The Alpha Who Begged Too Late

Chapter 6 The Ring Was Never Mine

Lord Cassian Reed was supposed to die before midnight.

In my first life, no one remembered the way he smiled at dinner.

No one remembered the black seal on the case beside his chair, or the ring on his right hand, or the way he refused the wine poured by Silvercrest servants.

They only remembered his body.

And they remembered my name beside it.

This time, I watched him breathe.

Cassian stood near the eastern balcony of the Silvercrest estate, his silver-gray eyes following the movement of every servant in the hall. He did not look nervous. Men like him never did. Royal envoys were trained to enter hostile packs with a pleasant expression and a knife hidden somewhere legal.

His black case sat on the table beside him.

The royal seal was still intact.

Good.

Celeste had not reached it yet.

"You are staring, Miss Vale."

Cassian's voice was smooth enough to cut glass.

I lowered my eyes with the exact amount of respect expected from a ranked daughter speaking to the Alpha King's envoy.

"I was admiring the seal, Lord Reed."

"Most young ladies admire jewelry."

"Jewelry can be stolen. Seals can prove who touched what."

His gaze sharpened.

For half a heartbeat, the noise of the hall seemed to thin. Laughter, music, whispers, the clink of glasses. All of it faded beneath the quiet attention of a predator who had just heard a branch snap in the dark.

"An unusual observation," he said.

"My family says I have many of those."

"Do they?"

I smiled faintly. "Not kindly."

His mouth moved, almost amused.

Across the hall, Celeste was watching us.

She wore pale blue tonight, soft and innocent, the color of a girl who had never held a knife and cried over crushed flowers. Her curls were pinned with pearls. Her lips were trembling just enough to make people wonder if I had hurt her again.

Poor Celeste.

Always bleeding without a wound.

Rowan stood near her, surrounded by Blackthorn warriors and Silvercrest elders. He was not touching her, but his attention was divided between her face and mine.

The mate bond pulled at my ribs when his golden eyes met mine.

Pain bloomed, familiar and hot.

My wolf stirred with a low growl.

No.

Not him.

Not tonight.

Tonight was for the dead man who would not be dead.

"Miss Vale," Cassian said softly, "you seem to know that something in this room is worth guarding."

I looked at the black case.

"Everything royal is worth guarding."

"That is the answer of a careful courtier."

"I am not a courtier."

"No," he said. "You are something else."

The words settled between us.

For one dangerous second, I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. The girl everyone called weak? The rejected mate? The daughter my father wished would cause fewer public problems?

Or the ghost of a woman who had already died for a crime she did not commit?

I could not tell him the truth.

If I said, You will be murdered tonight and your ring will be planted in my jewelry box, he would think I was mad, guilty, or both.

So I said, "If I were carrying royal evidence, I would keep the case sealed. I would not lend my signet ring to anyone. I would not drink anything handed to me without watching the pour."

Cassian's expression did not change.

His scent did.

Cold rain. Iron. Suspicion.

"That is very specific advice."

"Specific advice is usually the only kind worth giving."

"And why give it to me?"

Because you died once.

Because your blood ruined my life before my life ended.

Because the girl smiling at us from across the room is already choosing where to hide your ring.

I folded my hands in front of me.

"Because Silvercrest cares too much about appearances. Sometimes, when everyone is watching the stage, no one watches the hands behind the curtain."

Cassian was silent.

Then he laughed once, quietly.

"Your pack has underestimated you."

"They find it convenient."

"Do you?"

My smile did not reach my eyes.

"Not anymore."

Someone dropped a tray behind me.

The crash was loud enough to turn every head.

Wine spilled across the marble like dark blood.

Tessa stood frozen beside the mess, her face pale, her hands trembling. She was one of the house maids, barely older than me, with soft brown hair tucked under a servant's cap.

In my first life, I had not noticed her.

I had noticed only later, when she cried in the corridor and refused to meet my eyes after Cassian died.

That was the thing about guilt.

Wolves could smell it even when humans could excuse it.

Tessa smelled like fear.

Not simple fear of punishment.

Trapped fear.

Celeste moved first.

"Oh, Tessa," she said sweetly, crossing the hall with practiced concern. "You poor thing. Are you hurt?"

The maid flinched before Celeste touched her.

Small.

Quick.

Almost invisible.

But Cassian saw it.

So did I.

Rowan's eyes narrowed.

My father sighed from near the elders, the sound of a man already annoyed by the possibility of embarrassment.

"Clean it up," he ordered. "Quietly."

