Chapter 497
497
497
Third Person’s POV
Pack at the Blackthorn Pack, in the study, Caldwell finished his report and sat down for a cup of coffee,
“After Alpha Manfred left the Silverlight Pack, he went straight to Germain’s place, Lance noted , raising an eyebrow.
“Seems our suspicions were spot–on. The Manfred brothers and Madison are indeed in cahoots.
“Alpha Howell has been lying low. Never would’ve guessed it,” Caldwell remarked.
“I’ve been on the southern border these past years. Not too clued up on the capital’s happenings, Lance explained.
“Right now, they’re not powerful nobles. If they had been, they’d have struck when Lycan Erasmus became Lycan King. Back then, the Bloodscar Border was a mess, the southern border at war, and the old Lycan King had just died. The new king was barely in power. It would’ve been their golden chance, Lance mused .
Caldwell shook his head. “True, but taking over in such chaos isn’t easy. Inheriting a mess like that would be a massive headache.”
“Yet their odds of success would’ve been high,” Lance said.
“Which shows Germain’s ambition. He wanted it all–power, reputation, and public support. That’s why he played the long game. If he’d rebelled during the war, even if he seized the Lycan King’s throne, he’d have been a traitor.” Caldwell said.
“People who want everything usually end up with nothing. He’s probably regretting it now,” Lance agreed.
“Let’s keep watching for now. Work with Adelaide’s plan, help her take Madison down first. Oh, any news from the Western?” Lance asked.
Caldwell relayed the second piece of news. “Solanke was assassinated and critically injured. Now he’s in a coma. He’s survived a few attempts before, but not this time.”
“Can we get someone in?” Lance asked.
“We’ve got one person inside, but they’re just a regular guard in Solanke’s pack, not close to him,” Caldwell said.
any and
“So during the attack, they weren’t there. Not that it would’ve mattered. The assassins were to too skilled. Solanke’s a great fighter, and his guards are top–notch, yet they couldn’t stop it,” Lance said.
“What about the Western Tribe’s Lycan King? How’s he doing? Heard he wouldn’t last the summer. Now it’s fall,” Lance continued.
“The info’s unreliable. Even the Western Tribe’s citizens don’t know the truth,” Caldwell said.
Lance sighed. He hoped the Western Tribe’s Lycan King would hold on. Otherwise, they’d face more
chaos .
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After a moment of thought, Lance said, “Send a message to Prunella. Ask if her people can deliver some special medicine to Solanke.”
Caldwell picked up his cup again. “Actually, I’ve already given the letter and medicine to Wendy Shell handle the delivery.”
Lance raised an eyebrow. “Always one step ahead, aren’t you?”
Caldwell, unfazed, said, “Just want you to know I carn my keep, Alpha Lance.”
Lance smiled. “You’ve been through hell and back with me. No need for talk of payment. Just ask Luna Adelaide for what you want.”
A hint of a smile appeared on Caldwell’s usually stern face.
His cold cedar pheromones carried a rare warmth: “Not much, just one of Mr. Neil’s paintings.”
“Bouquet of Mountain Ash? We’ve got plenty,” Lance said, his cedar pheromones rippling with ease.
“If it were just Bouquet of Mountain Ash, I wouldn’t bother you,” Caldwell said, his expression turning serious.
His cold cedar pheromones grew heavy with eighteen years of unresolved longing. His pupils shrank into deep, vertical lines. “It’s a portrait, dictated by me and painted by Mr. Neil.”
Lance immediately understood. His cedar pheromones sank, carrying a note of comprehension. “For your sister.”
Caldwell’s gaze deepened. His cold cedar pheromones wrapped eighteen years of unshed grief . “Yes. I’ve never given up searching for her.”
Lance’s voice carried a hint of worry. His cedar pheromones gently brushed, as if soothing an old, unhealed wound. “Your sister was seven when she disappeared. Eighteen years have passed. She’s twenty- five now. Even if Mr. Neil can paint her at five, could you find her by that portrait?”
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“No. But I’ve heard Mr. Neil has a gift. He can extrapolate from a person’s youthful features to their adult appearance and capture it in a painting,” Caldwell said.
Lance replied, “Even if he can, your own art skills are decent. If you can’t paint your sister from memory, it’s already blurred. How can a verbal description suffice?”
“It’s true that my memory has faded. But when I try to draw her myself, I’m always reminded of the family’s grief after her disappearance. I dare not delve deep. With Mr. Neil here, perhaps if I describe her to him, he could paint her. At least, her image might gradually become clear in my