Chapter 4 - SHADOWS IN THE ROYAL WING
The guest suite in the Royal Wing was larger than Darien’s entire private townhouse. Silk rugs cushioned the stone floors, a grand hearth roared with fragrant birch wood, and the bed was draped in layers of soft velvet and down feathers.
Yet, for the first three nights, Laria could not bring herself to sleep on the mattress.
When Kale entered the room on the third evening carrying a tray of chamomile broth and roasted pheasant, he found her asleep on the thick woolen rug near the hearth, curled tightly in a ball with her knees drawn against her chest, clutching a small blanket like a shield.
Kale stood in the doorway, his heart twisting with a sharp, foreign pang. He set the tray on the mahogany desk and walked silently across the room. He knelt beside her, studying the peaceful curve of her brow in the firelight. Without the waking terror in her eyes, she looked impossibly delicate, yet he knew the iron will hidden inside her slender frame.
As he reached down to pull the blanket higher, her eyes snapped open.
In an instant, she scrambled backward, her back hitting the stone hearth surround. Her hands came up in a defensive guard, her breath turning into sharp, terrified gasps.
"Laria. It’s me," Kale said softly, remaining completely motionless on his knee, hands held open, palms up. "You’re safe. You are in my quarters."
Recognition slowly flooded her panic-glazed eyes. Her shoulders dropped, and she let out a trembling sigh, burying her face in her hands. "I'm sorry. I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. I thought..."
"You do not need to apologize for surviving," Kale said. His voice was a calm murmur that seemed to fill the quiet room with warmth. "Why are you sleeping on the floor? The bed is soft."
"It's... too soft," she admitted, looking away with shame. "The bed has no walls. In my room at my father's... the cot was wedge-tight between stone walls. I could feel where the danger was coming from. In that large bed, the open space feels like someone is standing behind me."
Kale nodded slowly. He didn't mock her. He didn't offer empty platitudes. Instead, he stood up, picked up two heavy velvet armchairs, and dragged them across the rug, arranging them closely along the side of the grand four-poster bed to create an enclosed, protected alcove.
"There," Kale said, turning back to her. "A barrier on the open side. Nothing can reach you without making noise."
Laria stared at the high-backed chairs, then at the towering King of the North, whose hands were covered in dust from rearranging furniture for a girl who had spent her life being treated as refuse. Tears stung the rims of her eyes, but she blinked them back.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Come. You need to eat," he said, gesturing to the food. "The purging tonic Martha prepared begins tomorrow at dawn. You will need your strength."
Laria sat by the small table, tasting the roasted pheasant. The flavors exploded on her tongue—rich, savory, seasoned with thyme and butter. For years, she had survived on cold turnip water and stale heels of bread thrown to her after the servants had cleared the banquets.
Kale sat opposite her, pouring her a cup of water infused with mint. "Tomorrow, Darien faces the judicial review. He has summoned five senior councilors to defend his character. He claims the wolfsbane in his cellar was purchased for agricultural pest control."
Laria let out a bitter, joyless laugh. "Of course he did. My father never commits a crime without a legal loophole prepared months in advance. He has allies, Kale. The southern mercantile lords owe him money. If you push him too far, he will threaten a trade blockade."
Kale’s eyes narrowed, the golden amber darkening to molten honey. "He can threaten whatever he pleases. A king who trades justice for trade routes is not fit to hold the crown. What matters to me is stripping his claim over you and your mother’s heritage."
Laria looked down at her hands. "What if the apothecary is wrong? What if there is no wolf inside me? What if I am truly defective, and the poison was merely an excuse?"
"Look at me, Laria."
She raised her head.
"I have lived twenty-eight winters," Kale said, leaning forward, his intense gaze locking onto hers with undeniable conviction. "I have fought rogue Alphas, foreign kings, and beasts in the deep snow. I know what power feels like. And I know what lies beneath your skin. You are not empty. I felt your beast stir the night I took you from that corridor. She is ancient, Laria. And she is furious."
A sudden chill raced down Laria's spine—not of fear, but of an electric, slumbering force responding to his words deep within her bone marrow. For a brief second, her scent changed in the room, shifting from frightened pine needle to an intoxicating, sweet burst of night-blooming jasmine and wild winter berries.
Kale froze. His pupils dilated until his eyes were almost completely black. His nostrils flared, drawing in the sweet, rare scent. His inner wolf slammed against his ribs, demanding he close the distance, wrap his arms around her waist, and bury his muzzle in her throat.
Mate, the beast growled within him with absolute, primal certainty.
Kale gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles cracking under the immense strain of holding himself back. He could not claim her now. Not while she was broken. Not while she was under his legal protection. To touch her before she was free and healed would make him no better than the men who took what they wanted by force.
Laria noticed the shift in his posture, sensing the raw, magnetic tension humming between them. "Kale?"
May you like
Kale stood up abruptly, clearing his throat and forcing his wolf back into its cage. "Get some sleep, Laria. The sunrise will bring a storm."
He turned and strode out of the chamber, his heavy cape sweeping behind him, leaving Laria alone in the firelight with the scent of wild jasmine lingering in the air and a strange, unfamiliar warmth pulsing in her chest.
