The king's obsession

FIRE BENEATH THE CROWN

Victoria stood at the far end of the upper corridor, half-hidden behind the curtain of crimson velvet that overlooked the balcony below. Her hands clenched tightly against the railing as she watched the scene unfold the king, tall and radiant in the morning light, standing far too close to her.

Emily.

That girl with her quiet eyes and modest dresses, who had no title, no wealth, no reason to stand there and make him look human.

Victoria’s lips parted slightly as the king leaned down, whispering something that made Emily’s face flush. And then that smile. That same smile he had never once turned on her.

The fabric beneath her nails nearly tore.

“Victoria,” her mother’s voice came softly from behind, measured and sweet. “What are you staring at?”

Victoria forced herself to straighten, smoothing the silk of her dress before turning. “Nothing,” she said too quickly.

Her mother, Lady Marianne, was a woman who missed nothing. Her painted lips curved faintly. “Ah… I see,” she murmured, stepping closer to the balcony’s edge. Her gaze followed Victoria’s, and when she saw the king and Emily below, her eyes sharpened like glass.

“That peasant girl again,” Marianne said, her tone laced with venom. “He’s toying with her, no doubt.”

Victoria said nothing, her throat tight.

Her mother’s hand brushed a strand of hair from her shoulder, deceptively gentle. “You mustn’t let that upset you, darling. Men like him grow bored quickly. He’ll tire of his new toy.”

Victoria’s gaze dropped to the king’s face — the faint smirk, the way he looked at Emily as if she were the only soul alive. “He doesn’t look bored,” she said quietly.

Marianne’s smile froze. “Then make him.”

Victoria turned sharply. “Mother—”

“Do you want to be queen or not?” Marianne’s voice cut like silk over steel. “You carry royal blood. You were born for this. And you’ll let a woodcutter’s daughter take what’s yours?”

“She’s not—”

“Don’t defend her!” her mother hissed, her composure cracking for the first time. “I warned your uncle once — compassion is weakness. Do not repeat his mistake.”

Victoria stared down again, her jaw trembling. Emily was gone now, but the king still lingered, one hand resting on the stone balustrade, his red eyes glinting faintly even in daylight.

He looked… different." Alive.

She had never seen him like that.

The jealousy twisted deeper, turning into something heavier — envy laced with fear.

“What if he truly cares for her?” Victoria whispered.

Marianne laughed softly, cruelly. “Care? That man doesn’t care for anyone, my dear. He consumes them. Like his father before him. Like mine before his.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with generations of rot and ambition.

Victoria finally tore her gaze away, though her hands were trembling. “Then I’ll make him remember who he belongs to,” she said quietly.

Marianne’s lips curved into approval. “Good girl.”

As they turned to leave, the light caught Victoria’s reflection in the tall glass, her red eyes usually bright and innocent — seemed colder now, darker.

Far below, the king glanced upward suddenly, his crimson gaze cutting toward the corridor as if he could feel the weight of her jealousy.

For a brief moment, his eyes and Victoria’s reflection met.

And she could’ve sworn just for an instant that he smiled.Not kindly. Not warmly. But knowingly.

The castle was quiet when Emily returned to her chambers. Moonlight spilled through the arched windows, painting silver lines across the marble floor. The echo of laughter and music from the banquet below had faded into the night — but the king’s words still burned in her mind.

Be careful, Emily. You might fall for me.

She pressed a hand to her chest as if to still her racing heart. She didn’t understand him — didn’t want to understand him — yet he haunted every corner of her thoughts.

Outside, the wind howled softly. Then, something else.

A low, guttural growl — not threatening, but deep and resonant, like the earth itself had drawn breath.

Emily froze.

The sound came again, closer this time, from the balcony. She turned slowly toward the tall glass doors. Her candle flickered violently, its flame bending as if something unseen had passed by.

Her fingers trembled as she approached. “Who’s there?” she whispered.

No answer. Only silence — and the faint smell of iron and rain.

Then, from the shadows beyond the balcony, it stepped forward.

A massive wolf, larger than any beast she’d ever imagined, its fur black as midnight, its eyes burning a dim, ember-red. Wisps of mist trailed from its form, fading and reappearing like smoke caught between worlds.

Emily stumbled back with a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. But the creature didn’t move closer. It merely stood there, watching her — its head tilted slightly, curious, almost… calm.

She took a cautious step forward. The creature lowered its body in response, ears folding back as if in respect.

“You’re not going to hurt me… are you?” she breathed.

A sound escaped it — a rumble that was neither growl nor purr, but something in between. Then, before her disbelieving eyes, the creature turned its head toward the moonlight and began to eat.

Raw meat — dark, dripping, and glistening — lay at its paws. It tore into it silently, with a kind of savage grace, yet there was nothing chaotic in its movement. Every motion was deliberate, controlled. Almost ritualistic.

Emily couldn’t look away. The air around the beast shimmered faintly, as though it wasn’t entirely real.

Her lips parted. “You’re… beautiful,” she whispered, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

The creature paused, blood gleaming on its fangs. Then it turned its head back toward her — and for one heart-stopping instant, she saw something in its eyes.

Recognition.

And then, a whisper.

Not aloud — but inside her mind.

He feels everything you do.

Emily froze, her breath catching. “What?” she whispered, eyes wide.

The wolf blinked slowly. Its gaze softened, almost kind. Then it rose, towering in the pale moonlight, and padded closer to the railing. It looked out toward the distant towers — toward the king’s chambers.

As if summoned by that silent bond, a figure appeared in the opposite wing, standing by a window draped in shadow. The king. His crimson eyes caught the moonlight, and for a fleeting moment, they met hers across the distance.

Emily’s heart thudded painfully.

The wolf lowered its head again, the whisper returning, faint as a dream.

He’s watching. Always watching.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the Wraith Wolf stepped back into the darkness. Its form melted into shadow, fading like smoke into the night. The raw meat remained, untouched now, steaming faintly in the cold air.

Emily sank onto her bed, trembling, staring at the open balcony.

The king’s bond with that creature — whatever it was — terrified her. But something about the wolf’s calm, the gentleness in its gaze, left her more shaken than afraid.

He feels everything you do.

If that whisper was true…

then somewhere, in another part of the castle, the king might have felt her fear — or her awe — or something else entirely.

Meanwhile, in the high tower, the king stood by his window, one hand resting on the stone ledge. The night air stirred his dark hair, and the faintest trace of a smile curved his lips.

The Wraith Wolf’s essence shimmered briefly beside him before vanishing.

“She saw you,” he murmured. “And she didn’t scream. Brave little thing.”

Theodore stepped out from the shadows behind him, bowing his head. “You let the beast wander freely, Your Majesty. What if it harms her?”

The king’s red eyes gleamed faintly, amusement curling in his voice. “It wouldn’t dare. That creature is a mirror of my own will. If it wanted to hurt her, it would mean I do.”

Theodore frowned. “And do you, sire?”

The king’s smile deepened unreadable. “I

haven't decided yet.