THE WOLF THEY BURIED ALIVE

Chapter 32: Dinner with the Devil

The invitation arrived at sunset.

It was delivered on a silver tray by a servant who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else.

"His Majesty requests your presence at dinner, Lady Graves."

I stared at the folded black card.

"Requests?"

The servant swallowed.

"Those were his exact words."

"Then His Majesty is learning."

She looked confused, which was understandable. I wasn't entirely sure whether I was speaking to her or reminding myself that Ronan Black was capable of learning anything at all.

I took the card.

Inside, in Ronan's unmistakable handwriting, were six words.

Dinner. Eight o'clock. Come as yourself.

I read them once.

Then again.

No royal dress code.

No demand to wear his crest.

No instruction to behave.

No suggestion that refusing would be considered an insult to the crown.

I should have been pleased.

Instead, I was suspicious.

Kings didn't suddenly become considerate without a reason.

And Ronan had spent enough time surprising me lately that I was beginning to suspect every kindness came with a hidden question.

Perhaps he wanted to discuss Celestine's revelations. Perhaps he wanted to find out what I planned to do with the information about the Moon-Blood line. Perhaps he had decided that a private dinner was a more effective way to persuade me to trust him than another argument in a dusty archive.

Or perhaps he simply wanted to spend time with me.

That possibility was the most unsettling of all.

At seven fifty-five, I entered the private dining room wearing a dark green dress Helena had found for me. It was simple, fitted at the waist, and left my shoulders bare. I wore my pendant, refusing to hide the one piece of my past that had survived every attempt to erase it.

I had considered choosing something more formal, then rejected the idea.

If Ronan wanted to see me, he could see me as I was.

The room was warm and softly lit. Candles flickered along the table, their light reflecting in the polished silverware. Dark flowers filled a narrow vase in the center, and the windows overlooked the gardens.

There was enough food on the table to feed a small council meeting.

I stopped just inside the doorway.

Ronan stood beside the window.

He turned when I entered.

For a moment, he said nothing.

His gaze moved over me—not carelessly, not with the entitled inspection I'd grown accustomed to from men in the pack, but with an intensity that made me suddenly aware of every inch of exposed skin.

"You look beautiful," he said.

I lifted an eyebrow.

"Is that a royal order?"

"No."

"Good. I don't take those."

His mouth curved.

"I've noticed."

I walked farther into the room, studying the arrangement.

The table was set for two. There were candles, dark flowers, and enough food to feed a small council meeting.

I stopped beside my chair.

"Are you expecting company?"

"Just you."

"Then why does it look like you're planning to interrogate a witness?"

"Would you prefer something less formal?"

"I'd prefer to know why you invited me."

He pulled out my chair.

I didn't sit.

"Ronan."

He let go of the chair.

"Because we've spent the last two days uncovering things that could destroy the kingdom, and every conversation between us has ended with one of us wanting to strangle the other."

"Usually you."

"Usually me," he agreed.

I fought a smile.

It was annoying that he could admit something like that without sounding defensive.

"And because," he continued, "I wanted one evening where I could speak to you without a council member, a guard, or a dead physician's records interrupting us."

"That's a very suspicious explanation."

"I was hoping you'd find it charming."

"You're the Lycan King. You probably think ordering someone dinner is a personality."

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

The sound startled me so much that I forgot what I had been about to say.

Ronan noticed.

"Was that the first time you've heard me laugh?"

"Probably."

"Then I'll have to do it more often."

"Don't overdo it. I might think you're becoming human."

He gestured toward the chair.

"Sit down, Nyla."

I narrowed my eyes.

He sighed.

"Please."

I sat.

He took the chair opposite me, and for the first few minutes, we behaved like two people who had not spent the past several days arguing over secrets, royal authority, and the possibility that my entire childhood had been shaped by a conspiracy.

Dinner began with a soup that tasted far too good for a man I suspected of having an entire royal kitchen dedicated to making people obey him.

I took one spoonful, then another.

Ronan watched me.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"Looking at me as if you're trying to solve a puzzle."

"Perhaps I am."

"Then I suggest you start with something easier. The soup, for example."

His mouth curved.

"Is it good?"

I considered lying.

"Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

"I don't want to encourage you."

"That's a shame. I was hoping to impress you."

"You might need more than soup for that."

"I suspected as much."

