Our Other mate

Chapter 13

Phillip's POV

As I watched Merrick and Ella disappear into the great hall, my stomach twisted with unease. Seeing my mates walk away without me felt like a blade through my heart. I knew the court would never welcome a lowly werewolf like me at their celebration, but that didn't lessen the sting. The Magistrate had ordered me to stay in the guard tower, a place I had come to loathe during my many visits to the capital. Merrick had always detested this place, but now, with his new title, his responsibilities had grown, forcing him to endure the suffocating atmosphere of the royal court.

The guard tower loomed in the distance, a decrepit relic amidst the grandeur of the King's estate. It was the only structure on the property that looked old, weathered, and out of place. Its condition was no accident—an intentional slight against those of us who had been born werewolves. We were seen as lesser beings, unworthy of the luxuries afforded to the Lycans who ruled this kingdom. To the King, werewolves were little more than dogs, fit to serve but never to stand beside him. But I had business to attend to here, and I wouldn't let the disdain of the court distract me from my mission.

As I entered the courtyard, familiar faces greeted me—guards and servants I had met during my many trips to the capital. Some offered a polite "Hello," accompanied by a handshake, while others merely nodded in acknowledgment. The camaraderie was a thin veil over the reality of my situation. These were men and women who had accepted their lot in life, who knew better than to question the status quo. When I finally reached my quarters, everything looked as if I had left it just a few months before. I had last been here after the passing of the late Duke, and the room felt frozen in time. The cot had been freshly made, likely by one of the maids I had entertained during my previous stays.

I sat on the edge of the cot, my thoughts consumed by worry for Merrick and Ella. I had sent Merrick a text earlier, but hours had passed without a response. I knew that phones weren't allowed in the Grand Hall, but the silence gnawed at me, each passing minute fueling my anxiety. The ceremony should have ended by now, yet there was no word from either of my mates. The hours dragged on, and just as I began to consider storming the hall myself, a knock echoed through the room. The sound was followed by a soft thump outside my door, then retreating footsteps.

When I opened the door, a tray of food awaited me. It was a small comfort to know they were at least willing to feed the "wretched mutts," as we were often called. The meal was nothing special—just a bowl of soup and some bread. But as I lifted the bowl, a slip of paper caught my eye, tucked beneath the dish. My heart pounded as I unfolded it, revealing a hastily scrawled message:

*Meet me in the east wing at midnight.

Your master is in danger.

T*

My breath caught in my throat. Danger. My mates were in danger, and I was powerless to protect them. The guards wouldn't let me near the royal chambers, and my informant was my only way in. The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow as I waited for the appointed time, every nerve on edge. At 11:45, I slipped out of my quarters and made my way to the east wing, our usual meeting spot.

The corridor was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the stone walls. My footsteps echoed in the silence, the sound of my own breathing loud in my ears. When I reached the rendezvous point, I didn't have to wait long. I heard the familiar footsteps, a rhythm I had memorized long ago.

"Brother!" a voice called out, and then I was engulfed in a tight embrace.

"Tristram," I greeted, the relief in my voice palpable. It had been too long since I last saw him, my old friend from the days we spent in Taobh gorm na beinne. We had grown up together, our fathers working as spies for the late Duke. Even after I moved to Greenvine, we had remained close. Aside from Merrick, Tristram was the only person I trusted with my life.