Chapter 268

Felix

Silence fills the council chamber, thick and heavy as poured lead, as she takes slow, deliberate steps inside.

The only sound is the soft, steady tap of her bootheels on the polished marble—a sound that seems to measure the hammering of my own heart. All eyes are locked on her. She hasn’t been seen in the capital in years. Not since before my graduation.

She wears dark, practical travel leathers, dust still clinging to the seams from the hard ride to the capital. Her hair is indeed short, she unfortunately has the most commanding presence ever.

My uncle’s face has gone carefully blank, but I see the minute tightening around his eyes. The victorious smirk is long gone, replaced by the focused wariness of one predator recognizing another, more dangerous one.

She doesn’t bow. She doesn’t greet the council. She simply stops a few paces inside the door, her tail giving one slow, lazy flick behind her.

Then, she moves. Not to the empty seats reserved for observing dukes. She walks, unhurried, to the front row where a senior noble sits—a canine shifter in his fifties, a badger known for his unwavering loyalty to my uncle.

She stops in front of him and just... looks. Her golden eyes hold his. No threat is made. No word is spoken.

He pales. Within two seconds, he is on his feet, mumbling something incoherent, and practically flees to the back of the chamber.

Without a glance, Daphne Nyxclaw plops into his still-warm seat.

"Surely," she says, her voice cutting the silence like a claw through silk, "you were not going to make a decision concerning the fate of the kingdom... without me?" She turns her gaze, sweeping it across the council members. Multiple lords flinch and find something very interesting to look at on the floor.

My uncle clears his throat, the sound loud in the quiet. He’s trying to reclaim control of the room, of the narrative.

"I greet the Little Duke of Panth—"

"Little?" she says.

The already frigid silence plunges several degrees colder. You could hear a heartbeat stop.

My uncle’s jaw tightens.

"Duke Nyxclaw," he corrects himself, his tone now stripped of false warmth. "There have been many invitations sent your way, but with no response. You left beyond the seas with no known destination. The council had to proceed."

"Apologies," she says, the word so blatantly un-apologetic it’s almost a joke. "I’m here now."

She leans back, the picture of indolence. "Well? Continue."

To emphasize her point, she casually reaches over to the noble seated next to her,a stunned-looking antelope marquis and plucks the stack of legislative papers right out of his hands. He doesn’t protest.

No one continues.

The silence stretches for two full minutes, the only sound is the rhythmic tap of one of Daphne’s claws against the arm of her stolen chair.

"Well," Daphne says finally, her voice a bored drawl that slices through the quiet. "We don’t have all day."

Hesitantly, like a rusted machine groaning back to life, the conversation starts again.

The bear lord clears his throat, his earlier bluster reduced to a gruff, uneven recitation of his points. Others chime in, their voices noticeably quieter, their arguments more carefully worded.

She doesn’t look at the speakers. Instead, she flips idly through the stolen stack of papers, her eyes bored, she doesn’t say another word.

Not even my grandfather, the actual King in his prime, could make these nobles this uncomfortable, this scared.

Two more hours drag by. The same arguments are rehashed, but now they sound hollow and performative.

Finally, the exhausted chamberlain calls for the vote on the amendment. The moment we’ve been dreading, the moment my uncle has engineered. A clerk stands, parchment in hand, to call the roll.

"Wait."

Everyone looks at her. The clerk freezes.

Daphne closes the sheaf of papers with a soft thump and sets it aside. She leans back in her chair.

"I’ve heard all your arguments for and against," she says, her tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. "The passionate pleas for progress. The fiery defenses of tradition." A slight, almost imperceptible smirk touches her lips. "Fascinating."

She pauses, letting the word hang. No one dares to breathe.

"I still think," she continues, tilting her head just so, "it’s not a good idea." She says it like she’s critiquing a poorly planned hunt.

"I mean, if you change this today—the very bedrock of who can wear the crown—who knows what other laws you people will get the urge to... change tomorrow?"

Silence.

A heavy, disbelieving silence follows her words. The chamberlain, pale but duty-bound, finds his voice. It’s a thin, reedy sound in the quiet.

"You... you could cast your vote, Your Grace."

Daphne waves a lazy, dismissive hand. "No, no. I’m not against it."

My heart plummets through the floor. The spark of hope snuffs out, replaced by a cold, rushing dread. So this is it. She’s not here to save my throne. She’s here to observe its passing.

In a split second, my mind races—could I escape? What foreign kingdom would take in a deposed lion prince? A life of shadows and exile stretches before me.

But then she continues, leaning forward in her seat, her elbows resting on her knees. The predatory focus intensifies.

"It’s just," she purrs, "there should be consequences. Checks and balances. You’re opening a door that has been sealed for a millennium. You can’t just swing it wide and expect only the breeze you want to come through."

She looks around the room, her gaze lingering on my uncle’s frozen face.

"I propose you add... let’s call them tweaks... to this new law of succession. Instead of it simply adding other species to the line, let the non-Lions earn it."

"Duke Nyxclaw... what do you mean?"

A faint, toothy smile plays on Daphne’s lips. She’s enjoying this.

"Let’s say, for the sake of argument," she begins, as if explaining something simple to children, "in the royal bloodline, there is a legitimate heir. A lion. But there are other children, direct descendants of the king, who are not lions. A tiger, perhaps." Her eyes flick to my uncle.

"Under your proposed law, that tiger would simply... be in line. Entitled."