Chapter 012. The Bitter Truth

“I like you.”

Saeris lifted a brow at him.

“Most people,” the male went on, gaze trailing after Morgana, “would ask who she is to the King. But you asked what she’s like. That’s far more interesting, and telling.”

“And what does it tell you?”

“That you might actually survive this place.”

His lips quirked up at one corner as he extended his hand. "Samkiel. And possibly the friend you've made here.”

Saeris stared at his hand without taking it. "I'm not looking for friends."

“No one ever is.” He withdrew his hand without offense. “Until they realize they’re drowning.”

“And why are you volunteering?” she asked, plucking a grape, tone dry. “Everyone else seems ready to slit my throat.”

Samkiel allowed himself to partake in the fruit too, uninvited. “Because I love things that bite, even if I’ve to teach them how, first.” His grin was gone for a moment, green eyes far too shrewd for Saeris’ comfort. “Your arrival caused quite the ripple across the King’s Hands.”

That name again. “King’s Hands?”

“The King's council,” Samkiel clarified, tossing the title out. “The ones who believe they hold the real power. Old bloodlines, tedious politics. Five members, each with their own... specialty. You know, the usual headache.”

Saeris said nothing, letting him speak. Information was the one thing she needed most.

“Chancellor Vexar heads them,” he continued. “Soft voice, mild smile, but don’t let that fool you. He’s sharp as broken glass, and, in case it matters, he’s Mor’s father.”

Saeris didn't let any emotion slip.

“She’s… adaptable,” Samkiel added. A compliment Saeris filled in. “Their family controls half the trade routes. Commerce, imports, and luxury goods. Coin flows through their fingers.”

“I must be worth more to warrant their attention.”

He didn’t deny it. Just offered a wolfish grin and plucked another grape.

But a question bloomed before she could stop it; Was Mor part of the Luna Selection? It seemed impossible she hadn’t been.

“And the rest of the Five?” she asked instead.

“One is absent tonight. Oversees the outer packs. Keeps them aligned and placated.”

Her brow rose again. “There are still packs?”

“Oh, yes. Though some people here get real skittish about using the term. They prefer courtly structures. But yes—minor ones, like the one you are from.”

She could’ve glared at him.

“The fourth is Lord Farrow, the man who called you the King's plaything. He oversees tax and custom control. And fifth is Lord Cassius, who I believe you've already had the pleasure of meeting … mostly, he just likes hearing his own voice.”

She didn’t care about his role though. “And the second?”

Samkiel’s tone dipped, just slightly. “That would be Lord Marshal here. The King’s general. Commander of the armies and his personal guard.”

Saeris took Kaan in with new eyes. The cold, aggressively unapproachable male was held in higher esteem than she'd realized.

"And you?" she asked Samkiel. "What’s your role?"

His grin returned, lazy and irritatingly knowing. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested in court politics or alliances.”

“Shame.” He’d frowned now, and she watched his tongue play in his mouth. “Because they’re very interested in you. Not to mention, your presence here—”

“Samkiel.” A warning.

The red-haired male straightened, feigning offense. "Oh, relax, Kaan. I'm not revealing court secrets." Then, to her, with a beautiful grin, “Just helping our lovely King’s mate understand the kind of fangs she’s smiling at.”

She said nothing, because what was left to say?

Samkiel snagged a glass off a passing tray, one filled with that same amber liquid Kaan had warned her against earlier. “Anyways,” he said, inhaling, “welcome to our court.”

He drank it in one swallow, throat flexing. “Fuck.”

Saeris almost asked what was in the drink but held her tongue. She'd already missed her chance with Kaan.

Samkiel’s empty glass clicked softly as he set it down. “Don’t look so worried, Foxy.”

She didn’t bother asking about the nickname. “I’m not.”

“I’m shocked.”

She takes it back. He might have handed her a sliver of truth tonight, but she saw it now … the predator behind the charm. He was no better than the rest of them, likely worse.

Samkiel snatched another glass of that drink, and she was going to ask him this time, but her spine suddenly straightened as that familiar scent reached her before the touch.

“Did you enjoy heckling my mate,” Vaelen said behind her, “shall I cut your tongue now or later?”

If she leaned back even an inch, she’d be flush against him, so she remained still.

