Jade woke as early as always, the weak light of dawn barely breaking through the small window of her quarters. Every inch of her body ached—not from exhaustion this time, but from the harsh punishment she had received the day before. Although her injuries had healed unnaturally fast—too fast for a normal werewolf—there were still lingering bruises beneath her skin, and a deep soreness that clung to her bones.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, she dragged herself out of bed. The cool floor stung her bare feet as she moved, mechanically beginning her chores as she did every morning. Her mind, however, was elsewhere—stuck on the order she had received: Find the king. Apologize. No delays.
The thought tied a cold knot of dread in her stomach. She didn't even know if she would survive the encounter. But defying an order was not an option. Not after what she had already endured.
Hours passed in a haze of forced movements and dull pain, until finally, fate placed him before her.
She was dragging the mop across the polished wooden floor when she heard a familiar voice — deep, commanding — echoing down the hallway.
Alaric.
The King.
Jade's hand froze on the mop handle. Her heart jumped painfully against her ribs.
Carefully, she leaned closer to the open archway leading into the living area. From her hidden angle, she saw him — the man whose very presence made the air thicker, heavier. He sat on a grand chair, a throne in its own right even though it wasn't labeled as such. His posture was relaxed but exuded a kind of effortless dominance that made it clear he was the one in control.
Facing him, kneeling with his head bowed low, was Alpha Rowan.
If even Rowan fears him so much…
The sight made Jade's blood run cold. Alpha Rowan — strong, proud, merciless — looked like a scolded child before the King.
The pressure of Alaric's dominance was so intense that Jade felt it pressing against her chest even from a distance. Every wolf in the vicinity must have felt it — the air itself seemed to bow before him.
Jade swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs. She clenched her fists at her sides, willing herself to move forward, to do as she had been commanded. But her legs refused to obey.
This was the man she was supposed to apologize to.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. She couldn't do it. She couldn't walk up to him, not when even Rowan could barely hold himself together.
No, she couldn't. She just couldn't.
This Jade's hands trembled.
The fear clawed at her throat, stronger than reason, stronger even than the dread of further punishment. If she approached and said the wrong thing, if she displeased him again… she shuddered.
Maybe if she waited...
Maybe if she slipped away and apologized later...
Maybe if she begged Rowan for another chance...
The thought of another punishment made her shudder. But the thought of approaching the King was worse. Far worse.
She decided in a split second — she'd take another punishment if she had to. Anything but facing him right now.
Turn around. Leave quietly.
The moment Alpha Rowan scurried away like a frightened rabbit, Jade seized the opportunity, retreating backwards as fast and as silently as she could.
But fate, cruel as ever, was not finished with her.
She stumbled clumsily into a stone pillar, her forehead colliding with a dull, blunt thud that echoed louder than a battle cry in the open courtyard.
She froze.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn.
Golden eyes—molten, piercing—locked onto her with a force that seemed to strip her bare. His entire body stilled, the air thickening, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Inside Alaric's mind, his wolf reacted instantly.
"You scared her! You frightened our mate!" it roared, guilt and pain lashing at him.
Jade, petrified, dropped to her knees so fast it was almost a fall. She pressed her forehead to the cold, rough stone floor, the image of absolute submission. Her small frame trembled as she forced the words out, her voice hoarse and barely audible.
"My King… I-I apologize. For… f-for yesterday. Forgive me your Majesty, It w-was not my intention to d-disrespect you.."
The oppressive aura that had wrapped itself around Alaric shattered in an instant. His chest tightened painfully at the sight of her—this fragile girl, injured and terrified, bowing before him as if she expected him to strike her down where she knelt.
He moved before he could think, the need to ease her fear outweighing everything else.
"Get up," he said, his voice low but as gentle as a caress.
When she didn't move, still trembling and bowed so low her forehead touched the stone, he knelt down himself, reaching out carefully, as if afraid she might break from his touch. His fingers brushed lightly against her shoulder, and he felt her flinch—such a small, involuntary movement, but it stabbed into him deeper than any blade could.
"Please… look at me."
Slowly, hesitantly, Jade lifted her head. Tears clung stubbornly to her lashes, her pale face streaked with dust and fear.
Alaric's heart broke all over again.
He had seen war. He had faced monsters. Yet nothing had ever made him feel more helpless—or more furious—than the sight of her suffering like this.
"No more bowing," he said, voice rough with emotion. "Not to me. Never to me."
Jade blinked at him, confusion flashing in her wide, wounded eyes. Her lips parted as if to protest, but no words came out.
Still crouched in front of her, Alaric brought a hand up slowly, telegraphing every movement, giving her time to pull away if she wished. When she didn't, he very gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away a smudge of dirt. Her skin was soft, too soft, and unnervingly cold under his touch.
"You have nothing to apologize for," he said, meaning every syllable. "You did nothing wrong" He paused, emotion choking him. "I'm sorry you were hurt."
Jade stared at him as if he were speaking another language, the idea of a king apologizing to her too alien to comprehend.
Around them, the living area seemed to fade away. No warriors. No onlookers. Just the two of them, bound by a fragile thread neither fully understood yet.
Alaric's wolf purred in his mind, satisfied now, nudging him closer, whispering what he already knew: She's ours.
"Come," Alaric said softly, standing and offering his hand. "You're hurt. Let me help you."
For a moment, Jade just sat there, her mind at war with itself. Accepting help was dangerous. Accepting kindness was dangerous. Nothing good had ever come from either.
But then she looked into his eyes—those molten gold eyes that, for all their power, held no cruelty—and something inside her, something that had been locked away for years, stirred faintly.
Slowly, almost painfully, she placed her hand in his.
And Alaric, the King of Wolves, lifted her to her feet as if she were the most precious thing he had ever touched.