Page 137 of Ruthless Ends
“Can I have your attention?”
The surrounding chatter quiets, and I step to the side so I can see through the doorway to the hospital. Cam stands at the end of the room on top of a desk, Kirby at his side, using her magic to project his voice.
“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Camden Farley. I’ve spent the last ten years as a pack master in the barrens. And through a blood deal, I was also in Westcott’s service for the majority of that time.”
Heads turn in his direction, and he stands tall beneath the scrutiny, like he belongs up there.
“I know you’ve all been through so much. So I’m not here to tell you what to do or who you should follow. Instead, I’m going to offer you a plan for how we move forward from here. And it’ll be up to you to decide if that’s something you want to be a part of.”
I chew on my lip, watching the crowd as he continues. We can’t force them to accept him taking Westcott’s place, but if they don’t, I can’t see us finding peace anytime soon.
But through the exhaustion and pain and skepticism in their faces, one by one, as Cam lays out his plans, something else starts to break through. Something I haven’t seen in a long time.
Something that looks a lot like hope.
CHAPTERFORTY-SIX
A FEW WEEKS LATER
“Doesthis make you wish we’d had the big wedding?” Reid murmurs beside me.
I chuckle.Not in the slightest.
He’s summoned to the front of the ceremony before I can respond. He plants a quick kiss to my temple then joins the rest of the estate heads as the older monarchs explain how this will work. It was Anya’s idea to combine the wedding and Cam’s swearing into the alliance for efficiency, making the royal vampires look slightly ridiculous standing in a semicircle beneath an arch of white flowers.
For the most part, the wedding is tame. Anya’s not even in a wedding dress, just a full-length gown sporting Vasiliev’s colors—crimson red and gold—and the same ceremonial sash as the rest of the royals. Because today she’s the bride…and one of the estate heads swearing in her soon-to-be husband.
The entire thing is bizarre.
But I plaster on a smile just the same as I shift my weight in my wooden chair, my high heels sinking into the grass each time I put too much pressure on them.
Cam’s not out here yet. They’ll summon him once the ceremony begins, and I fight the urge to go check on him. The wolves are already waiting inside with him, and he’s Cam.He’s fine.
I’m probably the last person he wants to see today anyway.
Which makes my front row seat doubly unfortunate.
All things considered, it’s a good turnout. We’d been prepared for more of the estates to fight the idea. But all eight in the alliance are in attendance—even Olofsson and Jógvan, who agreed to renegotiate now that changes to turning protocols are back on the table.
They’re not all happy. That much is clear from the sneers and eyes shooting daggers at any wolf that gets too close to some of them, but they’rehere.
I’d been expecting more bad blood after three of their monarchs were butchered, but most seem content about having members of the younger generations fill those seats. Considering some of the monarchs have held their positions for over a century, it must be refreshing.
It’s a clear night, the stars shining brilliantly overhead, so much brighter than in the city. They let Cam choose which of Westcott’s compounds he’d prefer working out of, and being the first monarch—though he’s insisted he willnotbe using that word—who isn’t a vampire, his location is the first to not be limited geographically to optimize minimal sunlight.
It made sense that he’d prefer the one in Eastern Canada, the original one I’d stayed at. It’s in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by beautiful mountains and woods, the climate familiar to him. The perfect place for someone who detests the extravagance of the estates and intends to spend the majority of his time outside.
We’re set up in the field behind the compound, framed on either side by the mountains. Under different circumstances, it would be a romantic, picturesque wedding.
But Anya is no blushing bride, and Cam is no doting groom.
Anya looks all business as she nods along to Queen Suksai’s instructions. The wedding part of the ceremony will come first, after which they’ll jump to swearing Cam into the alliance.
I’m just glad I’m not part of the ceremony. Reid had tried to talk me into it—as my wife, you’re just as much the head of the Carrington estate now as I am—but the other estates have only one representative up there.
The rest of the monarchs’ partners are sitting in the front row with me, none of whom I know, though I recognize several of their faces from my studying. The woman next to me is the closest to my age, but I don’t remember her from the books. She must be with the new head of Locklear who took power a few weeks ago.
Every one of the white folding chairs set up is filled—wolves, vampires, witches, humans. Some from the estates, some from Cam’s past, some of Westcott’s following. There are clear lines drawn—the estate vampires sitting together, an entire wolf pack in the corner—but they’re all in one place and not trying to kill one another, so that feels like progress.