Abandoned Revenge

Chapter 4. Kayl

I entered the great hall slowly, as the rehearsal was already winding down, the last alphas dispersing to the corners, their heavy footsteps echoing off the high vaults, leaving remnants of their dominant energy in the air—sweat, metal, power. The air was thick, saturated with scents—fresh pine from the hung branches for protection, sticky sweet wax from the polished tables, faint smoke from the torches hissing in iron rings on the walls, casting flickering shadows on the circle in the center. The circle of white powder—salt and silver dust—gleamed with purity, lines straight and sharp, ancient symbols, the floor around it shining like a mirror, reflecting the flames. Everything had to be perfect. The hall was a reflection of my power. The future king tolerates no stain, no weakness.

My cloak—black, heavy velvet, with silver embroidery of a wolf's head on the back—rustled quietly but confidently over the stone floor, boots striking rhythmically, echoing through the hall. The guards at the entrance bowed their heads instantly, their bodies freezing, energy pure submission, scent of fear mixed with armor metal and sweat. I passed by without nodding, without slowing—power in that: in silence, in pauses, in how they freeze, breathless, feeling my gaze even on their backs.

I stopped at the threshold, surveying the hall slowly, gaze sliding over every detail—tables polished to a shine, without a single scratch, torches burning evenly, without soot, pine branches hung symmetrically, enhancing the protective scent. Servants—mostly omegas—crawled on their knees in the corners, rags in hands, backs bent, movements mechanical, heads down. One section by the far table—slow, imperfect, a water stain still gleaming wetly.

Garret stood in the far corner, stocky, gray hair cropped short, rough callused hands folded behind his back, posture tense like a wolf awaiting judgment. His scent—dust from floors, salty sweat from work—familiar, submissive, but today with a note of fear.

“Garret,” I said low, voice even but pressing like a growl on the edge, echoing off the walls. “Approach. Immediately.”

He approached quickly, steps shuffling over stone, head lowered lower than usual, shoulders hunched, breathing slightly faltering.

“My lord,” he replied quietly, voice hoarse, tremor at the end. “The hall is almost ready. Servants are finishing the last section.”

I didn't respond immediately—pause heavy, deliberate, stretched, so he felt the weight, so the air thickened around him, so fear sank deeper.

“Almost?” I repeated coldly, voice without rise, but every word—like a blade strike, entering slowly. “That's not enough, Garret. Tomorrow is the Moon. Blood. The hall must be flawless. Without a single stain. Without weakness. Do you understand what weakness means before the pack? Before me?”

Garret swallowed loudly, his fear scent intensifying—salty, thick, like sweat under armor, body trembling slightly.

“Yes, my lord,” he said faster, voice lower, with desperation at the end. “I... will oversee personally. This section... she's slow. Redoing it slowly. I'll make her.”

His finger pointed quietly to the corner—at her. Servant on knees, fragile, short stature, chestnut hair in simple braid, gray dress, soaked at the bottom from spilled water, clinging to legs. Hands red from cold and friction, light tremor in shoulders and back, rag moving slowly, uncertainly. Omega. Complete nothing.

Her scent—rain after storm and wild herbs—penetrated nostrils stronger now, closer, light, pure, calming the wolf for a moment—but irritating, like an insult in my hall. Body reacted—slight muscle tension, wolf froze, then growled quietly, disdainfully. Dismiss it, like dirt under boots.

I stopped a few steps from her, pause stretching further—heavy, pressing on the entire hall, on her. She froze instantly—rag stopped in hands, shoulders hunched tighter, breathing faltering quietly, head lowered even more, body trembling noticeably, knees shifting on stone with quiet scrape. Tremor—from my energy, from alpha proximity, from realizing I was watching, seeing every tiny flaw.

“Slow?” I repeated to Garret, voice cold like blade, turning slowly in wound, every word with pause, so he felt it, so fear gripped his throat. “Your servants are your reflection, Garret. If she's slow, you oversee poorly. You allow weakness. And weakness... I don't tolerate. It's contagious. It destroys. You want the pack to see this? Before the Moon? For enemies to sense a c***k?”

Garret lowered head even more, hands clenched in fists behind back, fear scent thick, almost choking, body swaying slightly as from blow.

“My lord, I... am at fault,” he said faster, voice trembling, desperation at end, eyes not rising. “I'll punish her. Harshly. Make her redo until it shines. She's... stubborn sometimes, but I'll break her. Promise. Won't fail you. Never.”

I didn't respond—pause even longer, pressing like vise, air thickened, servants in hall froze completely, breath held. My gaze on her—from above, piercing, unblinking, pause so she felt the weight, so tremor intensified, so humiliation seeped into every cell, every body shake. She hunched tighter, dress soaked more from puddle, body trembling noticeably, breathing ragged like cornered animal, shoulders slumped, head nearly touching floor.

“Speed up everyone,” I said finally, voice verdict, low, vibrating, every word like brand, echoing. “Hall flawless by evening. Or you'll answer for every stain. Personally. Before the pack. And the pain will be yours.”

Garret nodded quickly, repeatedly, fear scent thick like smoke, body shrinking completely.

“Yes, my lord. Immediately. Without mistakes. I swear by blood.”

Indirectly—pressure on her intensified to limit. Garret growled at her louder when I turned away—words rough, humiliating, full of anger and fear for himself: “Faster, girl, or you'll get double! My lord sees everything! Your laziness—my pain!” She didn't respond, only scrubbed faster, body trembling stronger, tears probably burning eyes, but not falling—dared not, humiliation in details, in his growl, in my pause, in hall's indifference.

Jake—one of the young messengers, sixteen, brunet, sturdy, Reyn's twin brother—approached with message from guards right then. Tray in hands trembling slightly, head lowered low, but gaze slid to servant for moment—hesitation in eyes, quickly hidden, like guilt or pity, body tensing for instant, shoulders clenching, breathing faltering quietly. He was impulsive, curious, secretly sympathetic to the weak—character I'd noticed in training, where he sometimes hesitated striking lowers. Hidden motives—thirst for justice in hierarchy world, but fear of punishment held in check. For now.

“My lord,” he said quietly, handing scroll, voice even but with pause, breathing slightly off, eyes down, but hesitation in energy—like c***k. “From outer guard. Border report.”

I took scroll slowly, pause—so he felt weight, so hesitation in eyes didn't escape, so fear gripped him like Garret.

“Speak what's there,” I ordered, not unrolling, gaze piercing, pressing.

“All calm, my lord,” he replied faster, voice lower, body tensing stronger. “No movements. No threats.”

I nodded, rolled scroll, pause still—so he waited, felt my power fully.

“Leave. And don't delay next time. Weakness—I don't forgive. In anyone.”

He left silently, steps quick, back tense, gaze sliding to servant again—hesitating, but hidden, like concealed pity he couldn't show.

Omega's scent still lingered—light, clinging persistently like splinter under skin. Wolf inside dismissed disdainfully—dirt, weakness, nothing worth.

I left hall coldly, confidently, cloak behind. Steps echoing, hall freezing completely behind.

Confidence in self—absolute, as always, steel, unbreakable.

Anticipation of ceremony—strong pair, throne-worthy, without weaknesses, without mistakes.

But that scent... slight irritation under skin, like warning wolf sensed, but disdain drowned completely.