Chapter 6
The palace doors slammed behind us with a thunder that echoed through my bones.
I didn't realize I was still gripping the king's cloak until he stopped walking. My fingers loosened instantly, heat rushing to my face.
He didn't look back, didn't say a word—just continued forward with the silent, lethal certainty of a predator who didn't need to announce his presence to dominate a room.
And this room…
opened like a dark cathedral.
High arches. Walls carved with scenes of ancient battles. Torches burning with blue fire that cast shadows that moved like living creatures.
My mouth went dry.
This was his world.
Not the forests.
Not the moon-lit fields.
Not the childish fantasies packs whispered about Lycans.
This place was hunger carved into stone.
Power breathing beneath the floor.
"Keep up," he said, voice low, resonant.
I did. Mostly because my legs refused to disobey him.
As we walked deeper into the palace, I became painfully aware of the eyes watching me. Guards. Servants. Advisors. Warriors with expressions sharpened by centuries of battle.
All of them staring at me as if I didn't belong.
Like I was a stain on polished stone.
A girl who had no wolf.
A rejected mate.
Nothing.
But none of them dared speak.
Not when he walked ahead of me.
We reached a massive iron door, covered in markings I didn't understand. He placed a hand on it, and the metal glowed under his palm, shifting and unlocking itself with a crack of magic that made my skin prickle.
Inside was a chamber much smaller than the others—dim, quiet, with a single fire burning low in an obsidian hearth.
He turned to me.
For the first time since the forest, I saw the man behind the king. Not softer—no, softness didn't belong anywhere near him—but clearer.
Intent. Focused. Watching me with an intensity that made the back of my neck warm.
"You're trembling."
I opened my mouth to deny it.
He raised one eyebrow.
I shut my mouth again.
"I don't…" I swallowed thickly. "I don't understand why I'm here."
He stepped closer. The fire behind him cast his silhouette in dark gold, outlining the breadth of his shoulders, the hard lines of his jaw, the unwavering strength in every inch of him.
"You were claimed," he said simply. "By me."
"That—" I exhaled shakily. "That doesn't tell me why."
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
"You were in pain," he said. "A pain so sharp it tore through the boundary between our realms. It reached me."
His gaze lowered to my chest—exactly where the bond had snapped and burned.
"That shouldn't be possible," I murmured.
"It isn't," he replied. "Unless…"
I waited.
But he didn't finish the sentence.
Instead, he looked away, pacing once, hands clasped behind his back—controlled, contained, as if holding something far bigger than anger.
"Your pack wronged you," he said at last. "In ways they cannot be forgiven for."
A shiver slid down my spine.
"Rejection is allowed," I whispered. "Painful, but… allowed. He didn't break any laws."
The king stopped.
Turned.
And his eyes…
glowed like burning embers.
"He humiliated you before your goddess," he said quietly. "Before your people. He used your weakness as a spectacle. He tore at the bond while the moon was still sealing it. That is an offense against the very nature of our kind."
I stared at him, heart pounding in confusion and something dangerously close to awe.
"He didn't just reject you," the king finished.
"He desecrated you."
My throat tightened.
I didn't know why hearing someone say it—someone who didn't know me, who didn't owe me anything—hurt more than the rejection itself.
"Sit," he ordered softly.
"I'm fine," I lied.
"You are not."
He gestured to a cushioned stone bench. I sank onto it because my legs were shaking again—and this time I couldn't hide it.
The king studied me as if examining a weapon he wasn't sure he should wield.
He didn't ask my name.
He didn't need to.
Instead, he said it—quiet, deliberate.
"Elaine."
Something in me stilled.
"Yes…" My voice was barely a breath.
His expression shifted. Only slightly—but enough to make heat rush to my cheeks.
"Good."
The fire crackled between us.
"I will ask you only once," he said. "Do you wish to return to your pack?"
Images flashed—
Eamon's cold eyes,
my stepmother's smirk,
the laughter,
the whispers,
the moonlight breaking around me.
"No," I breathed.
His eyes darkened in approval.
"Good."
Because in that single word…
something changed.
It was not acceptance.
Not safety.
Not trust.
But something that tasted like the beginning of all those things—hidden beneath shadows and danger and a king who didn't know how to say anything gently.
He took a step closer.
"Elaine," he said again, voice low, "you are mine now. And those who harmed you will answer for it."
My pulse stumbled.
"I didn't ask—"
"I don't care," he cut in. "You were claimed under the moon. And I do not release what I claim."
My lungs tightened.
Because the way he said it—
quiet, final, iron-clad—
felt less like a threat…
and more like a vow.
The chamber door burst open.
A warrior stumbled in, breathless.
"Your Majesty," he gasped, bowing low, "the Council is demanding your presence. They say… they say bringing a human-born girl into the palace without permission is a violation of—"
The king turned his head slightly.
The warrior choked mid-sentence.
Not from pain.
From fear.
"I brought her because she is mine," the king said. "If the Council has a problem with that…"
His eyes gleamed.
"…they can bleed for it."
The warrior nodded frantically and fled.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
The king looked down at me—
not with pity.
Not with desire.
But with possession carved into every line of his expression.
"Stay here," he murmured. "No one touches you. No one speaks to you. And if anyone enters this room without my permission…"
He paused.
"I will know."
Then he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in a palace that didn't want me—
protected only by the most dangerous creature ever born.
And for the first time since the ceremony…
I didn't feel weak.
I felt something else.
Awakening.