Moonfall | Book Two

CHAPTER 28

The marble floor beneath him was so hard that his knees were undoubtedly going to ache for hours afterwards. But Michael only continued to endure the pain by kneeling in front of the foot of the dais, eyes casted down to the floor as he waited for his father to speak.

An hour had certainly already passed since he first entered the Throne Room in the middle of the night and finally came clean about everything—Gabriel, Ellette, his mother, and Aria. It was not something he wanted to do, but had to if he hoped to gain his father's help.

But with the deafening silence mixed with the dread growing inside of him with every passing second, Michael could not help but wonder if he had been too naive to expect a positive outcome.

Because things were either going to go one of two ways—his father would either kill him or spare him. He, of course, was hoping on the latter, but still weary enough to remember to always expect the worst when it came to his father.

His father's footsteps neared, and as tempted as Michael was to lift his head and look up at him, he only continued to stare down at his own reflection in the polished marble floor.

"Tell me why you are here and not fleeing to the ends of the world where you think I will not find you?" His father's voice was eerily calm.

"To ask for your help."

"My help?" He scoffed, then began to make his way down the steps. "You did not wish for my help when you suspected your brother of falling prey to Fae bloodlust. When you and your mother concocted your plans of siding with the Fae and turning your backs on the pack, you did not wish for my help then. When you learned of Aria's treason and her exploitation of your brother, you did not come to me for help. You did not allow me to fix it! Like a fool, you let me host her in my home and even consider granting her request, all the while knowing what she had done. And you now have the audacity to ask for my help? For a wretched little fairy you call your mate? Where was this fighting spirit for your brother?"

Michael lifted his head and glared at his father standing at the foot of the dais. Disgust was written all over his face as he stared down at Michael, his brown eyes darkened by rage.

Did he really think Michael had not done all he could to help Gabriel? To save him?

"I went to the Woodlands and nearly died to save Gabriel. I agreed to go to war against the Fae because I believed they had wronged him."

"And yet here you are, living and breathing while he is buried six feet under. So, tell me, how hard did you really try?"

Michael's heart sank.

There it was—confirmation of what Michael had always suspected; heard in his father's voice every time he spoke to him; saw in his father's eyes whenever they landed upon him; felt every time he was within a hundred-foot radius of him.

His father's belief the wrong son had died.

But hurt as he was, he did not have time to wallow in the pain of that truth.

"I know whatever I say will not convince you that what mother and I did was the right thing to do. I did not come here to do that, but to ask you to help me help save the wretched little fairy who saved my life when she had every right to let me die. The fairy who is the reason why you still have an heir and a throne that cannot be usurped so long as I am breathing."

He hoped the reminder would force his father to stand down. To speak about his mate with a little more respect.

"Because she is not your enemy. The enemies of the Wolves and the Fae have always been the Witches, and they are ultimately the reason why she is stuck behind in our world. I want nothing more than to put an end to their treachery once and for all, and their belief they can use us as pawns in their wicked games. But for right now, I need you to do nothing to tempt them until she is safe from the dangers of the world we created.