IRIS
The summons came not with a knock, but with the silent, imposing presence of a guard standing in the doorway of the chamber, his face a mask of stoic professionalism. “The Alpha King requests your presence for dinner, my lady,” he said, his tone neutral, but the words “my lady” felt like a deliberate jab, a reminder of the role I was being forced to play. I had spent the remainder of the afternoon in the garden, Ronan’s words a constant echo in my mind, a new lens through which to view my gilded cage. I was a variable. An unpredictable one. It was a terrifying, but also strangely empowering, thought.
I changed out of the practical wool dress into one of the silken tunics and a pair of the soft leather trousers, refusing the gowns that felt too much like a costume. I left my hair down, a dark curtain around my shoulders, a small act of rebellion against the severe, warrior-like braids I had adopted. I was not his queen. I was not his soldier. I was Iris. And tonight, Iris would be having dinner with her captor.
The dining hall was not the grand, cavernous space I had imagined. It was a smaller, more intimate room, dominated by a long table of dark, polished wood that could have seated twenty but was set for only two. A massive fire roared in a stone hearth, casting a warm, flickering glow over the richly tapestried walls. It was designed to be impressive, a display of wealth and power, but the intimacy of the setting for two people felt more like a cage than a throne room.
Kaelen was already there, seated at the head of the table. He had changed from his training leathers into formal black trousers and a deep crimson tunic that hugged the powerful lines of his shoulders and chest, the color a stark, dramatic contrast to his dark hair and silver eyes. He looked every inch the king, a vision of lethal, controlled power. He didn't look up when I entered, his attention focused on a scroll of parchment spread before him. The deliberate snub was a power play, a way of putting me in my place before I even sat down.
I walked to the opposite end of the table, the chair that felt a mile away from him. The silence in the room was a heavy, living thing, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the faint, distant sound of the stronghold settling for the night. A servant appeared from the shadows, pouring a deep red wine into my crystal glass and then into Kaelen’s before disappearing as silently as he had arrived.
I took a sip of the wine, the rich, complex flavor a welcome distraction. I could feel Kaelen’s presence at the other end of the table, a low, thrumming awareness that was a constant, inescapable part of my new reality. Through the bond, I could sense his mood—not anger, not fury, but a deep, thoughtful concentration, the mind of a strategist running through scenarios.
“Are you going to ignore me all night?” I asked, my voice quiet but carrying in the stillness of the room. “Because if so, I can think of a dozen more enjoyable ways to spend my evening. Like counting the stones in my cell.”
He finally looked up, his silver eyes locking with mine across the expanse of polished wood. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. “I was considering our next move regarding Marius. The Council’s indecision gives him a window. He will use it.”
“And we must play politics while he sharpens his knives for war,” I finished for him, taking another sip of wine. “A classic story. I’ve read it before. It never ends well for the politicians.”
“You think of yourself as a politician?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, his movements fluid and predatory. The firelight caught the sharp angles of his face, carving him from the shadows.
“I think of myself as a prisoner who is rapidly becoming an expert in survival,” I retorted. “And right now, my survival depends on understanding the rules of your world. A world where a madman can accuse a king of slaughter in front of everyone, and the only consequence is a flurry of whispered debate.”
The first course was brought out, a delicate but hearty soup. We ate in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the clinking of our spoons against the porcelain bowls. The tension was a palpable thing, a wire stretched taut between us.
“You think the Council is indecisive?” he asked, breaking the silence. His tone was neutral, but I could feel his sharp interest through the bond. He was testing me, probing my political acuity.
“I think they are terrified,” I countered, setting my spoon down. “Marius is a purist with a growing faction. You are a Lycan King with a new, volatile, and politically inconvenient bond-mate. They are trying to decide which monster is more likely to eat them last. They aren’t debating justice; they are hedging their bets.”
A flicker of something—respect, maybe?—crossed his face. “You see more than most. More than Isolde ever did.”
The mention of her name was a deliberate spark in the tinderbox. I felt a sharp, unwelcome pang of jealousy, a hot, bitter taste in my mouth. “Isolde’s expertise lies in a different area,” I said, my voice laced with a sweet, poisonous sarcasm. “I’m sure she can offer a much more… intimate perspective on your strategic weaknesses.”
His eyes narrowed, the silver darkening. “Do not mistake my past with her for a present vulnerability. She is a complication I am in the process of resolving.”
“By letting her parade around your stronghold in silk gowns, leaving her… laundry… for your new pet to find?” I shot back, my anger flaring hot and bright. “That’s an interesting way to resolve a complication.”
The main course was served, a roasted fowl with root vegetables. The servant’s presence was a temporary ceasefire in our verbal duel. As soon as the man disappeared, Kaelen leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table, his entire posture radiating a dangerous intensity.
“Her actions were a test,” he said, his voice a low growl. “For you. And for me. She wanted to see if you would break. She wanted to see if I would punish you for her insolence.”
“And did I pass your little test?” I asked, my voice dripping with disdain. “Did I prove to be a worthy, unbreakable asset?”
“You proved to be defiant,” he countered, his gaze unwavering. “And you proved that you don’t understand the rules of this game. Isolde thrives on emotional reaction. By showing your jealousy, you gave her exactly what she wanted. You showed her she has power over you.”
The accusation was a slap in the face. He wasn’t just defending Isolde; he was criticizing my reaction to her manipulation. “And what was I supposed to do?” I hissed, my voice shaking with a fury I couldn’t contain. “Laugh it off? Should I have thanked her for the detailed history of your scar? For the shirt that smelled of you and her?”
“You should have shown her it meant nothing,” he said, his voice hard, unyielding. “You should have looked at me, not her. You should have trusted that what is between us is stronger than a ghost she is trying to resurrect.”
