Chapter 4 — The Masked King
1104 Words
Aria’s POV
The carriage ride to the Blackthorn Pack felt endless.
The forest outside the window blurred into a smear of silver and black, branches bending low as if whispering secrets to the earth. Every jolt of the wheels sent tremors through my bones. My fingers wouldn’t stop trembling, no matter how tightly I gripped the folds of my gown.
My gown.
Not mine. Hers.
Selene’s scent still clung to it, sweet jasmine and arrogance. The silk suffocated me.
I pressed my palms to my lap and tried to breathe, but the air in the carriage was heavy. The guards hadn’t spoken a single word since we left the Vaelith estate. Their silence was louder than thunder.
When the wheels finally slowed, my stomach twisted. Through the misted glass, I saw the outline of walls taller than mountains, carved with the mark of the silver wolf. Torches burned along the gates, and the metallic scent of magic and power filled the air.
We’d arrived.
The Blackthorn Palace.
The door swung open.
A cold gust rushed in, carrying the scent of pine and steel and wolves.
“Out,” one of the guards said.
My legs shook as I stepped down. The ground beneath my slippers was solid stone, black and gleaming under the pale moon. Beyond the gates, armored wolves stood in formation, warriors whose very presence made my wolf whimper inside me.
At the far end of the courtyard, on the steps of the grand hall, he stood.
The Alpha King.
Ronan Blackthorn.
Even from this distance, the power radiating from him pressed against my skin. His frame was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black trimmed with silver. A long cloak rippled behind him, and on his face, that infamous mask, a gleaming half-silver cover that hid the right side of his face, I heard he sometimes wears a full mask that covers his full face.
Only one thing shone through the shadows, his eyes.
Golden. Burning. Unyielding.
My knees almost gave out.
Selene had wanted a monster. But what stood before me was far worse, a king who didn’t need to bare his teeth to make the world bow.
“Move,” one guard hissed, shoving me forward.
I stumbled, catching myself before I fell. My veil fluttered, and I kept my head bowed as we crossed the courtyard. The weight of a hundred eyes followed me, councilmen, palace maids, guards, wolves,all staring, whispering.
“Is that her?”
“She looks… different.”
“Lady Selene’s hair isn’t brown, is it?”
Their murmurs buzzed around me like angry bees.
At the base of the stairs, the royal council stood waiting, a line of solemn-faced elders with silver embroidery on their cloaks. One of them, a thin, sharp-eyed man, stepped forward.
“Lady Selene Vaelith?” he asked, his tone careful.
My throat closed. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“She’s nervous,” one of the guards said quickly. “The journey was long.”
The councilman’s eyes narrowed. He leaned closer, gaze lingering on my face, then my hair.
“Strange,” he murmured. “The letter described golden hair.”
My stomach dropped.
Before I could speak, the great doors of the hall creaked open, and he descended the steps.
Ronan Blackthorn moved like a storm given form. The crowd straightened instantly, every wolf bowing their head in respect. His steps were slow, deliberate, each one a weight against the earth. The air itself seemed to tighten around him.
When he reached the last step, he stopped a few feet from me.
I felt his gaze like heat on my skin.
“Raise your head,” he said.
The words rumbled low, deep, not a request, but a command that scraped against the edges of my soul.
I obeyed. Slowly.
And when our eyes met, the world stopped breathing.
The moment his golden gaze fell on me, something inside my chest,deep, buried, and stirred. My wolf, long silent, whimpered awake. A faint tremor rippled through me.
Ronan didn’t speak.
He only stared.
And behind the mask, I swore I felt him see me, not the veil, not the gown, not the lie — but me.
Then, without breaking that piercing gaze, he turned to the council.
“This,” he said quietly, his voice carrying through the courtyard, “is not Selene Vaelith.”
Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd. The councilmen exchanged startled glances.
“My king,” one stammered, “we were told—”
“I was told my bride’s hair is gold as sunlight,” Ronan said coldly. “This one's brown.”
A suffocating silence followed.
Every eye in the courtyard turned toward me.
I couldn’t breathe. My hands trembled at my sides.
“She’s… she’s a servant,” a maid blurted suddenly, voice trembling. “From the Vaelith estate!”
The words sliced through the air like a blade.
Ronan’s gaze darkened. The gold in his eyes burned hotter, brighter.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, quiet, deadly.
I dropped to my knees, trembling so violently I thought my bones would shatter.
“I— I was told—” I tried to speak, but my voice cracked. “I was ordered—”
“Enough.” His tone silenced me instantly.
The council fell back. The guards didn’t move. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
For a long, terrifying moment, he said nothing. Then he stepped forward, until his shadow swallowed mine completely.
His gloved hand tilted my chin upward, forcing me to meet his eyes again.
“Who are you,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, “to stand before me wearing another’s crown?”
My lips parted, but no sound came. The power in his voice wrapped around me like chains, commanding truth.
I could feel my wolf trembling inside, pleading, Tell him. Tell him the truth.
But before I could, thunder rolled above the palace, echoing across the mountains. The scent of rain and iron filled the air.
Ronan’s eyes glowed brighter, molten gold beneath the silver mask.
“You’re not who I expected,” he said.
Then he dropped his hand and turned away.
“Take her inside,” he ordered. “We’ll see what game the Vaeliths think they’re playing.”
The guards seized my arms, dragging me toward the grand doors. My heart hammered painfully in my chest as the hall swallowed me whole.
And as the heavy doors closed behind us, cutting off the light from the courtyard, one thought screamed through my mind.
Selene has doomed me.
- Writer
