Chapter 2 - THE KING’S RETURN
The heavy oak doors of the nursery swung open with enough force to rattle the glass sconces on the wall.
Lawson Cross stepped into the room.
He was a mountain of a man—six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, clad in dark tactical leather stained with mud and dried rogue blood from the summit border. His striking golden eyes swept over the room, radiating an aura so oppressive that Lady Vane immediately dropped to her knees, bowing her head to the floor.
"What is the meaning of this commotion?" Lawson’s voice was a low growl that vibrated through the floorboards.
His eyes fell upon Abigail.
She was standing near the window, wet, her apron stained with dark blood, holding his son wrapped in a fleece blanket.
Lawson’s heart clenched. For two years, he had lived in constant terror of coming home to a dead child.
"Your Majesty," Lady Vane stammered from the floor, her voice trembling with manufactured distress. "This... this new maid! She disobeyed protocol! She dumped the medicated bath water I prepared for Lord Finn! She refused to let me administer his vital medication!"
Lawson took three long strides across the room, stopping directly in front of Abigail. The heat rolling off his skin was terrifying, his Alpha aura pressing down on her like a physical weight.
"Is this true?" Lawson demanded, his golden eyes narrowing. "Did you interfere with his treatment?"
Abigail did not drop to her knees. She did not bow. She raised her head, looking directly into the King's eyes.
"His treatment was killing him, Your Majesty," she said calmly.
"Silence!" Lady Vane shrieked. "She’s insane! She’s a rogue sympathizer trying to kill the heir!"
"Quiet, Vane," Lawson growled without looking at the healer. He leaned down, his massive frame towering over Abigail. "Explain yourself, maid. Quickly."
Abigail slowly unclasped one hand from beneath the blanket, keeping Finn securely cradled against her shoulder with her left arm.
She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the blood-stained silk handkerchief.
She unrolled it.
Thirty-four black steel needles glinted under the soft light of the chandelier.
Lawson stared at the pile. "What is this?"
"These were inside your son," Abigail said, her voice steady and clear. "Thirty-four silver-barbed needles, painted with matte black wolfsbane enamel. They were embedded deep beneath his fur—in his neck, along his spine, near his joints. Every time he moved, he was impaled from the inside out."
Lawson went utterly still. The air in the room suddenly grew frigid as his aura spiked, filled with lethal, raw rage.
"That's impossible!" Lady Vane screeched, scrambling backward toward the door. "She brought those in her apron! She’s trying to frame the medical staff!"
"Look at him, Sire," Abigail urged softly, lifting the blanket back from Finn’s small face.
Lawson looked down.
The sores on Finn’s neck were already beginning to close. His skin was no longer boiling red. His breathing was soft, deep, and peaceful—a sight Lawson hadn't seen since his son was six months old.
Lawson extended a large, trembling hand, gently touching his son’s tiny ear.
Finn didn't scream. He didn't flinch. He leaned his little head into his father's thick palm, letting out a soft, contented sigh in his sleep.
Lawson’s golden eyes snapped to Lady Vane.
"Guards!" Lawson roared.
Four heavily armed Obsidian Ridge guards burst into the nursery, swords drawn.
"Seize Lady Vane," Lawson commanded, his voice cold enough to freeze blood. "Throw her into the lower dungeons in silver chains. If she attempts to speak or shift, break her jaws."
"No! Sire, mercy! I was following orders! I was—" Lady Vane’s screams were cut short as two guards slammed her to the floor, snapping heavy silver cuffs around her wrists before dragging her away down the stone hallway.
Lawson turned back to Abigail.
He looked at her hands—bruised, cut, and covered in his son's blood.
"Who are you?" Lawson asked quietly.
"Abigail Foster," she replied. "I was hired three weeks ago as a third-class nursery maid."
Lawson looked down at the thirty-four needles in the silk handkerchief, then back to the quiet, peaceful face of his only child.
"You saved my son," Lawson said, his voice thick with unexpressed emotion. "When my finest doctors were slaughtering him."
"He is just a baby," Abigail said softly, her eyes filling with quiet tears. "He didn't deserve this."
May you like
Lawson reached out, gently lifting Finn from Abigail’s arms. The little wolf grunted softly, cuddling into his father's massive chest.
"You stay in this room tonight, Abigail," Lawson ordered softly, pointing to the adjoining suite. "Tomorrow morning, we begin finding out who ordered my son to be tortured. And you will be by my side when we tear them apart."
