Chapter Five
Whispers in the Dark
The court dissolved into a frenzy after the trial, a storm of murmurs and masked fury swirling around me as Liam swept me from the ring.
His arm was a steel band around my waist, possessive, protective, and unyielding.
I should have felt safe.
Instead, a chill crept over me.
Because safety, in Silverwood, was a lie.
And my victory tonight had painted a crimson target squarely on my back.
At Liam's silent command, the nobles bowed stiffly, hiding their rage behind thin smiles.
They hated me more than ever now.
Not because I had survived.
But because I had won.
Because I had humiliated one of their own before the King.
And Liam—King of Wolves, Scourge of Silverwood—had dared to kiss me before them all, staking a claim more binding than any public decree.
I was no longer just a mistress.
I was a threat.
As Liam led me from the court and down a side corridor, I caught a glimpse of her—Isolde.
She stood in the shadows near the broken Luna's throne, her beauty sharper than any blade, her sapphire eyes dark with loathing.
Isolde, the rejected Luna.
Once adored.
Now discarded.
And in her place… me.
A nobody.
A rabbit among wolves.
Her lips moved silently, forming a promise I couldn't hear—but understood all too clearly.
You will pay.
My heart hammered in my chest as Liam's pace quickened, his body radiating tension beside me.
He said nothing until we reached a private antechamber—far from prying eyes.
There, he spun to face me, his hand slamming against the doorframe behind my head, caging me in.
His blue eyes burned into mine, wild and unreadable.
"You should not have fought her," he growled, voice low and dangerous.
I flinched, confusion swirling through me.
Hadn't he wanted me to fight? To win?
"You said I had to prove myself," I whispered, my voice trembling despite the effort to keep it steady.
He leaned closer, his breath hot against my skin.
"I wanted you to show spirit," he hissed. "Not risk your life."
His hand fisted in the fabric of my dress at my waist, crumpling it.
"One wrong move and she would have broken you."
"But I didn't," I said, lifting my chin despite the terror gripping me. "I won."
Something flickered across his face—pride, anger, something deeper, darker.
"You're reckless," he said, but there was no real anger in his voice. Only something far more dangerous: need.
His gaze dropped to my lips, lingering there for a heartbeat too long.
And suddenly, the air between us felt like it would ignite.
I should have pulled away.
Should have reminded myself of what he was—the monster who had purchased me like chattel.
But my body betrayed me, leaning ever so slightly into the heat of him, into the magnetic pull neither of us could seem to fight.
He cursed under his breath, turning away sharply.
"I need to think," he muttered.
Without another word, he strode from the room, leaving me alone with the thunder of my racing heart.
⸻
Later that night, Silverwood Palace seemed to breathe with unseen malice.
The corridors were silent but for the crackle of torches, the floors gleaming black beneath my bare feet as I crept back to my chamber.
Every shadow felt alive.
Every gust of wind against the stone made me start.
I should have felt triumphant.
Instead, I felt hunted.
Because in the dark corners of the palace, far from the King's watchful gaze, other forces were moving.
In the abandoned west wing, behind a half-broken door, two figures stood cloaked in secrecy.
Isolde.
Ren.
Their whispers slithered through the crumbling stone like venom.
"You saw the way he looked at her," Isolde said bitterly, pacing. "Like she hung the moon."
Ren lounged against the wall, arms folded, his green eyes glittering with cunning.
"Then we use it," he said simply. "Turn his obsession into his weakness."
Isolde spun to face him, her beauty twisted by hate.
"You think I'll stand aside while she takes my place? While he crowns a little slut as Luna?"
Ren smiled, slow and cruel.
"No," he said. "You'll make sure she never lives long enough for that."
The plan was simple.
Deceptively simple.
An accident.
A mistake.
A dead rabbit in the palace gardens—tragic, but hardly worth raising suspicions.
And Liam, devastated by her loss, would be left vulnerable.
Weakened.
Exactly the way Ren wanted him.
Exactly the way Isolde needed him to be.
They sealed their pact with a shared look of poisonous satisfaction.
Tomorrow, under the bright light of day, the wolves would feast.
And Lola would bleed.
⸻
Unaware of the danger coiling around me, I tossed fitfully in my bed that night.
Dreams plagued me—dark, broken dreams filled with fire and blood and the echo of a voice I couldn't quite place.
"Find the artifacts," it whispered. "Break the curse. Save them."
I woke with a start, my body slick with sweat, my heart pounding like a drum.
A knock sounded at my door.
My heart stuttered.
"Lola," came Liam's deep voice from the other side. "Open."
I scrambled from the bed, pulling my robe tight around me as I unlocked the door.
He stepped inside without waiting for permission, his golden hair tousled from sleep, his shirt half-buttoned, revealing the strong planes of his chest.
My breath caught.
He was beautiful—wild, raw, dangerous.
And yet… in that moment, he didn't look like a king.
He looked like a man haunted by something he couldn't name.
"You were crying," he said, his voice rough with something like guilt.
"I…" I looked away, embarrassed. "It was just a dream."
He studied me for a long moment.
Then, without a word, he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Come here," he said.
I hesitated.
But something in his voice—something almost broken—pulled me forward.
I sat beside him, and he reached out, tracing the curve of my jaw with the backs of his fingers.
"You don't have to be afraid," he murmured. "Not when you're with me."
I wanted to believe him.
But fear had been my constant companion for so long that I wasn't sure how to live without it.
Still, when he pulled me gently into his arms, I let him.
For one night, in the arms of the monster king, I allowed myself to believe in safety.
I didn't know that while I slept in his embrace, death was already creeping toward me.
Silent.
Unseen.
Inevitable.