The Gilded Heart

The day before the ceremony, Leo was summoned to the Archives. Not by Isolde, but by the Head Elder, a man named Marcus who smelled of mothballs and malice.

"You must sign the final transfer deeds," Marcus said, pointing to a stack of leather-bound books on a desk deep in the subterranean levels of the estate. "To accept the wealth, you must understand its source."

Leo sat down. "Isolde said it was investments. Real estate."

Marcus chuckled dryly. "Money is just paper, boy. Real power comes from blood. Read."

Leo opened the book. It was a ledger. Not of bank accounts, but of names.

*Aurelian Alpha: Marius. Ascended 1890. Died 1895.*

*Aurelian Alpha: Lucius. Ascended 1920. Died 1925.*

*Aurelian Alpha: Thomas (Leo’s Father). Ascended 1990. Fled 1995.*

Leo frowned. "They all died five years after taking power. Except my dad."

"The Aurelian Fortune is not generated by commerce," Marcus explained, his voice devoid of pity. "It is generated by the Gilded Heart. An artifact in the Vault. It transmutes organic vitality into probability. Luck. Success. Gold."

Leo stood up, the chair scraping loudly. "Transmutes... vitality?"

"The Alpha feeds the Heart," Marcus said. "It drains the life force to ensure the pack’s prosperity. That is why we are the richest. We pay for it with the blood of our Kings."

Leo felt the room spin. "My parents..."

"Your father fled to save you," Marcus said. "He refused to feed the Heart. He hid you in the desert to break the cycle. But without an Alpha, the Heart hungers. The wealth is decaying. We need you, Leo. Not to lead us. To feed us."

Leo backed away. "Isolde. Does she know?"

Marcus smiled, a cruel twisting of lips. "Who do you think authorized the Summons? She is the Regent. She is the keeper of the Heart."

Leo ran.

He ran through the corridors he had skated down. He ran past the kitchen where they had made sandwiches. He burst into Isolde’s chambers.

She was standing by her vanity, fitting a diamond tiara onto her head. She looked up, her face lighting up when she saw him.

"Leo? You're supposed to be getting dressed for the—"

"Tell me it's a lie," Leo panted, slamming the door.

Isolde’s smile faltered. She saw the look in his eyes—the betrayal, the horror. She put the tiara down. Her hands were shaking.

"Leo..."

"The Heart," Leo choked out. "You brought me here to die. You made me fall in love with you... so I would walk willingly into the slaughterhouse."

Isolde stepped forward, tears instantly welling in her eyes. "No. No, Leo, the love... that wasn't part of the plan. That was real."

"But the plan remained!" Leo shouted. "You were going to let them strap me to that thing!"

"I have no choice!" Isolde screamed back, her composure shattering. "Look at the accounts, Leo! Without the Heart, the pack is bankrupt. Our enemies—the Russian packs, the Southern syndicates—they will come. They will kill everyone. Five thousand families, Leo. Children. Elderly. They all die if the barrier falls. One life... for five thousand."

"My life," Leo whispered. "You chose the money over me."

"I chose duty," Isolde sobbed. "I always have to choose duty."

The door behind Leo opened. Four guards stood there, holding stun batons.

"I'm sorry, Leo," Isolde whispered, turning away. "Take him to the Vault."

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