Tessa bent at once, but her fingers shook so hard she nearly cut herself on the broken glass.

I stepped forward.

Celeste's head snapped toward me.

For one second, her mask slipped. Panic flashed beneath the tears.

There you are, sister.

"Let her breathe," I said.

Celeste's eyes filled faster than rain. "Aria, I was only trying to help."

"Then step back."

The hall stilled.

My father's aura pressed toward me in warning.

"Aria."

One word.

My name as a leash.

In my first life, I would have lowered my head.

I would have apologized to Celeste for making her sad, to my father for making him look bad, to the pack for existing in a way that caused trouble.

Not this time.

I knelt beside Tessa and took the broken stem of a glass from her hand before it sliced her palm.

Her eyes flew to mine.

"Miss Vale, please," she whispered.

"Did Celeste ask you to bring another tray after this?"

Her face went white.

Celeste laughed softly. "What a strange question."

"Yes," I said, still looking at Tessa. "It is."

Tessa's throat worked.

The scent of fear thickened.

Behind me, Cassian shifted closer to his black case.

Good.

He was learning.

"I only serve where I am told," Tessa whispered.

"Of course you do."

I lowered my voice. "And tonight, you will serve only where the head steward tells you. No private errands. No locked corridors. No gifts carried to guest rooms."

Tessa's lips parted.

Celeste's scent changed.

For the first time all night, sweetness curdled into anger.

"Aria," she said, soft enough to sound wounded. "You are frightening her."

"No." I stood. "Someone frightened her before I arrived."

A ripple moved through the hall.

Whispers rose.

My father looked furious.

Rowan looked at me as though I had become a language he had never learned.

Celeste pressed a hand to her heart. "Why do you always twist everything I do? I know you are upset after what happened with Alpha Rowan, but taking it out on a servant is cruel."

There it was.

The public wound.

The rejected mate.

The unstable girl.

She wanted everyone to look at Rowan. To remember that I had rejected him. To wonder if pain had made me irrational.

Rowan's jaw tightened.

The bond snapped between us like a silver wire pulled too hard.

"Leave my name out of this, Celeste," he said.

Celeste froze.

It was small, but it was enough.

In my first life, he had always given her sympathy first.

Tonight, he gave her caution.

Not trust.

Not yet.

But caution was a crack.

I would use it.

Cassian looked down at the spilled wine. Then at Tessa. Then at Celeste.

"Who ordered this tray?" he asked.

Celeste blinked at him.

"My lord?"

"The tray." His voice remained polite. "Who ordered it?"

Tessa trembled.

Celeste smiled through her confusion. "I believe the kitchens did. It is a gathering, Lord Reed. Trays are carried all evening."

"Indeed."

Cassian lifted one hand.

One of his royal guards stepped forward at once.

"Bring the head steward," Cassian said. "And no one touches that broken glass until he arrives."

The hall went silent.

My father's face darkened. "Lord Reed, surely this is unnecessary."

"Perhaps."

Cassian's eyes did not leave Celeste.

"But I dislike unnecessary things that tremble."

Celeste's smile held.

Barely.

My wolf stretched beneath my skin, pleased and restless.

This was not enough to expose her.

Not yet.

Celeste was too careful to bleed in the first cut.

But she had planned the dropped tray. I remembered the timeline now with painful clarity. The crash had distracted the room. Another servant had taken a folded napkin from Cassian's chair. Inside that napkin had been his ring, slipped from his hand after wine laced with wolfsbane slowed his senses.

Then the ring had appeared in my room.

My jewelry box.

My death.

This time, Cassian still wore the ring.

I looked at his hand.

The black stone caught the chandelier light.

Safe.

For now.

Then a new scent brushed the air.

Lavender.

Powder.

Celeste.

And beneath it, faint but unmistakable, the sharp metallic scent of royal wax.

My gaze dropped to Celeste's glove.

A smear of black sealing wax marked the inside of her wrist.

Tiny.

Almost hidden by lace.

My heart slowed.

She had not opened the case.

But she had touched it.

Cassian followed my gaze.

His eyes narrowed.

Celeste noticed one second too late.

She folded her hands quickly, hiding the mark.

Too quickly.

Cassian turned to me.

His voice was quiet enough that only nearby wolves could hear, but every ranked wolf in the room had sharp ears.

"Miss Vale."

"Yes, Lord Reed?"

"Earlier, you advised me to keep royal things sealed."

"I did."

"Then tell me."

He looked past me, straight at Celeste.

"Why does your sister smell like my sealed case?"