My Forbidden Guardian

Chapter- 2

The lion, irritated by the noise and the smell of blood at the banquet, gave a thunderous roar.

He leaped free of his cage with one violent movement- a monstrous shape barreling towards the crowd-through everything he engulfed, screaming nobles and servants alike scrambling for cover.

From lighthearted festivals, it had filled the air with terror suddenly.

Even before I began to realize what was happening, the boy moved.

No longer was he the shackled, still figure standing at the end of the display. He became a blur, swift and accurate, the chains clanking as he launched himself toward the rampaging lion.

There had been no pause, no hesitation in weighing the situation.

Within seconds, he was on the beast, the flow and fluidity of his movements anything but jerky, yet each one fraught with the lethal weight of someone far more experienced than his appearance would suggest.

As strong as he was small, he dragged the lion down. The room fell silent as the beast's body jumped to the floor. Its life was out, to be seen by all.

The boy stood above him, his chest moving up and falling steadily, but his eyes their hardness never changed. He turned, looking right at me.

In a fleeting moment, our gazes met, and I felt as though I would be consumed by the blaze in his stare.

And in that split second, everything made sense. This boy, unchained for the hundredth time at least, was something much more than a servant or even a guard.

He was dangerous, powerfully built but controlled as if that power waited for a reason to be unleashed once again.

The next instant, I heard my father erupt into booming laughter, filled with satisfaction.

"From this day forth, you shall remain by my daughter's side. You belong to her now."

The boy did not move. The crowd watched him with wary eyes, and then, in the silence, he spoke, his voice cutting through the air: "Why did you save me in the first place?"

“There is no reason,” I said. “I saw something different in you." I want you to stay by my side, to become my finest, sharpest blade, one that burns with untamed fire.”

Ten years had passed since I met Kael. Ten years of laughter, secrets, and adventures were crashing over me at that very moment, my dress steaming, still slightly stiff, from last night, as I dressed in the mirror.

I hardly had a breath to gasp for in anticipation when my mother appeared at the door and surveyed me up and down.

Then, turning an unsparing look inside, she stepped into the room, clasped her hands together, and said with an expectant and persuasive tone.

“You're in the marrying years," Aria said, smoothing an invisible wrinkle over my shoulder. Marriage to a power alpha is much more than just beauty or the right social station”.

She continues while caressing my hair, “It serves to carry our line down: to establish an alliance with another equally strong lineage. Consider all you'll be able to do as a pair”.

I tried to force a semblance of a smile across my face.

Yet somehow, the words rang like silk in her tone and sounded so smooth, she seemed to have been merely offering her time while waiting the right moment for its utterance.

“Yes” I said while on the inside. I kept suppressing that very thought of possibly making some Alpha's "perfect match" somewhere in a foreign corner of earth.

The idea of meeting another Alpha was exciting yet anxious. I would say it’s more like a ritual that my parents had made me carry out.

Suitors came one by one, all more polished than the last, as if made from the same mold: slicked-back hair, carefully pressed suits.

They lined up, waiting for their formal introduction; their expressions almost comical in their uniformity. Vanity suited them all.

I stood there beside my parents, my mother reminding me occasionally to "keep smiling, dear" and my father nodding with barely concealed pride.

I'd practiced the smile for this event, a polite, distant smile for second cousins that you meet only at family gatherings.

Duty called, after all. The burden of a noble daughter.

But each of the suitors appearing before me, I noticed a pattern start.

They stared a little too long, as if I were some rare jewel to place on a shelf.

And there was always that sidelong glance, the one they thought they'd kept subliminal but screamed of evaluation, of calculation.

Yet each one of them could, come what may, find an alibi to withdraw from my company sometime midway through the conversations.

The guests varied as the suitors were routine: "Family obligations," said one, and another "business arrangement" was conveyed over the smile with a shady sweep from side to side as if on the look-out for a subtle exit.

Some, as they filed out, appeared to be working themselves up into fits. A pair turned around their shoulders as if running might in itself be bad manners.

I'd sit there, and watch them go, and with everyone feel a small tickle of relief seep into my chest, relieved that the meeting was at last coming to an end.

The ballroom was dim. Candles played above velvet decorations, reflected from polished floors.

It was one of those evenings made for connection and friendship—and yet it felt like some sort of play in which I played the silent character, watching all the comings and goings.

I smoothed my dress in an attempt to settle my nerves.

My father caught my eye and gave me a nod of encouragement, the expression one of hope and expectation.

For a moment, I straightened up to graciously meet his expectations.

There sat another Alpha, this one younger, with a look of polish that made him stiff, nervous.

His suit was perfectly cut, but he seemed awkward in it, and his smile was pasted onto his face as if he feared what might happen should he ever let his guard drop.

He wiggled with his sleeves, tugging at the cuffs, mirroring my unease.

He smiled at me with the sweetest smile and a rehearsed string of compliments that sounded pleasant but hollow.

He nodded graciously at my father's introductions and settled into conversation with a deliberately forced charm.

His words were polished, his manner refined, yet I could sense he was as out of place as I felt.

We danced around little talk, exchanging pleasantries about the night and the guests and the music, each word a single thread in a finely braided web of formalities.

And for a moment I thought,' Maybe this isn't all awful after all; maybe I can at least do that.

But then, as we kept talking, his mind kept wandering. He turned his eyes to the other guests in the room.