The interrogation
1406 Words
The silence in the amphitheater grew so brittle it felt as though a single deep breath could shatter it. By stepping entirely over the red line, I hadn't just volunteered; I had committed an act of blatant social defiance in front of the entire Lycan hierarchy. Hundreds of pairs of eyes shifted from my isolated figure up to the royal balcony, holding their collective breath to see how the Crown Prince would respond to such unprecedented audacity.
Kaelen’s hands, clad in immaculate black leather gloves, gripped the gilded railing of the balcony. He didn't summon his guards to throw me out, nor did he order my immediate execution for breaking protocol. Instead, he simply stared down at me, his icy blue eyes analyzing my features with a slow, clinical precision that made my skin crawl. He was looking for the wolf inside me, searching for the telltale aura of a hidden bloodline or a rebellious pack scent.
But he found absolutely nothing. I was a blank slate, a void of power in a stadium filled with apex predators.
"You," Kaelen’s voice echoed across the marble tiers, cutting through the heavy air like a glass blade. He didn't need to specify who he was talking to; I was the only one standing a full yard ahead of the crowd. "The wolfless one. Step forward to the base of the dais."
The burly beta girl who had shoved me earlier let out a soft, horrified gasp, but she quickly shrank back as a pair of armored royal guards marched down the steps to flank me. Their heavy iron spears clattered rhythmically against the stone floor, acting as a grim escort. I kept my jaw set, my gaze fixed straight ahead as they led me out of the dusty arena and up the sweeping marble steps toward the private receiving chambers just behind the royal balcony.
The transition from the blazing morning sun to the cool, shadowed interior of the palace was jarring. The doors clicked shut behind us, instantly cutting off the ambient noise of the restless crowd outside.
The receiving room was a masterpiece of cold opulence walls of polished black obsidian, floor-to-ceiling tapestries depicting ancient, bloody pack victories, and a massive velvet throne centered in the room. Kaelen was already there, having walked in from the balcony. He dismissed the guards with a sharp flick of his wrist. The heavy oak doors locked with a definitive, mechanical click.
We were entirely alone.
"Do you know what happens to rogues who mock royal protocol, little bird?" Kaelen asked, his voice dropping its public, polished facade. It was cold, razor-sharp, and dripping with an innate superiority that demanded absolute submission.
My heart skipped a beat at his choice of words. Little bird. It was the exact moniker Killian had used in the dark just hours prior. I forced my expression to remain a mask of blank, unbothered calm, desperately hoping my racing pulse wouldn't betray me in the quiet room. "I did not intend to mock your protocol, Your Highness. I simply ensured you would see me."
Kaelen walked slowly around me, his movements fluid and soundless, like a predator circling a trapped rabbit. The sheer weight of his alpha aura began to flare, filling the room with a suffocating, heavy pressure that made it incredibly difficult to draw oxygen into my lungs. It was an intentional test, a psychological weight designed to force any lesser wolf to drop to their knees in submission.
But because I had no wolf to be conquered, the physical pressure didn't crush me the way he expected. I felt the suffocating thickness of the air, yes, but my spirit remained upright. I stood my ground, staring straight ahead into the black obsidian wall.
Kaelen stopped directly in front of me, his tall frame blocking the light from the balcony windows. He reached out, the leather of his glove cold and unyielding as he hooked two fingers under my chin, forcing my head up. His grip was tight, bordering on painful, mirroring the exact gesture his brother had used in the shadows of the third floor.
"No scent. No beast. No backing," Kaelen murmured, his icy blue eyes scanning the contours of my face, searching for a tremor of fear. "You are a ghost walking among wolves. You possess absolutely nothing, yet you have the audacity to cross my line and demand my attention. Tell me why I shouldn't feed you to the hounds right now."
I remembered Killian’s dark, mocking advice from the servant's passage: Kaelen needs a political puppet. A quiet girl who has no powerful family backing her is exactly the kind of shield he wants.
I swallowed down the lump of terror in my throat and forced myself to look directly into the eyes of the crown prince. "Because I am exactly what you are looking for, Your Highness."
Kaelen’s brow twitched, a dangerous, amused glint flickering in his icy gaze. "Oh? And what exactly do you think I am looking for?"
"A shield," I replied, my voice steady, sounding far more confident than I actually felt. "The high elders are forcing your hand. They want you to marry into the lower tier to quiet the rebellions on the outer borders. If you choose a powerful beta daughter, her pack will demand influence in your court. They will pry into your business, monitor your assets, and try to control your throne."
I leaned slightly into his grip, letting my eyes narrow just a fraction. "But if you choose me... you get your political peace without any of the strings. I have no pack to demand favors. I have no family to spy on your council. I am completely invisible, completely disposable, and entirely dependent on your mercy. To the public, you are an honorable prince uniting the tiers. In reality, you remain entirely unchecked."
Kaelen remained frozen, his fingers still clamped firmly on my chin. The silence in the room stretched for an agonizingly long ten seconds as he weighed my words. The calculated, manipulative logic of the proposition was tailored perfectly to his arrogance. He didn't want a partner; he wanted an asset he could completely dominate and control.
Slowly, the tension in his hand relaxed. He pulled his fingers away from my face, stepping back a pace as a slow, calculating smirk spread across his lips.
"You are a remarkably cynical little thing," Kaelen said, his voice carrying a dark hint of approval. He turned his back to me, walking over to a heavy mahogany desk and picking up a gold-embossed scroll. "And you are entirely correct. The elders will be absolutely furious that I chose a wolfless piece of garbage, but they won't be able to say a word against it without violating the treaty."
He turned back to face me, his blue eyes locking onto mine with a look of pure ownership. "What is your name, ghost?"
"Ruby" I replied, offering the name clearly, anchoring myself to my true identity even as I prepared to step into a web of total deception.
"Well, Ruby," Kaelen murmured, tossing the scroll onto the desk with a definitive thud. "Starting tomorrow, you are the official fiancé candidate of the crown. You will move into the eastern wing of the palace. You will smile for the press, you will wear the silks I give you, and you will play the role of the submissive underdog who struck gold."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "But remember this: the moment you step out of line, or the moment your presence ceases to be useful to me, I will discard you without a second thought. Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly, Your Highness," I whispered, bowing my head in a faux display of absolute submission.
As I bowed, my fingers brushed against the small crystal vial hidden securely in my pocket. I had won the first round. I was inside the palace gates, embedded directly at the side of the crown prince. But as the heavy iron doors opened to dismiss me, I knew the real danger was just beginning. I wasn't just Kaelen's puppet; I was the knife Killian had just slipped into the heart of the empire.
- Writer