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and shocking. *What is between us.* He wasn’t talking about the bond. He was talking about something more. Something real.
“Trust?” I whispered, the word feeling foreign and fragile on my tongue. “You want to talk to me about trust? You, who bit me, bound me, and treats me like a weapon you’re not sure you can control? You want me to trust you after you stood in a room full of our enemies and used me as a shield, a strategic piece in your political game?”
His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering in his cheek. He was losing his cool composure, and the sight of it was a small, heady victory. “It was not a game, Iris. It was war. And in war, you use every weapon you have. You were my greatest weapon in that room. You proved your strength, your resilience. You proved you were not a liability.”
“I am not a weapon!” I slammed my hand down on the table, the crystalware rattling with the force of it. “I am a person! A person with a past, with fears, with a heart that can be broken by manipulative Fae whores and arrogant Lycan kings!”
I was on my feet before I realized it, my chair scraping against the stone floor. The rage was a living thing inside me, a wild, desperate beast that needed to be free. I was trapped, not just by the bond, but by his perception of me, by his refusal to see me as anything more than a tool.
He rose slowly, his movements fluid and deliberate. He didn’t look angry. He looked… intrigued. As if my outburst was a fascinating, unexpected development in his carefully monitored experiment.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. He started to walk around the table toward me, a predator stalking his prey. “You are not just a weapon. You are a volatile, uncontrolled, and dangerously powerful weapon. And I have been remiss in my training.”
He stopped in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body, so close I could see the faint, silver flecks in his irises that were usually lost in the darkness of his pupils. The air between us crackled, thick with the scent of wine, and pine, and the raw, electric energy of our mutual anger and attraction.
“You want to train me?” I scoffed, my voice a hoarse, defiant whisper. “You want to break me. Bend me to your will. Make me your perfect little queen.”
“I want you to survive,” he growled, the words a raw, startling confession. He reached out, not to grab me, not to punish me, but to gently brush a stray strand of hair back from my face. His fingers were rough, calloused, a warrior’s touch, but the gesture was surprisingly tender. The contact sent a jolt through the bond, a sharp, electric pulse that was far more potent than the wine. “Marius will not stop. He will come for you. He sees you as the key to destroying me. If you cannot defend yourself, if you cannot control the immense power you wield, you will die. And I…” He paused, his gaze dropping to my lips, a flicker of something raw and pained in his eyes. “I will not let that happen.”
The raw honesty in his voice, the undisguised possessiveness in his words, was more disarming than any command. He wasn’t just talking about his asset. He was talking about his… what? His responsibility? His… mate? The word was too terrifying to even think.
I should have pulled away. I should have recoiled from his touch, from his confession. But I was frozen in place, trapped by the intensity in his silver eyes, by the raw, undisguised emotion that was finally breaking through his formidable control. He was showing me a crack in his armor, a glimpse of the man behind the tyrant king.
“Why?” I whispered, the question slipping past my lips before I could stop it. “Why do you care if I live or die? The bond would be broken. You would be free.”
His gaze lifted from my lips back to my eyes, and the look in them was so profound, so full of a complex mix of emotions I couldn’t begin to decipher, that it stole my breath. “The thought of you dead,” he said, his voice a low, rough gravel, “is not freedom, Iris. It is an unacceptable outcome.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love. It wasn’t a promise of a future. It was a statement of fact, a brutal, pragmatic assessment from a king who was used to getting what he wanted. And it was the most terrifyingly, intoxicatingly intimate thing he had ever said to me. He didn’t want me gone. He wanted me here. With him. Alive. Fighting. Defiant.
The space between us shrank, the air growing thick and heavy with all the unspoken words that had passed between us. His hand was still cupping my cheek, his thumb gently stroking my skin. The bond was a low, steady hum of awareness, a background to the roaring symphony of our shared tension. I could see the decision in his eyes, the moment he decided to close the distance.
He leaned in slowly, giving me every opportunity to pull away, to run. I should have. Every instinct of self-preservation screamed at me to flee. But I was mesmerized, trapped by the raw, undisguised need in his gaze, by the terrifying possibility that this connection between us wasn’t just a curse. That it might be something… real.
His lips were just a breath from mine when a sharp, insistent knock echoed from the heavy oak door of the dining hall.
“Kaelen,” Ronan’s voice called out, muffled but urgent. “We have a situation. A patrol went silent near the Crimson Pass.”
The spell was shattered. The moment was broken. Kaelen’s head snapped toward the door, his body tensing, the mask of the Alpha King slamming back into place with a speed that was breathtaking. The raw, vulnerable man was gone, replaced by the ruthless commander.
He pulled his hand back from my face as if it had been burned, the sudden absence of his touch a cold, aching void. He took a sharp step back, putting a safe, formal distance between us.
“Stay here,” he commanded, his voice once again the cold, hard tone of a king. “Eat. Do not leave this room.”
He turned and strode to the door, not looking back. He yanked it open and disappeared into the corridor, leaving me standing alone in the warm, firelit room, my heart hammering against my ribs and my lips tingling with the ghost of a kiss that never happened.
I sank back into my chair, my legs feeling like water. The dinner was cold on the table, the wine in my glass forgotten. The verbal duel had been more exhausting than any physical training. But it had also revealed something I hadn’t expected. Beneath the layers of control and pragmatism, there was a man who cared. A man who was possessive and dominant, yes, but also a man who was, in his own brutal, twisted way, protective.
I looked at the empty chair at the head of the table. The room felt vast and empty without his overwhelming presence. And for the first time, I wasn’t just thinking about escape. I was thinking about the man I was bound to, the tyrant king with the eyes of a lonely wolf. And I was wondering, with a terrifying and traitorous flicker of curiosity, what it would take to finally break through his armor for good.