The Great Hall
The fortress of the Lycan King was carved from black stone, older than any pack, older than the moonlit wars themselves. Its walls breathed power, ancient and patient, and its torches burned with a steady, unnatural flame that never sputtered no matter how the wind shifted.
I had barely spoken since waking in his chamber, since finding that cursed scrap of silk Selene's shadow still clinging to my skin, suffocating me in memory and dread. And now Ciaran's hand closed around my wrist, his grip like iron, guiding me through arched corridors that smelled of smoke, pine, and blood long dried.
No matter how I pulled against him, his hand never loosened.
"Where are you taking me?" I hissed, my voice low, though even whispers echoed in these halls.
His silver gaze didn't waver. "To stand where no one can deny you."
My stomach twisted hard enough to hurt. Whatever that meant, it reeked of chains dressed as crowns.
The doors of the Great Hall groaned as they swung open before us.
Light exploded against my eyes. Hundreds of torches flared, flames licking high, their glow catching on banners stitched with black and silver. Wolves filled the vast chamber Alphas in jeweled finery, Betas with shoulders squared in bristling pride, envoys wrapped in their own colors and crests. The air thrummed with layered power, centuries of dominance pressing into one space.
But the instant we stepped across the threshold, silence swallowed it all.
Ciaran didn't pause. His stride was steady, lethal, dragging me down the center aisle as though the hall itself belonged to him. His hand clamped possessively on my wrist, every movement proclaiming authority.
My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat louder than the whispers I swore I could already hear.
Every eye burned against me.
I felt the weight of their stares sharp, cutting, curious, disgusted. Some wolves' lips curled, their gazes full of contempt thinly veiled by politeness. Others looked at me like prey, like meat their King had claimed before they could sink their teeth in.
And still, beneath it all, I caught the hiss of words carried like wildfire: half-blood… human-born… mistake.
But none spoke them loud. Not here. Not with the King's hand wrapped around me.
Ciaran stopped at the dais, his throne rising black and jagged behind him. He turned me to face the hall, forcing me to stand at his side. His chest lifted, his voice rolling out like thunder, shaking the banners, filling every corner of the chamber.
"By the will of the Blood Moon," he declared, "the bond has chosen. The Lycan King's fated mate stands before you."
The words cracked through the silence.
Gasps rippled across the chamber. Murmurs exploded, low and furious, disbelief clashing with awe. Some wolves dropped immediately to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the stone in reluctant submission. But many remained stiff, jaws clenched, hands curled into fists at their sides.
They hated it.
They hated me.
I wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole. I wanted to melt into the stone and vanish before their eyes.
But Ciaran's hand tightened around mine, his grip a command as sharp as any voice. My chin lifted despite myself, silver fire in his gaze ordering me to stand.
Do not break.
The words burned between us though he hadn't spoken them.
And then
"Well."
The sound slid through the silence like honey poured over a blade.
Sweet. Smooth. Poisoned.
The crowd parted as if summoned. And there she was.
Selene.
My breath caught in my throat.
She was exactly as I remembered, and somehow worse time had not dulled her beauty; it had honed it into a weapon. Golden hair braided with silver threads tumbled like sunlight. A gown of violet silk clung to her as though the fabric worshipped her curves. Her lips glistened the color of ripe berries, ready to stain whatever touched them.
Every gaze followed her, bewitched.
She moved like the hall itself bent to her presence, her steps measured, soft, deliberate. Wolves' eyes widened, some even softened, charmed by the picture she painted.
But I saw through it.
I always had.
Selene's gaze found mine, locking tight as if the world around us had ceased to exist. Her smile curved, soft, almost sisterly. But her eyes… her eyes glittered sharp as knives.
"Elara," she breathed, her voice carrying, every syllable delicate as silk. She pressed a hand to her heart, the perfect picture of surprise and tenderness. "I thought I'd lost you. To see you here claimed by fate itself it's… remarkable."
The hall leaned into her words. Murmurs rose, wolves whispering their awe, their agreement. She had them already wrapped around her little finger, just as she always had.
But beneath the perfume of her performance lingered that lilac-and-smoke scent. Familiar. Suffocating. Dragging me back to every night she'd torn me apart and smiled while doing it.
Her words were sweet, but her eyes promised ruin.
Ciaran's hand tensed around mine. His silver gaze cut toward her, sharp, lethal. The weight of his power pressed heavier into the chamber, but Selene only lowered her lashes and bowed her head as though she hadn't just claimed the entire room with a smile.
Fury boiled in my chest. My mouth opened, words clawing to be spoken, but nothing came. My tongue tangled, my lungs froze. Every memory screamed at me she would twist this hall the way she had twisted every crowd before.
"Remarkable," Selene repeated, her voice ringing like a bell. She smiled for the wolves, radiant, flawless. But her eyes never left mine.
And in them I heard the words she didn't need to say aloud.
Dangerous.
The hall held its breath. Waiting. Watching.
Ciaran's voice sliced the silence, low and lethal. "Careful, little wolf."
The words cut like steel, but his gaze wasn't on me.
It was on her.
Selene only smiled wider, lips curving with quiet triumph.
And for the first time since meeting the Lycan King,
I realized this bond might destroy me not because of him.
But because fate had tied me to her game.