7
1203 Words
Ceremony day arrived like a storm no one could outrun.
The pack house had been transformed overnight. Banners of deep crimson and silver hung from every rafter, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat, pine smoke, and nervous excitement. Servants—omegas mostly—scurried like shadows, polishing silver until it gleamed, arranging flowers that would be trampled underfoot within hours, refilling goblets before they were even empty. I was one of them. Invisible. Necessary only until I wasn’t.
I kept my head down and my hands busy. My task was the side tables near the back wall—clearing plates, wiping spills, staying out of sight. Every time I caught a glimpse of Beau across the hall, laughing too loudly with a group of warriors, I turned the other way. He hadn’t approached me since last night, but I felt his gaze like a blade between my shoulder blades. One wrong step and he’d find an excuse. He always did.
The great hall filled steadily. Pack members in their finest tunics and dresses, elders in ceremonial robes, visiting alphas from allied territories. Gaius stood at the head table like he already wore the crown, shoulders broad, jaw set in arrogant satisfaction. Today he would be officially named Alpha—heir no longer. My father stood beside him, face carved from stone, eyes never once drifting my way.
I moved like a ghost among them. Refill the wine. Clear the bones. Duck when someone laughed too close. My body ached from last night’s “session”—Gaius had been particularly thorough, as if reminding me that even on his day of triumph, I remained his favorite toy—but the pain was dull now. Familiar. I barely registered it.
Then the horns sounded.
A deep, resonant blast that vibrated through the stone floor.
Silence fell like a blade.
The double doors at the far end of the hall swung open.
A dozen warriors entered first—tall, armored in black leather and silver plate, moving with the lethal grace of predators who had never known mercy. Their cloaks bore the sigil of the Northern Kingdom: a snarling wolf wreathed in lightning. Behind them walked the man the rumors had painted in blood and shadow.
Kylen.
The Mad King.
He was taller than I expected, broader, his presence swallowing the light in the room. Dark hair fell past his shoulders, streaked with silver that caught the torchlight like frost. His eyes—electric blue, impossibly bright—swept the hall once, assessing, dismissing. He wore no crown, only a simple black circlet etched with runes. But power rolled off him in waves, thick enough to choke on. Even the elders lowered their gazes.
Gaius stepped forward, bowing just enough to show respect without submission. “King Kylen. We are honored.”
Kylen inclined his head—a fraction. His voice was low, rough-edged velvet. “The honor is mine, Alpha Gaius. May your rule be long… and wise.”
Polite words. Everyone heard the edge beneath them.
The ceremony began. Gaius knelt before the elders, swore the oaths, accepted the ceremonial dagger dipped in pack blood. Cheers erupted. Goblets raised. I stayed at the back, tray balanced on one arm, trying to disappear into the wall.
Then it hit.
A scent.
Warm. Wild. Thunder and cedar and something darker—iron and storm-rain. It slammed into me like a physical blow, stealing my breath, igniting every nerve that had gone dead months ago.
My tray slipped. Crystal shattered on the floor.
Heads turned.
I didn’t care.
My eyes lifted—found his.
Kylen.
He had been speaking to Gaius, mid-sentence, when his head snapped toward me. Those electric eyes locked on mine across the crowded hall.
Time fractured.
The mate pull roared through me, fiercer than anything I’d felt with Gaius. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was a chain yanking me forward, raw and undeniable. My wolf—silent for so long—surged beneath my skin, clawing, howling one word over and over.
*Mine.*
My feet moved before my mind caught up.
One step. Two. The tray clattered forgotten to the ground. Servants hissed. Someone grabbed at my sleeve—I shook them off. The crowd parted instinctively as I walked—stumbled—toward the podium.
Whispers erupted.
“What is she doing?”
“Is she mad?”
“Stop her!”
I couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t. The pull was a living thing, dragging me closer, filling the hollow places inside me with fire.
Kylen watched me approach. No shock. No anger. Just… curiosity. A faint tilt to his head, like a predator sighting prey that had unexpectedly bared its throat.
I reached the edge of the raised dais.
Our eyes never left each other.
Then hands clamped around my arms—hard, armored grips. Two royal guards, faces hidden behind visors, yanked me backward.
“No—” The word tore from my throat, hoarse and broken. I fought, twisting, desperate. “Please—”
The crowd gasped. Laughter rippled from some corners. Gaius’s smirk was immediate, sharp as a blade. He leaned toward my father and murmured something. Beau barked a laugh, loud and mocking.
The guards dragged me toward the side doors. My bare feet scraped stone. I clawed at their gauntlets, uselessly. Tears burned my eyes—not from pain, but from the sudden, violent grief of being torn away from the one thing that had felt like salvation in a year of hell.
Kylen said nothing.
He didn’t move to stop them.
He simply watched—expression unreadable—as I was hauled out of the hall like a stray dog.
The doors slammed shut behind me.
Silence.
Then the laughter inside swelled again, louder now that the spectacle was over.
One guard shoved me against the corridor wall. “Stay,” he growled. “Or we chain you.”
I slid to the floor, knees buckling. My chest heaved. The mate pull still thrummed in my veins, aching, furious at the separation. My wolf snarled inside my skull—weak, fractured, but awake.
*He saw.*
*He knows.*
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
Gaius.
He appeared at the end of the corridor, still in his ceremonial tunic, face flushed with triumph. He crouched in front of me, gripping my chin the way Beau had the night before—only harder.
“Disrupting my ceremony,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “In front of the Mad King himself. You really do have a talent for making my life interesting.”
I met his gaze. For the first time in months, something flickered behind the numbness.
Defiance.
“You think he’ll let this slide?” Gaius continued, thumb pressing into my jaw until I tasted blood. “You embarrassed me. Again. Tonight, when the feast ends, you’ll pay for every second you dared look at him.”
He released me with a shove that cracked my head against the wall.
As he walked away, whistling softly, the wolf inside me whispered again—clearer, stronger.
He comes back.
He always comes back.
And for the first time in a year, I believed her.
- Writer
