Chapter 141- The Game in My Hands

Adrian

I leaned back in the leather chair, one leg crossed lazily over the other, my eyes trained on the flickering flame of the fireplace. The warmth kissed my skin, but my thoughts were elsewhere—on a Queen who had no idea how deeply tangled she already was in my web.

Lexy. That sharp-tongued, stubborn, so-called Queen.

A slow, satisfied smirk pulled on my lips. She thought herself clever, gathering allies, playing politics like it was some great burden to be shouldered with pride. But what Lexy didn’t know was that every move she made was already accounted for. Every person she trusted—I had studied them, dissected their loyalty, mapped their weakness.

I rose, pacing the room I was settled in with deliberate steps. The firelight cast a golden hue over the dark wood panels and shelves filled with tribe decoration. Stacked on the table were ancient books—books most alphas wouldn’t bother reading. But I wasn’t like most alphas. I didn’t fight just with claws or brute force. I waged war with foresight. Strategy. Patience.

Tarria was proof of that.

I ran my fingers along the edge of the table, remembering what Kael told me about the look on Tarria’s face when she realized her own blood—her father—had conspired with me. The betrayal had shattered something inside her, and I relished it. Breaking someone strong was far more satisfying than tearing down someone already on their knees.

“You underestimated me, Lexy,” I murmured, voice low and venom-laced. “And now look where we are.”

I had been feeding everyone whispers and hints, planting doubt like seeds in a fertile garden. Questions about Lexy’s rule. About the prophecy. About whether the Queen truly had control over the beacon—over Tarria.

It was working.

Some of the old wolves were already leaning my way. Not openly, of course. But their hesitation, their questions, the way they averted their eyes when Lexy spoke at the last gathering—that was enough to tell him the tides were shifting. Slowly, subtly, but undeniably.

“She’s too soft,” I said aloud, imagining myself in front of the conference. “Too emotional. She puts loyalty above logic.”

Lexy’s heart, her compassion, the thing that made her beloved by her people—it would be her downfall.

I poured myself a glass of amber liquor and took a slow sip, letting the burn warm my throat. My reflection in the glass window caught my eye. Sharp features. Calm, collected strength. I wasn’t born into power like Lexy. I had carved it out of stone with blood and sacrifice.

“You still think she’ll beat me?” I asked the empty room.

Silence.

I chuckled and turned back toward the large table in the center of the room. Maps, letters, and surveillance photos littered the surface along with the books. One corner had a detailed sketch of Lexy’s tribe lands. Another marked the locations of hidden passageways and lesser-known supply routes. All intel bought or stolen from turncoats, spies, or those too weak to resist persuasion.

Tarria had been a risk—taking her before the conference. But it had paid off.

Even now, I knew Lexy was scrambling. Looking for her. Losing sleep. Making mistakes.

“I don’t even need Tarria for the prophecy,” I whispered, tapping a finger on her name scribbled across the parchment. “I just need the world to believe I do.”

And that was the beauty of it. Prophecies were tools for those smart enough to bend them. The truth didn’t matter. Perception did.

If enough believed Tarria was destined to bring balance—or destruction—it would shift the balance of power. And if I could convince the conference that Lexy couldn’t control that power, they would begin to consider alternatives. Namely… me.

I would look like the safer choice. The controlled force. The one willing to harness the storm without letting it destroy the land.

I didn’t need to be liked. I needed to be needed.

I strode to the window and looked out over Lexy’s lands—massive, wooded area, guards patrolling the edges, her people moving in synchronized obedience. It was a sharp contrast to my dark snowed pack. Hers was a place of trust. Mines was a fortress of dominance.

“She rules with affection,” I said with a sneer. “I rule with certainty.”

A knock on the door broke my thoughts. I didn’t turn. “Enter.”

A maid came in bringing me another bottle of liquor along with some food. I received a call and dismissed her right away.

Tarria’s father Loudious voice came on the line. “They’ve accepted the offer. The northern pack will vote neutral if we keep Tarria’s whereabouts out of the next summit.”

I nodded once. “Good. That gives us the numbers we need to stall any vote of confidence in Lexy’s leadership. Keep pushing. The rest will follow.”

Loudious hesitated. “She’s getting close. Her scouts have been sighted near the place she hid when she escaped.”

“Let her come,” I said, turning with a spark of amusement in my eyes. “Let her wear herself thin chasing ghosts. The more she rushes, the more she’ll falter.”

Loudious didn’t sound convinced, but he acknowledges with a grunt and hung up without another word.

I knew Loudious was loyal—for now. I didn’t expect blind devotion. I expected fear. Control. And Loudious feared the plan falling apart. But me? I believed in my vision. My grip on the board was firm.

I walked back to the table and studied Tarria’s sketch. Despite everything, there was something about her that still intrigued me. The duality. Light and darkness in one body. A pawn that might still become a queen—if shaped correctly.

“I could offer you a future, Tarria,” I said softly, more to myself than anyone else. “But you’d rather bleed for Lexy. For a queen who sent you to your fate.”

I finished the glass and placed it down carefully, fingers lingering on the rim.

Let Lexy fight to get Tarria back. Let her tear through forests and enemies and wear herself out trying to fix what was already cracked.

By the time she arrived, I would already have the alliance whispering doubts, the packs divided, and a new path set in stone.

I didn’t need a crown handed to me. I’d already taken it in pieces.

“She thinks she’s coming to win a battle,” I murmured with dark amusement. “But she’s walking into a coronation.”

And as the fire burned behind me and the storm of conflict slowly built on the horizon, I smiled—because in my mind, the war was already over.