Samkiel smiled, she heard it in his voice. “She asked a question, I simply answered. I’m the victim here, Sire.”

He said it like a joke among friends.

Vaelen clicked his tongue, his grip on her waist tightening. She felt the push of his fingers, the predatory angle of his head as he said, “Shall we?”

She didn’t need a bond to know exactly what he meant. Finally.

Saeris gave Samkiel a look, ignoring the smirk he tossed her way, and took Vaelen’s offered hand. The moment they slipped from the glittering hall, she gave him a wide berth, staying just far enough that they wouldn't accidentally touch.

Now that the charade was over, she could finally change out of this godsdamn dress. Could finally strip away the paint and lace and pretend this whole night never happened.

“I have to admit,” he said, glancing at her, “you handled them better than I expected.”

“How flattering.”

She didn't care about his praise or what it meant.

"May I?" he asked, already prowling toward her bed.

“No.”

He sat anyway, plucking an apple from the basket on the side table before making himself comfortable.

Saeris didn’t say a word. She crossed the room to the wardrobe, needing to find something practical.

"Tonight was a spectacle," Vaelen drawled behind her, one leg casually dropped over the other. He lifted a hand and began counting off his fingers. “One: I now have a mate. Two: turns out she’s not even Lycan. Three: the King’s Hands are about ready to combust. And, ah yes—the kiss.”

Saeris tensed.

“Which, if I may—”

“Don’t you dare romanticize it,” she said, half a threat.

Vaelen’s grin deepened as his gaze slid over her, slow and heated. He bit into the apple with all the arrogance of a male who knew exactly what that kiss had done to her.

“Seems I struck a nerve.”

His tongue darted out between his lips, and she found herself being flashed by a pair of wickedly sharp canines. The sight of them sent a thrill of panic-tinged intrigue through her. Heat rose from the pit of her stomach, her blood rushing to her cheeks.

Vaelen’s gaze snapped up, singling in on hers. “Careful, wolfling. You might not have your wolf scent but you still have scent and some tell different things.”

Her heart jackhammered. “I—I wasn’t—”

She was going to die of embarrassment. She hadn't even meant to think it, in all judgment she despised him, she was not attracted to him, she was not thinking about his tongue or his teeth… or the stupid kiss—

“You’re making it worse.”

Her mouth opened to retort, to lecture him about basic decency and how it wasn’t polite to call someone out on every tiny thing, except,

“I’ve done my part of the deal,” she managed. “Now it’s your turn to take me to the scholar.”

Silence.

A voice in her head mocked her instead.

Vaelen set down the half-eaten apple and sat up very slowly. His expression was suddenly serious, that easy, teasing smile had slipped, his eyes focused, his voice low and smooth yet rough. "So eager.” His gaze turned colder, more ancient. “You must be desperate to rush back to a male who didn’t even fight for you to stay. Tell me—” he took a step closer—“is it loyalty, or delusion, that drives you?"

Saeris lost her voice.

“You think getting your scent back will change anything? That if you return whole now, he’ll suddenly remember how to love you?” He clicked his tongue once. “While you were bleeding in the woods, he was fucking someone else. While you mourned, he moved on.”

Her chest hollowed out, and every yet lingering warmth that had come with that sensual thought vanished completely.

Fuck him!

“You don’t—”

Vaelen stepped closer, the space between them now a thread’s width. His voice softened, even crueler that way.

“He didn’t wait, Saeris. Not a single night. Not for you. Not for what you had. He chose her.”

She felt her control crack. Enough that her lips trembled, enough that her fists clenched until her nails bit skin. But still, she asked—because she had to:

“When can I see Thorold?”

Vaelen watched her … quiet for a long beat.

“You’ll have your audience by morning. He’s asleep. And unlike you, the sage values rest more than misplaced devotion.”

Bastard.

With all the fury and humiliation and heartbreak he’d just sliced open inside her, she punched him square in the mouth.

Hard.

She tried and failed to keep in her horror at the smear of blood on the corner of his mouth.

Slowly, Vaelen wiped it away with his thumb. Stared at it, then looked at her.

She readied herself, but no anger came. Only something darker. Something that watched her crumble and wanted more.

“Feel better?”