For several minutes, we discussed nothing important. The weather. The old palace. Elias's opinion that the eastern wing should remain closed until he had inspected every passage. Ronan admitted that Elias had been expressing that opinion for years, although no one had ever given him permission to investigate the sealed corridors.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because the previous council considered the matter settled."

"Convenient."

"Your favourite word."

"It keeps proving useful."

He inclined his head as if conceding the point.

Then, when I thought the conversation might return to the palace, Ronan asked, "What did you want to be when you were a child?"

I looked up.

"What?"

"Before everyone decided what you were allowed to be. What did you want?"

I stared at him.

No one had ever asked me that question.

Not Blake. Not my pack. Not even the people who claimed to care about me.

They had asked what I could do, what I had failed to do, and what I intended to do about my supposed shortcomings. They had measured me against expectations I had never agreed to meet.

But no one had asked what I wanted.

I lowered my spoon.

"I wanted to travel," I said eventually. "I wanted to see the sea."

"The sea?"

"I'd heard that if you stood at the shore, you could look out and see something that didn't belong to any pack or kingdom. No borders. No council. No Alpha telling you where you could stand."

Ronan listened without interrupting.

"I wanted to know what it felt like to belong somewhere because I chose to be there," I continued. "Not because someone decided I was useful."

The confession felt strangely intimate.

I had shared pieces of my past before, but never this small, private dream. It seemed almost foolish to admit that I had imagined a life somewhere beyond the reach of the people who had spent years deciding my worth.

His expression softened.

"That sounds like a good dream."

"It was a childish one."

"Most good dreams begin that way."

I looked away, unsettled by the sincerity in his voice.

"What about you?" I asked.

He leaned back.

"I wanted to become a cartographer."

I blinked.

"A what?"

"A mapmaker."

I stared at him.

Then I laughed so suddenly I nearly dropped my spoon.

"The terrifying Lycan King wanted to draw maps?"

"I was thirteen."

"Did the maps have little crowns on them?"

"One or two."

I laughed harder.

Ronan watched me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I know."

"And?"

"And I like the sound of your laughter."

The words quieted me.

The candles flickered between us.

I looked down at my plate, pretending to be interested in the food.

"You shouldn't say things like that."

"Why?"

"Because I might start believing you."

His face grew serious.

"Then I'll have to make sure my actions deserve your belief."

The words settled between us, carrying more weight than any grand declaration could have.

I studied him across the table.

The boy who had wanted to draw maps had grown into a man who ruled a kingdom full of secrets. I wondered when that childhood dream had disappeared. Whether someone had taken it from him, or whether he had set it aside because the crown demanded something else.

Perhaps we weren't as different as I wanted to believe.

Perhaps we were both people who had been taught that what we wanted mattered less than what others expected.

That didn't make him innocent.

But it made him harder to dismiss.

After dinner, we moved to the balcony. The night air was cool, and the gardens below shimmered beneath the moon. A few lanterns marked the paths, while the trees cast long shadows over the grass.

Ronan stood beside the railing, leaving enough space between us that I could choose whether to close it.

I leaned against the stone.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

The silence felt different from the one in the archive. It wasn't filled with documents or unanswered questions. It was simply space—space in which neither of us had to defend ourselves for a few precious moments.

Then I remembered why I had agreed to come.

"Tell me something honest," I said.

He turned.

"Anything."

"Did you know Blake was going to reject me?"

His expression hardened.

"No."

"Did you know the council had been watching me?"

"I suspected someone was interested in your bloodline. I didn't know they had been suppressing your wolf since childhood."

"Would you have told me if you had known?"

He didn't answer immediately.

That frightened me.

I watched his face, waiting for the familiar signs of a man preparing to give me the answer that would make him look best.

Finally, he said, "I want to tell you yes. But I can't promise you I would have understood the consequences at the time."

The answer was not what I wanted.

I wanted him to say that he would have protected me. That he would have stood against the council, that he would never have allowed anyone to take my wolf from me.

But I had asked for honesty, not a comforting fantasy.

And for once, he had given it to me.

I studied his face.

"Thank you for not lying."

"I've done enough of that by omission."

"Yes. You have."

He accepted the rebuke without defending himself.

That mattered, even if it wasn't enough.

A breeze lifted a strand of hair across my cheek. I tucked it behind my ear, but Ronan's gaze followed the movement.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"You can ask."

"Do you ever think about what would happen if you stopped fighting me?"

I turned toward him.

"Define fighting."

"Arguing with me. Assuming every kindness is a trap. Expecting me to disappoint you before I've had the chance."

