The room was quiet, save for the faint scratch of a quill against parchment and the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He was losing his mind. No— he had lost his mind.

Thorne's hand tightened around the quill, the ink pooling just slightly at the tip as he signed the same line for the third time, realizing too late that it was the wrong document.

Again.

He exhaled sharply, tossing the quill down with enough force that ink splattered across the table, streaking over royal crests and signatures alike.

It wasn't the first mistake he had made today. Not even the fifth.

He dragged his hand over his face, eyes squeezed shut. The image burned behind his eyes—the way Levi's coat draped over her shoulders, the way he held her when she almost fell. The way she walked beside him, quietly.

He saw it. It was burned into his mind, never really leaving.

He growled frustratedly and shoved the papers away. The stack slid, tipping the inkwell. Black liquid splashed across the desk, soaking parchment, dripping onto the floor.

From the corner of the room, Caelum let out a long, deliberate sigh. He had also been in the room, watching Thorne sigh, groan, growl, and make the same mistake ten times. How hard was it to sign?

He glanced at the door, motioning for the maid who came rushing in to clean the mess he had made.

"You're spiraling," Caelum said after a beat, his voice calm.

Thorne didn't answer. He turned, walking to the windows, hands clenched behind his back. The sunlight filtered through the glass. It was too bright and too warm. It piled on his already prickled nerves.

His skin prickled and his muscles strained. The beast inside him paced too, snarling and growling inside him.

The bond was clawing at him and he was doing all he could to suppress it, but it was driving him insane. His Lycan was restless—dangerously close to surfacing.

"You need to calm down. Rein it in. You can't afford to lose control now. Especially after what—"

Thorne turned to face him, "You think I enjoy feeling like this? Like a cursed dog scratching at a door that won't open?" He snarled.

"All of this is happening because of her. She's gotten so much under my skin. It's like hell." He gritted out through clenched teeth. "All of this… happening because she went in there. She knows no boundaries! How dare she go into Roseanne's room and touch her things?"

Caelum's jaw tightened at the mention of Roseanne. Thorne had kept her memory alive but dead. The room was there, filled with her things, left exactly the way Roseanne had left it yet… not even him went in there. He only did on her death anniversary.

He took a step forward. "With respect, Your Majesty… you're not angry because she entered that room."

Thorne's face grew stormy. "What?"

"I think you know what you're really angry about…"

"Caelum…" Thorne warned.

Caelum stepped back, "Forgive me if I spoke out of line. I'll go see what's holding them back. Excuse me." He stepped out, leaving Thorne to the silence of the room.

Thorne looked away. He turned back to the window, chest heaving, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. He hated this. The chaos. The weakness. The wanting. Her.

He hated that she looked so small in Levi's coat, yet something inside him ached to be the one who offered it to her. He hated that she was the one thing his beast wouldn't stop reaching for—and the one thing he kept pushing away.

He groaned, running his fingers through his hair. He never should've seen that. If he hadn't stepped out at the time he did… if he wasn't waiting to see her. He had wanted to see her… after all that happened… after what she did… he still wanted to see her.

He knew it was insane. After all, he had almost killed her. He had wrapped his hands around her neck and choked her. He hated himself but he hated his beast even more at that moment. His Lycan had fought against it. Against what he was doing but he had shoved the beast far back in his mind.

He only wanted her to hurt. The same way he did. Stepping into that room had brought back memories he chose to lock up. And when he saw that she was the one who'd done it. He saw red.

He gripped the edge of the window frame until his knuckles turned white.

What is wrong with me?

A knock came at the door, jolting him out of his thoughts.

"My King," a guard's voice called through. "The council has arrived. They await you in the east chamber."

Thorne didn't move right away. He stared out at the bright gardens below. He smoothed a hand over his chest, willing the beast to settle, to behave.

It did not.

His jaw tightened. With a deep breath, he turned, pushing everything else—everything Adina—deep down into the coldest part of himself.

He could not afford weakness.

Not now.

_______

Thorne stood outside the east chamber where he usually received visitors such as the council members. Their arrival to Obsidian had been expected for weeks now.

The doors creaked open and the voices within fell silent as he stepped inside.

Twelve councilmen stood waiting, draped in the Obsidian Kingdom's finest robes. Dark velvets, silver embroidery. They looked exactly how a high council member should. They bowed low as he entered.

Thorne took his seat at the head of the long table, every inch of him carved into the image of a king. Cold. Composed. Controlled. Except he was none of that at the moment.

Caelum stood behind him now, like a shadow.

A hush fell over the room as the council members sat down, clearing their throats. The real reason for their arrival. The twelve were known to be quite straightforward so there was no beating around the bush.

Lord Kethan, the oldest among them, cleared his throat. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice smooth as polished glass. "We come with concerns—grave ones."

Of course… when was their concern never grave?

Thorne said nothing. He let the silence stretch.

Kethan continued. "There is talk among the outer provinces. Whispers of instability. Of unrest. They question the kingdom's lack of progress…"

Thorne cocked his brows up. "Speak clearly, Kethan."

Kethan looked at his fellow council members and cleared his throat. "They question the kingdom's lack of an heir."

Another councilman added, "Your Majesty, a kingdom without succession is a kingdom without a future."

Thorne's jaw ticked. "What exactly are you implying?"

Lord Kethan exchanged a brief glance with the others, then met Thorne's gaze again. "With all due respect, Your Majesty… it is time."

"The late Queen Roseanne died years ago. A decade, even. The kingdom has mourned her. The gods took her from us, and who are we to question them? But it is time to move forward. The gods haven't blessed you with a second mate—we accept that. But a kingdom without an heir? It's simply impossible."

He paused, letting the silence stretch, the weight of his next words crashing down like stone.

"You must take concubines."