Chapter Four
Before the Court of Wolves
The corridor stretched endlessly before me, dark and echoing, lined with towering stone pillars that seemed to watch my every trembling step.
Each stride I took beside Liam was a battle against the instinct to run, to flee back to the false safety of my cold, lonely corner of existence.
But there was no going back now.
Not after the claim he had staked.
Not after the fire he had ignited inside me.
My fingers tightened around the folds of my velvet dress as Liam's warm, powerful hand rested lightly on the small of my back—a silent but potent message to all who dared look our way.
She is under my protection.
But even that promise did little to ease the knot of dread tightening in my stomach.
At the end of the hall, massive iron doors swung open with a grating groan.
Beyond them, the Court of Wolves awaited.
A sea of faces turned toward us—noblemen and women, warriors, advisors, all of them wolves of great status within the Silverwood Pack.
All of them powerful.
All of them dangerous.
The court was housed in a vast, circular chamber, the walls lined with banners bearing the sigils of ancient houses. At the very center stood a raised dais with two ornate thrones—one for the Alpha King, the other for his Luna.
But the Luna's throne sat empty, abandoned, a silent testament to betrayal and rejection.
The whispers began immediately.
"Is that the new mistress?"
"Another one already?"
"So plain… not worthy."
I heard it all—the cruel laughter, the sneers hidden behind polished smiles.
My cheeks burned with shame.
I lowered my gaze, remembering Liam's warning: Do not look anyone in the eye unless I permit it.
As if sensing my rising panic, Liam's hand pressed firmer against my back, guiding me forward with unyielding strength.
We ascended the dais together.
When we reached the thrones, he turned, his towering form blocking me from the court's view for a moment.
"You will stand beside me," he said lowly, his voice a quiet command meant for my ears alone. "Do not flinch. Show them your spirit."
I swallowed hard and nodded.
He took his seat with effortless authority, sprawling back against the carved blackwood throne, his long legs spread arrogantly, his golden hair falling around his chiseled face like a fallen god surveying his dominion.
The murmurs died instantly.
And then his voice rang out, cold and clear.
"This," he said, gesturing toward me without so much as glancing away from the court, "is Lola Clayston."
A ripple of confusion spread through the chamber.
Liam's mouth twisted into a slow, dangerous smile.
"She is under my personal protection. She is not to be touched. Not to be questioned. Not to be threatened."
His blue gaze swept the room like a blade.
"Anyone who disobeys… will answer to me."
The threat hung in the air, sharp and deadly.
I barely dared to breathe.
And yet, despite his warning, I could feel it—the simmering undercurrent of hostility radiating from the assembled wolves.
They hated me.
Not for anything I had done, but for what I represented: change. Uncertainty. A threat to the old order.
At the front of the court, a man stepped forward.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with silver streaking his dark hair, he wore the insignia of a powerful House across his chest.
Lord Marven.
I recognized the name from whispered stories—the leader of the council, second only to Liam in influence.
He bowed low, but there was nothing respectful in the way he rose, his eyes glittering with thinly veiled contempt.
"My King," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "We are, of course, honored to welcome… your new companion."
The way he said it made my skin crawl.
"But there are matters of tradition to consider," he continued. "Matters of bloodlines. Strength. It is customary, as you well know, for any new addition to the royal household to undergo… a trial."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
My blood ran cold.
A trial?
I glanced at Liam, heart pounding, but his expression remained unreadable.
"Continue," he said coolly.
Lord Marven smiled thinly. "To ensure that she is worthy of standing at your side, she must prove her loyalty. Her courage. Her strength."
"And if she fails?" Liam asked, his voice dangerously soft.
Marven shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. "Then she is not fit to remain among us."
The court roared their approval, a wall of sound that pressed against me, suffocating.
Panic clawed at my throat.
I wasn't a warrior.
I wasn't trained for this brutal world of wolves and blood and dominance.
I was just a girl who had been sold like cattle to a king.
But before the fear could consume me, Liam rose from his throne.
The room fell instantly silent.
He descended the steps of the dais in a slow, predatory stride, the air around him crackling with power.
He stopped directly before me, his towering form casting me in shadow.
His hand reached out—not rough or demanding, but steady and deliberate—and cupped my cheek.
"You are stronger than you believe," he said, so quietly that only I could hear.
I swallowed hard, blinking up at him.
"You will not break," he said. "You will show them the fire I see in you."
I nodded shakily, and something fierce sparked in his eyes.
Turning back to the court, he spoke.
"Very well," he said. "She will face the trial."
Another wave of murmured excitement swept the chamber.
"But know this," Liam added, his voice dropping to a deadly growl. "If any one of you lays a hand on her in malice… if a single hair on her head is harmed by deceit or cruelty…"
He smiled—a cold, terrible thing.
"I will tear you apart with my own hands."
The threat was unmistakable.
The trial would be no ordinary contest of strength. It would be watched. Controlled.
And any who dared cheat would pay the price in blood.
Marven bowed again, a hint of unease flickering across his face.
"As you command, my King."
A ring was cleared in the center of the court, the nobles forming a wide circle around it.
I was led to the center, my heart hammering so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it.
Across from me, a figure stepped into the ring.
A girl.
Tall, athletic, beautiful in a hard, cold way. Her golden hair was braided tightly against her skull, and a cruel smirk played on her lips.
"This is Selene," Marven announced. "Champion of House Marven. If your… companion can best her, she shall have proven herself."
Selene cracked her knuckles, eyes gleaming with malicious anticipation.
I was going to die.
I could see it written in her gaze—she wanted to hurt me, to humiliate me before Liam and the entire court.
And she would.
Unless…
Unless I found a way to fight.
Selene lunged.
I barely managed to dodge, stumbling backward, my feet slipping on the polished stone.
Laughter echoed around me.
"Pathetic," Selene sneered. "Not even worth the King's time."
Rage flared in my chest, cutting through the fear like a blade.
I was not weak.
I had survived a childhood of hatred and cruelty.
I had survived being sold into the hands of a monster—and found something more than horror in his arms.
I would not fall here.
Not like this.
Gritting my teeth, I ducked under her next swing and drove my shoulder into her stomach with all the force I could muster.
Selene grunted in surprise, staggering back a step.
I pressed the advantage, slamming my knee into her side.
Pain blossomed through my leg—she was built like iron—but she stumbled again.
A roar rose from the crowd.
Selene's eyes blazed with fury.
"You little bitch," she spat.
She charged, and this time, I let her.
At the last second, I dropped to the ground, sweeping her legs out from under her.
She crashed down hard, her head striking the stone with a sickening thud.
The court gasped.
Selene struggled to rise, but I was already on her, pinning her arm behind her back.
"Yield," I hissed, my voice shaking with adrenaline.
For a moment, she fought.
And then she went still.
"I yield," she snarled.
The chamber erupted into chaos.
Some shouted in outrage. Others laughed in disbelief.
And standing at the edge of the ring, Liam smiled.
Not the cruel smile of a king.
The proud, hungry smile of a man watching his mate claim her place.
He crossed the space between us in two strides, lifting me effortlessly into his arms before the court.
"You see," he said, his voice rumbling through the stunned silence, "you mistake softness for weakness. You mistake kindness for cowardice."
He looked down at me, his blue eyes fierce and burning.
"But she is stronger than all of you."
He kissed me.
There, before everyone, he crushed his mouth against mine—raw, possessive, wild.
A kiss that staked a claim no one could deny.
When he finally pulled away, he set me back on my feet, his hand resting possessively at the small of my back once more.
"Remember this moment," he said to the court. "The day the rabbit bared her fangs."