Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 83

Bryan's POV

The plates were still warm on the tray, the scent of roasted meat and spiced potatoes clinging to the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of the wine I’d just finished. I leaned back in my chair, licking the taste of red wine off my lower lip as I tapped my fingers lazily on the table.

"Clean this up," I said, my voice carrying across the room. My tone wasn’t a request—it never was. "Send in a maid."

The guard outside answered with a muffled, "Yes, Alpha," and within a moment, the door cracked open.

But it wasn’t the maid who entered first.

It was Henry. Beta Henry—my father’s most loyal shadow, the kind of man who always had an air of seriousness that grated on my nerves. His dark eyes scanned the room, lingering on the tray, then flicked back to me as though judging how I lived my life.

"Your father requests your presence," he said flatly, ignoring the discarded mess of plates, the unbuttoned state of my shirt, and the fact that I was clearly not in the mood to be ordered around.

I raised a brow, lips curving in a smirk. "Requests? Interesting choice of word, Henry. You’ve been around him long enough to know he doesn’t request. He commands."

Henry didn’t flinch. The man was like stone. That’s probably why my father liked him. "Then take it as a command," he said evenly.

I chuckled and pushed myself up from the chair, stretching my arms lazily before rolling my shoulders. "Fine. But he could’ve waited until after the maid cleaned this up. My appetite was just getting started."

Henry ignored me, stepping aside so I could pass.

I walked ahead of him, my pace leisurely, like a man strolling through his own domain. Which, technically, I was. The castle’s halls were silent, torchlight flickering along the stone walls. My boots echoed with each step, filling the silence between us. Henry trailed behind me like a shadow, saying nothing. He never did.

When we finally reached the heavy oak doors of my father’s study, Henry rapped twice and pushed them open without waiting for a response. I walked in, smirk still plastered on my face, but the sight of my father wiped a hint of it away.

Alpha Baron sat behind his desk, a towering figure even in age. His hair had grayed at the edges, but his presence hadn’t diminished. His gaze was sharp, fixed on me the moment I entered. There was no warmth in his eyes—there never was. He was a ruler first, a father second, and I had learned to live with that fact.

"Sit," he ordered.

I dropped into the chair across from him, stretching my legs out like I owned the place, resting one ankle over my knee. "To what do I owe the honor of being summoned so dramatically, Father?"

He didn’t rise to my sarcasm. He never did. Instead, he leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. "I’ve made a decision. It’s time I step back from most of my duties."

I blinked at him, then let out a sharp laugh. "Step back? You? That’s rich. You love power more than you love breathing."

His eyes narrowed, and the air between us grew heavier. "Don’t test me, Bryan. I said step back, not step away. There’s a difference. I will still hold authority where it matters, but the running of affairs, the public decisions, the control of our lands—I want you to handle them."

I tilted my head, studying him. "So you’re finally ready to pass the crown?"

"I didn’t say crown." His voice was hard, clipped. "I said responsibility. Authority. Consider it training. If you prove yourself capable, the crown will follow. But there is one condition."

"Of course," I muttered, leaning back. "There’s always a condition with you."

He didn’t hesitate. "I expect a grandchild. Soon. From both you and Irene."

My smirk faltered for a moment before twisting into something sharper. "A grandchild?" I repeated slowly, almost laughing. "That’s your grand condition? You want me to put a baby in Irene just to keep your throne warm?"

His gaze sharpened like a blade. "This is not a game, Bryan. Our line, our legacy, must continue. Without an heir, there’s no point in handing this power to you. If you and Irene can’t compromise, then I will have no choice but to hand the throne to another."

I felt my jaw tighten, my smirk slipping into something darker. "Another? Who, Father? Henry?" I spat, jerking my head toward the beta standing silently at the door. "Or maybe one of those pathetic cousins who cower at the sound of your voice?"

Alpha Baron’s tone didn’t waver. "Don’t test me, Bryan. You’ve wasted enough years on your arrogance. If you can’t give me what I want, I will give the throne to someone who can."

My fists clenched on the armrests, the audacity of his words igniting fire in my chest. "You’d strip me of what’s rightfully mine over a child? Over her?"

"You’ll do what needs to be done," he said coldly. "Or you’ll be nothing but a prince with no kingdom."

I leaned forward, voice low and sharp. "You think threatening me with exile will bend me? I don’t bend, Father. Not to you. Not to anyone."

"Then prove it," he snapped, his eyes like steel. "Prove you’re worthy. Take Irene as your wife in more than name. Give me an heir. Or get out of my sight."

For a moment, the tension between us was thick enough to choke on. I stared at him, his unwavering gaze meeting mine, neither of us blinking. It was a battle of wills, one I hated because I could never win against his sheer stubbornness.

Finally, I let out a low hiss of laughter and pushed myself to my feet. "Fine. Keep your crown warm, Father. I’ll think about it."

"Don’t think. Act." His voice was final, dismissing me like I was nothing more than a servant. "Now leave."

I stood there for another second, smirk barely holding together, before I turned on my heel and stormed out.

Henry stepped aside silently as I passed him, and I didn’t bother sparing him a glance. My blood was boiling, every step echoing with the rage I wanted to unleash. My father thought he could control me, manipulate me with threats and ultimatums. He should’ve known better.

I was halfway down the hall when I stopped dead.

Because there she was.

Irene.

She was standing near the corridor’s curve, her face pale, eyes wide—like a doe caught in the trap. Her lips parted, but no words came out. And I knew instantly. She had been listening.

Her gaze met mine, filled with something between guilt and fear, and she whispered, "Bryan…"

The sound of her meek voice scraped against my nerves.

I let out a sharp hiss, rolling my eyes. "Eavesdropping suits you, Irene. Always lurking where you don’t belong."

She flinched, but she didn’t move. Her fingers twisted together, her gaze lowering as though she couldn’t bear the weight of mine.

I stepped closer, my smirk returning, sharper this time. I leaned down slightly, just enough for my words to brush against her ear. "Don’t look at me like that. You heard him. You’re just as trapped in this game as I am."

Her lips trembled, her eyes darting up to mine, and I could see the storm of emotions swirling in her gaze.

But I didn’t give her the satisfaction of more words.

I straightened, scoffed, and brushed past her without another glance. My boots thundered down the hall, each step carrying my rage, my smirk, my refusal to give anyone—my father or Irene—the upper hand.