CHAPTER 3

(Kira’s POV)

They take me to the east wing.

Not a prison. Not quite a room, either.

A holding chamber with furs instead of chains. A gilded cage for the girl the Alpha just claimed.

Trial mate.

What a joke.

I sit still on the edge of the bed, my wrists aching from the iron cuffs. They took them off when Ronan spoke. When he lied.

“She’s mine,” he said.

And the Council believed him.

They always do when an alpha speaks.

I twist the scarf still tied at my wrist. My mother’s. The fabric’s worn through where I’ve touched it too much. But it’s all I have left of her. Of who I was before the fire.

Before him.

Ronan Maddox.

He doesn’t recognize me.

Twelve years ago, he looked me in the eyes and told me not to scream. Bit me like it meant something. And left me under the roots to die with the rest.

Now? He doesn’t see a girl from the ashfields. He sees a problem to protect. A lie to cover.

My wolf paces under my skin, restless and bitter.

I haven’t shifted. Not since the night of the fire. My bones remember what it felt like to burn. The way heat stripped skin from flesh, the way silence cracked with screams that never stopped.

Why did you come here, it asks. Why did you seek him out?

Because he owes me.

Because I needed to know if he’d kept the promise he made with his teeth.

He didn’t.

And now I’m here, trapped in a pack that murdered my blood, wearing the false title of trial mate.

My stomach knots, not from fear—but from how easy it was to let him speak for me.

I should’ve shouted the lie for what it was. Should’ve torn the words from his mouth with claws and spit and fury.

But instead, I nodded. Let the chains fall. Let them lead me inside.

Because I know how to survive.

And sometimes, survival means playing the part.

Even if it means playing his.

I look around the room. There’s no lock on the inside of the door, but the message is clear: Leave, and you’ll be hunted. Stay, and you might live.

The walls are smooth stone, dark like storm clouds, trimmed in the silvers of his bloodline. A table. A basin. A bed big enough for two.

That makes me laugh. A quiet, bitter thing.

There’s only one reason a room like this exists.

A place to put someone who’s supposed to be claimed. Collared. Bound.

The word mate itches against my skin like a burn I haven’t earned. Not from him. Not like this.

The door creaks.

I don’t flinch.

A servant steps in, holding a tray of food and clothing. She doesn’t meet my eyes. She smells like submission and soap. Omega.

When she sets the tray down, I catch her glancing at my wrist.

“You’re not what they say,” she whispers before she scurries out.

Not what they say.

I stare at the closed door, heart still. Wolves talk. Whispers travel like wind. I’ve been in this territory for less than an hour, and already, stories are being spun.

I look at the reflection in the glass. My hair’s tangled. My skin still carries soot from the road. But my eyes—they’ve always been the same. Sharp. Unforgiving.

They called me a shadow’s child once. I never understood what it meant until the night my pack died and I didn’t.

The scarf slips down, revealing the scar at my wrist.

The bite.

His bite.

It’s still there. Faint. But real.

“You bit me,” I whisper aloud, voice low.

Not in passion. Not in heat.

He bit me to silence me. To keep me still. To mark me for the moment.

And then he forgot.

But I haven’t.

I reach for the tray. Ignore the food. My hands shake, not from hunger, but the weight of it all pressing down. I open the folded clothes. A tunic in silver and blue. His colors.

Of course.

I slip it on anyway. Because I’m not here to rebel. Not yet.

I’m here to get close.

Close enough to see the truth in his eyes when I ask him why.

Close enough to unravel the lies the Council spins.

Close enough to make them all feel what it’s like to kneel.

Let him pretend I’m his trial mate.

Let him lie.

Because this time, I’ll be ready.

And when the lie burns, I’ll be the one holding the match.

A knock sounds against the door.

“Come in,” I say, voice sharp.

It’s him.

Ronan.

The air tightens. My wolf stiffens.

He stands there for a long moment, eyes scanning me. Searching for something he can’t name.

“I came to check on you,” he says.

“How noble,” I reply flatly.

He walks in slowly, closes the door behind him. The lock clicks.

I rise.

“What do you want, Alpha?” I don’t soften it. Don’t give him the benefit of pretense.

His jaw twitches. “To explain.”

I take a step forward. “You already did. Out there. For everyone to hear.”

He says nothing.

“You don’t even recognize me, do you?” I ask.

He blinks, caught.

“You bit me,” I say, lifting my wrist. “And left me under the trees like nothing happened.”

A pause. His brows draw together. A flicker of memory? Maybe.

But I won’t wait for him to catch up.

“You started this lie,” I continue. “Now you live with it. But don’t think for a second I’m playing house with you.”

He nods once. Slow. Measured.

“You’ll have your space. No expectations.”

“Good.”

We stare at each other, too many words unsaid. The tension between us isn’t attraction. Not yet. It’s something else. He owes me answers. And I owe him nothing.

He leaves without another word.

When the door shuts behind him, I finally sit.

Let him play the Alpha. Let them play Council. Let them think they’ve tamed me.

They haven’t.

Not yet.

Not ever.