The Curse Beneath the Crown

POV: ELARA The dead man was still warm when they accused me of killing him. I knew because one of the guards forced me to kneel beside his body, shoved my face toward his bloodstained collar, and demanded that I confess. I considered biting him. Then I noticed the sword at his waist and decided I preferred my head attached to my neck. "I didn't kill him," I said. The guard twisted my arm behind my back. "You were found standing over the royal messenger." "After three men tried to kill me in the forest. Forgive me for not stopping to arrange a more convincing crime scene." His partner laughed. The first guard did not appreciate that. He dragged me upright and shoved me toward the enormous gates of Blackthorn Palace. I'd heard stories about the royal residence since childhood. Its towers were said to be older than the kingdom itself, its dungeons deep enough to imprison creatures that had once frightened entire armies, and its King so ruthless that even rival Alphas lowered their eyes in his presence. I had hoped never to test any of those stories personally. Unfortunately, someone had apparently decided my life was becoming too peaceful. The gates opened. Inside, soldiers lined the marble courtyard. Their black uniforms bore the silver insignia of the Valerius dynasty: a wolf beneath a crown. Every face turned toward me. Wonderful. I had always wanted to be memorable. "Keep your eyes down," the guard muttered. "Why?" "Because you're standing before the Supreme Alpha King's court." "That explains the uniforms. I thought everyone had attended a particularly depressing wedding." He shoved me forward. I stumbled but caught myself before I fell. By the time we reached the throne room, my wrists were raw, my dress was torn, and I had developed a sincere dislike for royal hospitality. The doors swung open. Silence settled over the chamber. At the far end, beneath banners embroidered with silver wolves, sat King Lucian Valerius. He was younger than I expected. Thirty, perhaps, though the severity of his expression made him appear older. His black hair was brushed away from his forehead, revealing a sharp face and a faint scar near his jaw. He wore a black coat fastened with silver clasps, and one hand rested on the arm of his throne. He had no crown. He didn't need one. The room already belonged to him. His silver-grey eyes settled on me. For one strange instant, the noise in my head disappeared. Then something inside my chest tightened. I hated it immediately. "Name," he said. "Elara Veyne." "Pack?" "Northwatch." "Why were you found beside my messenger's body?" "I wasn't beside him when he died." A murmur travelled through the court. Lucian remained still. "Explain." "Three men followed me from the northern road. They wore black cloaks and concealed their faces. One had a curved blade. They attacked me near the forest boundary, and I ran." "Why would anyone attack you?" "If I knew, Your Majesty, I would have made different decisions." "Such as?" "Taking another road. Travelling with an army. Perhaps becoming a baker. I've heard bread attracts fewer assassins." Someone near the throne coughed to disguise a laugh. Lucian's expression did not change. "Do you understand the seriousness of your situation?" "Perfectly. A man is dead, your guards have decided I killed him, and I'm being questioned by a king who appears to regard conversation as a military punishment." A dangerous silence followed. The guard behind me tightened his grip. Lucian raised one hand. "Release her." The guard obeyed immediately. I rubbed my wrists. "Thank you." "I haven't decided whether you deserve gratitude." "Then we're making progress. I haven't decided whether you deserve an apology." His gaze sharpened. Before he could respond, an elderly royal physician stepped forward. "Your Majesty, the preliminary examination is complete." "And?" "The messenger's throat was cut after his death." I turned toward him. "Then I couldn't have killed him." "You could have moved the body," the guard protested. "Yes. Because after fleeing three armed men, I naturally decided to spend my remaining strength rearranging a corpse." Lucian stood. Every conversation in the room died. "Bring the body forward." Two servants carried the messenger onto the open space before the throne. His skin had turned grey, and a dark line crossed his throat. One hand lay open beside him. The other was clenched tightly. I stared at it. Something was wrong. "His hand," I said. Lucian turned toward me. "What about it?" "Open it." The physician frowned. "Rigor mortis has begun." "Then it should be difficult to open both hands. Why is one clenched and the other relaxed?" The physician looked at the body again. For the first time, he appeared uncertain. Lucian descended the throne steps. "Open his hand." A guard forced the dead man's fingers apart. Something dropped onto the marble. A ring. It was made of blackened silver, its surface carved with a crescent moon divided by a vertical line. The moment I saw it, a memory stirred. A parchment on a kitchen table. Mara's frightened face. Flames consuming a page covered in symbols. I had been too young to understand what I was seeing, and Mara had refused to discuss it afterward. But I remembered that symbol. I was certain of it. "Have you seen this before?" Lucian asked. "No." The lie came too quickly. His eyes narrowed. I stepped toward the ring. "Don't touch it," the physician warned. I ignored him. The moment my fingers closed around the metal, pain split across my palm. The small cut I had received during the attack opened again, and a drop of blood fell onto the ring. Black silver flashed blue. The throne room vanished. I stood before a throne drenched in blood. A woman in a white veil stood at its foot, holding a crown between trembling hands. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. Shadows moved behind her, stretching across the floor like living things. A wolf howled. The woman lifted her head. Although the veil covered her face, I knew she was looking directly at me. "You have returned," she whispered. The crown slipped from her hands. It struck the floor. A c***k split the vision. I gasped. The throne room slammed back into existence, and someone seized my wrist. Lucian. His fingers closed around my arm, but his attention was fixed on my face. His eyes had changed. Gold burned in their silver depths. A growl rolled through his chest. Every wolf in the chamber dropped to one knee. Even the guards holding their weapons bowed their heads. I stared at the King. He stared at me. Something vast and furious moved behind his eyes, and for one terrifying moment, I felt it recognise me. Not my face. Not my name. Me. Then Lucian snatched the ring from my hand. "Everyone out." Nobody moved. His voice thundered through the chamber. "OUT!" The court scattered. Within moments, only Lucian, the physician, two guards, and I remained. The King released my wrist. "What did you see?" "A throne." "What else?" "A woman wearing a veil. A crown. Blood." "Did she speak?" I hesitated. "Yes." "What did she say?" I looked at the ring in his hand. "She said I had returned." Lucian went completely still. The physician stared at him. Something passed between them—recognition, perhaps, or fear. I noticed. "Who was she?" I asked. "That is not your concern." "She spoke to me." "And you will forget what happened here." I laughed once, without humour. "That is a remarkably ambitious request." He stepped closer. "Listen carefully, Elara Veyne. Someone has murdered a royal messenger, concealed an object on his body, and arranged for you to be found at the scene. Until I know why, you will remain inside this palace." "Am I your prisoner?" "You are under my protection." "Those sound suspiciously similar." "Your survival is not a matter for debate." "Neither is my freedom." For the first time, something resembling genuine anger crossed his face. Beneath it, however, I saw something else. Fear. He looked down at the ring, then back at me. "Who raised you?" "A healer named Mara Veyne." "And your parents?" "I don't know who they were." "Did Mara ever tell you that you belonged to another family?" My heart stumbled. "No." The answer tasted like ash. Lucian watched me for several seconds before speaking again. "If you value your life, do not touch another object belonging to the dead." I lifted my chin. "Then perhaps your dead should stop leaving things where I can find them." I walked toward the doors. Nobody attempted to stop me. But as I crossed the threshold, a howl rose from somewhere beneath the palace. It was not the cry of an ordinary wolf. The sound travelled through the stone beneath my feet, vibrating inside my bones. I turned. Lucian stood beside the throne, staring at me with an expression I could not read. His wolf howled again. And something deep inside me answered.