CHAPTER 17
Burning Stakes
Matilda's POV
I stood outside Bryant's chambers, my eyes narrowing at the thick, carved doors that once welcomed me without question. Now? Locked.
Ever since I returned for the Luna Coronation, he hadn't called for me. Not once. Not even a glance across the room. Not even a message.
It hurt more than I wanted to admit.
I wasn't just a passing lover or another wolf in heat. I had been there—through his darkest shifts, his first kill, his blood oath to the Pack. I knew him. I belonged with him. He said it with his body a thousand times even if he never used the words.
We had something real—maybe undefined—but it was ours.
I told the attendant to announce me.
His response was like a dagger:
> "His Majesty is with Her Majesty… he won't be seeing anyone right now."
I froze. Her Majesty? Rosa?
That commoner? That unworthy girl who came from nothing and tried to act noble?
My nails dug into my palm as I forced a smile. The attendant looked down, avoiding my eyes, sensing the storm building beneath my skin.
> "Tell him I came by," I said through clenched teeth, and turned around with my dignity barely intact.
But as I walked away, my thoughts raged:
> I'm going to fight for what's mine. She may wear the crown, but I carry his soul. And no woman steals what belongs to me.
---
Rosa's POV
The soft sunlight filtered through the silken curtains. My eyes fluttered open to a dull soreness between my thighs. I winced slightly, the memories of the night before flooding back in fragments—his touch, his voice, his scent.
I quickly wrapped the sheets around me, suddenly feeling bare in more ways than one. Heat flushed my cheeks. I had never been this exposed, not just physically, but emotionally.
I heard Bryant's steps.
Panic.
I squeezed my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep. Maybe if I stayed still—
> "I know you're awake," his deep voice rumbled. "Don't be shy now… I've seen everything already."
Gods. He was so raw. So unapologetically male. My heart nearly pounded through the blanket.
I stayed motionless, refusing to respond.
But I didn't expect what happened next.
I felt his arms slide under me. Without effort, he lifted me like I weighed nothing and carried me to the bathroom. The warmth of his body surrounded me. He placed me gently into the tub and began washing me in slow, methodical movements—hands careful, yet confident.
Not a word.
My heart raced. I bit my lip.
He wasn't just tending to me. He was caring. Something I never imagined from the man known for bloodshed, dominance, and indifference.
After the bath, he wrapped me in a towel and gave me one of his shirts—oversized and smelling just like him. He dried my hair in silence, his hands lingering just a little too long. My cheeks burned with happiness.
It was all too much. Too real. Too vulnerable.
Then the food arrived.
We sat across from each other at the small round table. The silver clattered softly. The room was silent but thick with unspoken tension.
Bryant didn't show any emotion—his face unreadable, his eyes focused only on the food in front of him.
I tried to steal glances at him between bites. Was last night just another moment for him? Another escape?
Or… did it mean something?
Because to me… it did.
And I think that scared me more than anything.