Chapter 5 : The smell of fear

In the highest chamber of the palace, beyond the black doors that no one dared approach without cause, the Lycan King stood before a great wall of flame.

He had not left this room in weeks.

No one dared to question it.

The firelight cast shadows across his bare chest and the scars carved deep into his flesh—old wounds, the kind not even a king could fully heal. His violet eyes, bright and unnatural, burned in the dark. They were the eyes of the cursed. The blessed. The crowned. The damned.

And right now, they were fixed on the man kneeling before him.

Theron.

“Say it again,” the king growled, voice like thunder rolling through stone.

Theron bowed his head but did not flinch. “She touched the Obsidian Heart, and it flared to life. Violet, my king. Bright. As if she were the flame and not the match.”

The king’s jaw clenched.

“Who is she?”

“A girl from the silver crest pack. Barely a name left on the scrolls. The line was presumed diluted.”

The king turned away from the fire and crossed the room in a single stride. “Diluted blood does not wake the Heart.”

“No,” Theron agreed. “It doesn’t.”

The king’s fingers flexed at his sides, claws threatening to emerge. His control was brittle tonight. He hated the Ceremony. Hated this palace. Hated every pathetic excuse for tradition they’d forced on him for so long that this was his life now every year the same thing would happen over and over. The king did not find his mate the girls that had come to the palace and every year he grew more and more impatient.

But this?

This girl?

She had lit the stone like it had waited for her.

“You’re certain?”

“I saw it myself.”

The king stalked toward the tall arched window that overlooked the northern wing of the palace. His palace. He looked down at the garden, now shrouded in mist, and farther still at the practice courtyard where tonight’s challenge would unfold.

“A test of scent?” he asked.

Theron nodded. “Yes. In complete darkness. No light. No sound. Only instinct and blood-born gift.”

“She will fail.”

“No,” Theron said carefully. “She has not broken once. Not during transport. Not in the Hall. There’s something… coiled in her. Something she’s hiding.”

The king’s lips curled. “They all hide things. Until they scream.”

“This one doesn’t scream.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then, slowly, the king said, “I want to watch.”

Theron raised an eyebrow. “Your Majesty?”

“I want to see her for myself.”

Theron hesitated. “You’ve avoided the trials for nearly 6 years.”

“Because they are mockery,” the king snarled. “A parade of empty bloodlines and trembling girls who wet themselves at the scent of a Lycan. None of them are worthy of the bond.”

He stepped closer to the fireplace again, flames licking the edges of his face.

“But this one… this girl from the silver crest pack… woke something.”

Theron inclined his head. “Then I will have the screening room prepared. You may observe unseen.”

The king didn’t answer. His gaze had already turned distant, locked on something no one else could see. A memory, perhaps. Or something deeper.

“She smells like wild roses,” he murmured.

Theron blinked. “You’ve already scented her?”

“No.” The king’s smile was slow. “But I will.”

⸻

Later That Night

The courtyard had been transformed into a maze.

Not of walls, but of scent.

Thick trees in iron planters had been moved in, creating winding paths. The sky above was covered by enchanted cloth—blocking all starlight. Even the torches had been snuffed. It was total blackness.

The girls stood at the edge of the courtyard, eyes covered by silk blindfolds. The task was simple: navigate the maze and find the source of a specific scent. Not perfume. Not food.

Fear.

They had each been given a small cloth marked with the scent of a cornered prey—adrenaline-laced, panicked, the smell of desperation. Whoever found the hidden prey first would be marked as “worthy.”

Those who failed to act—or who lost themselves in the dark—would be removed.

Some would never be seen again.

In the scrying chamber high above, the king stood beside a shallow bowl filled with silver water, watching the courtyard below. The vision within shimmered and shifted, reflecting the heat and movement of every girl. Their fear painted the maze in waves of color.

But one figure moved differently.

Calm.

Controlled.

“Aurora of the silver crest pack sire,” Theron said beside him. “Second row, left side. Watch her.”

The king did.

While others panicked—whispering or bumping into one another—Aurora slipped between the trees like shadow given form. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. Her blindfold remained, but she moved as if she saw with her skin.

“She’s scent-tracking,” Theron muttered. “Like she’s done it before.”

“She has,” the king murmured, eyes narrowing.

“How do you—?”

“She crouches before each turn. Runs one hand low to the ground, like a tracker. That isn’t instinct. That’s training.”

Theron said nothing, but his gaze sharpened.

Below, one girl screamed. Another tripped and didn’t rise again. A bell tolled softly for her. The guards would come.

Aurora never paused.

She crouched low, sniffed the cloth again, and veered left—where others had gone right. Straight into deeper shadow. Straight into silence.

Then she stopped.

The vision in the water dimmed slightly.

She had found it.

A trembling figure sat curled in the farthest corner of the maze—an actor, perhaps, or a cursed soul dragged from the dungeons. Either way, the scent was real. Aurora stood there, head tilted.

She didn’t call out.

She didn’t need to.

The runes lit softly beneath her feet.

The king exhaled a slow, measured breath.

“She found it,” Theron said, a note of something rare in his voice. Respect.

“No,” the king said. “She hunted it.”

The king continued to watch for another ten minutes. He watched as many failed but some of the girls had succeeded. The king became interested this year as not as many girls had even passed the first round, yet in front of him on the dimly lit screen in the dark screening room. Was the files of all the girls that had passed this round, there was around 150 she wolves that took place in this years ceremony. Only 90 she wolves remained after the second round.

But there was something about Aurora, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on. He decided to call it a night and headed back to his room. The king sat in front of the fireplace intrigued of this years ceremony, something he hadn’t felt in the whole 10 years he had ruled.

The king poured himself a glass of whiskey, relaxing in front of the fireplace pondering everything about this girl from such a small pack. The king himself had forgotten the pack even existed yet he couldn’t get her out of his mind. The king was impressed with how well she went in the second challenge, not that he would ever admit that to himself.