I folded my arms.

"Those are very different things."

"I know."

"Then don't confuse my caution with cruelty."

"I don't."

His voice was quiet.

"I know why you fight me. I know how many people have used your vulnerability against you. I know I haven't given you enough reason to believe I'm different."

He stepped closer, stopping before our bodies touched.

"But I want the chance to be."

My pulse quickened.

"And what do you want from me in return?"

"Nothing you don't choose to give."

His gaze dropped to my lips.

The silence stretched.

I could hear the faint rustle of leaves below us and the distant sound of a guard calling to another at the far end of the garden.

Everything else seemed to recede.

"That's a dangerous answer, Your Majesty."

"Most honest answers are."

I should have stepped away.

Instead, I lifted my chin.

"What if I choose to kiss you?"

His breath changed.

"Then I'd ask if you were certain."

"And if I said yes?"

"I'd kiss you."

The simplicity of it sent a shiver through me.

No demand.

No command.

No claim that the king had a right to whatever he wanted.

Just a choice.

Mine.

I closed the distance.

For a moment, I hesitated, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against my mouth. I looked into his eyes, searching for the man who had given me orders and the man who had released my hand when I challenged him.

They were both there.

Neither erased the other.

Then I touched his cheek.

"Yes," I whispered.

He kissed me.

It began gently, almost cautiously, as though he were giving me every opportunity to change my mind. His hand settled at my waist, light enough that I could step away whenever I wished.

I didn't.

I curled my fingers into the front of his shirt and drew him closer.

His restraint faltered—not into force, but into feeling. The second kiss was deeper, warmer, carrying all the words we had refused to say during the long days of suspicion and discovery.

I felt his breath catch when I brushed my fingers along the back of his neck.

For a moment, the world became startlingly simple.

There was no council.

No sealed chamber.

No physician's record explaining why I had spent my childhood believing I was incomplete.

There was only the man in front of me and the decision I had made to kiss him.

When we finally separated, his forehead rested against mine.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, "and I will."

I searched his face.

"I don't want you to stop."

His eyes darkened.

He kissed me again, and this time I met him without hesitation. My hands moved to his shoulders, feeling the strength held beneath the fine fabric of his shirt. His thumb traced a slow line along my waist, and the simple touch sent warmth spiraling through me.

I had spent so long guarding myself that I had almost forgotten what it felt like to want something without immediately searching for the price.

I was still afraid.

I was still angry.

I still didn't know whether Ronan could become the man I needed him to be.

But I knew I wanted this moment.

And I refused to punish myself for making a choice that belonged to me.

When we finally separated, I was breathless.

Ronan's expression was almost unbearably tender.

"That," I whispered, "was a terrible idea."

"Probably."

"I might regret it."

"I'll accept that."

I stared at him.

"You aren't going to argue?"

"No."

"You're not going to tell me I belong to you?"

His face changed.

"Never."

The answer struck deeper than I expected.

I brushed my thumb across his cheek.

"Good."

He kissed my palm.

The gesture was so unexpectedly intimate that my chest tightened.

For one dangerous moment, I wanted to stay there all night, wrapped in the quiet between us, pretending that the world outside the balcony didn't exist.

Then a knock sounded at the door.

We separated.

The sound seemed almost absurd after the intimacy of the moment. I straightened my dress while Ronan took a step back, his expression shifting as he turned toward the entrance.

"Come in."

Elias entered with a sealed envelope.

"Your Majesty. I'm sorry to interrupt."

Ronan's expression returned to its usual coldness.

"What happened?"

"The prisoner has disappeared."

My blood went cold.

"Celestine?" I asked.

Elias shook his head.

"The guard we captured in the archive."

Ronan took the envelope.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

He read it once, then handed it to me.

The message contained only one sentence.

THE MOON-BLOOD HEIR HAS BEEN FOUND. THE CROWN MUST FALL BEFORE SHE REMEMBERS EVERYTHING.

I read it again.

The warmth of Ronan's kiss still lingered on my lips, but the words seemed to drain the air from the balcony.

Someone had known about the prisoner.

Someone had been able to remove him from a guarded palace.

Someone knew about the Moon-Blood heir.

And someone believed that whatever I remembered would threaten the crown.

I looked up at Ronan.

The expression in his eyes told me our evening had changed everything.

Someone knew I was awake.

And they were no longer willing to wait for me to discover the truth.