors had discovered hidden lairs near the palace and the pack grounds. Yet, their focus had inexplicably shifted away from their intended target, the eastern pack. The abrupt deviation in their strategy piqued his interest and stirred a sense of urgency within him.

For years, he had harbored plans, meticulously crafted, to reclaim what was rightfully his. These ambitions had remained dormant, constrained by the shadowy presence of an unknown adversary who had clandestinely opposed the palace’s might. The identity and motivations of this traitor had eluded him, leaving him to ponder the shadowed depths of their intrigue. However, the time had come to understand and harness the traitor’s presence to serve his purposes. The trail of their ambitions had led to yet another treacherous advisor, one driven by covetous desires that threatened to undermine his ambitions. It was an obstacle he could not afford to ignore.

His resolve was unwavering. He cared little for the traitor’s fate, but he could not permit them to endanger the sanctity of his palace, a domain that was unequivocally his. The interloper had no right to covet what rightfully belonged to him, a legacy that he had inherited by blood and birthright. He resolved to use Caleb, his most dependable and efficient warrior, to both dismantle the traitor’s designs and unearth their identity. His loyalty was an unwavering constant, an assurance that the task would be executed with precision and discretion.

Hours later, he returned, bearing the weight of his report and the gravity of the decisions that would soon follow. “The rogues are in position, awaiting your orders,” Caleb informed him.

He nodded with approval. “Excellent,” he responded, acknowledging Caleb’s efficiency. The rogues, a clandestine force under his command, were a formidable instrument, ready to enact his will. Now, he sought to wield them with precision and purpose.

His gaze narrowed as he contemplated the next steps of his plan. “Now, I want you to devise a plan for Ronaldo,” he instructed, a note of unwavering determination underscoring his words. He met his command with a knowing affirmation.

“Is it time now, my Lord?”

A steely resolve settled over him as he confirmed his intent. “Yes,” he replied with unwavering determination. “And ensure that he experiences suffering.”

Caleb accepted his directive with a stoic demeanor, his loyalty resolute. “Understood, my Lord,” he acknowledged before departing once more, carrying the weight of impending actions and their far-reaching consequences.

As he watched his departure, he couldn’t help but reflect on the trajectory of his life, a path marked by betrayal and loss. His father, the previous king, had issued an edict that severed their familial ties, a directive that he had defied with unwavering loyalty. His father’s ultimate betrayal had been the pivotal moment that set his life on its current course, depriving him of his rightful inheritance and his beloved mate. The memory of those events was as vivid as if they had occurred only yesterday.

*** Flashback ***

The memories of that fateful day, a day etched in pain and betrayal, played out before his mind’s eye with haunting clarity. “Dad, you must believe me. I would never do such a thing,” he had pleaded, desperation lacing his words. His father’s accusations hung heavy in the air, an accusation that had shattered the fragile bonds of trust between them. His father had accused him of the unforgivable act of stealing Marco’s mate, a crime that he had vehemently denied.

“No more of this nonsense,” his father had declared, his voice unyielding. The truth of the matter had been distorted beyond recognition, twisted into a narrative that portrayed him as the villain, an antagonist in a tale of betrayal. His father’s bias had been evident throughout his upbringing, favoring Marcus with an intensity that had left him bewildered and estranged.

The chasm that had grown between them, fueled by his father’s favoritism, had driven him to seek ways to earn his father’s approval. Yet his efforts had been in vain, and he had been met with a relentless wall of indifference. His father had refused to acknowledge his worth, acknowledging only Marcus’s accomplishments. The bitterness of that favoritism had cast a shadow over his formative years.

With no other recourse, he had turned to rebellion, a desperate bid to assert his independence and prove his worth. He had sought to challenge his father’s preconceptions, yet the consequences had been far graver than he could have anticipated. In his pursuit of defiance, he had unwittingly paved the way for Marcus’s ascent, a path that now led to their current predicament.

“I’m telling the truth, Dad. She’s not Marco’s mate; she’s mine!” He had implored, his voice quaking with frustration and despair. He had staked his claim, but it had fallen upon deaf ears.

The verdict his father had rendered had been final, delivered with a firmness that had left no room for argument. “If you wish to claim the throne, you must fight for it. I cannot simply hand the kingdom over to someone as reckless as you. You and Marco will compete for the crown,” his father had decreed, a judgment that had shaken the very foundations of his world.

“I am your firstborn, and the title of king is rightfully mine!” he had declared, his voice ringing with the undeniable truth of his birthright. The crown should have been him by virtue of his status as the eldest, a legacy passed down through generations.

The impending battle against his brother had weighed heavily on his mind, casting a pall over the days that followed. The notion of competing against Marco, once a beloved sibling, now a rival, had filled him with a profound sense of unease. He had been confined to his room, a prisoner of his thoughts, and a sense of helplessness had begun to pervade his spirit.

Then, as the battle drew nearer, Marco visited him, their interaction laden with tension and unspoken truths. “Why do you intend to fight me when you know you cannot win?” He had posed the question, his words heavy with the weight of an unsettling revelation.

“What do you mean?” he had responded, the words laced with a sense of foreboding.

“You’re weakened,” Marco had declared matter-of-factly, “and there’s no way the wolfsbane and silver I introduced into your meals haven’t taken their toll.” The revelation had struck him like a physical blow, and the implications of Marco’s treachery were like a sharp knife twisted into his heart.

“How could you?” he had seethed, his voice trembling with anger. He had stared at Marco, his vision clouded by an overwhelming rage that threatened to consume him.

In response, Marco had uttered chilling words that had forever altered the course of their lives. “You can be a better king than I am,” he had asserted, a veiled prophecy of darkness shrouding his claim. “I’ve already glimpsed the future, and it reveals you as a tyrant. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I couldn’t let the entire kingdom suffer because of you.”

The accusation had left him stunned, grappling with a truth he couldn’t fully comprehend. His brother had painted a grim portrait of his future reign, a reign characterized by tyranny and oppression. The notion had struck at the core of his identity, challenging the values he had been raised with.

“That’s absurd!” he retorted, desperation evident in his voice. “I was raised to believe that we are protectors of all species and that we must maintain balance in the world to ensure peace and harmony. How can you claim I would become a tyrant king?”

Yet Marco had remained resolute, his motives obscured by cryptic insinuations. “You won’t understand now, but you will in time,” he had cryptically asserted. Then he leaned closer, his voice taking on a sinister tone. “Now that we’re alone, let me tell you something. Yes, I took everything from you-your title, your mate. Did you know how she begged me when I bedded her, unaware it was me and not you? Potions from witches are readily available nowadays.”

The revelation had been a dagger through his heart, a confirmation of his deepest fears. He had lost his mate because of Marcus’s betrayal; his beloved soulmate was ensnared by a spell and subjected to unspeakable manipulation. The pain of the revelation had pierced him to his very core, leaving scars that would never truly heal. The only woman fated to be with him had endured suffering and torment, all because of the treacherous actions of his brother. The agony of that realization had left an indelible mark on his soul, a wound that festered with each passing day.

Third Person