Parasite

The announcement arrived via a royal scroll at breakfast: a Medieval Masquerade Gala. Attendance was mandatory for all towers. The King’s decree was clear—this wasn't just a party; it was a showcase of the hierarchy.

"A group entrance," Marcus proposed, leaning back with a grin that was all sharp teeth. "Me, Pamela, Sol, and Aella. We’ll look like a goddamn conquest coming through those doors. Every Alpha in that room will be too busy staring or bowing to even breathe."

"I don't mind the attention," Pamela added, her eyes gleaming. "But I think we should aim for 'terrifyingly regal' rather than just 'wealthy.' We're anticipating the stares, so we might as well give them something to be blinded by."

Sol’s eyes met mine, a silent question in the golden depths. "What do you say, Queen? Ready to show them the Middle Ages weren't just about knights, but about the sovereigns who ruled them?"

"I think I can manage a gown," I replied, though the thought of my high collar and the hidden violet marks made my skin prickle.

Amelie, however, was spiraling. Maxwell’s plummeting status had turned her from the 'Pack Darling' into a social pariah. She was tired of the cold looks and the missing invites. She needed a new host, and she had set her sights on the highest peak: Sol.

I was walking toward Sol’s quarters to discuss our tactical training when I saw his door slightly ajar. I heard her voice—saccharine, desperate, and dripping with a new, dangerous edge.

"Oh, Sol... you’re the only one who truly understands the weight of being misunderstood," Amelie cooed. Through the gap, I saw her wearing a sheer, floor-length robe, leaning heavily against Sol’s desk. "Maxwell is... he’s just so beneath me now. You need a partner for the gala who knows how to behave like royalty. Someone like me."

Sol looked like he wanted to burn the room down just to sanitize it. "Get your hand off me, Amelie. Now."

Amelie didn't back away. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "I know your secret, Sol. I know you were rejected. A Dragon Prince without a mate is a liability... but I know how the Goddess works. You should have a second mate mark by now. Let me touch you. I’ll prove I’m yours. I’ll prove I’m the one the Fates sent to replace that common warrior girl you loved."

I didn't wait to hear another word of her filth. I kicked the door open with a force that sent it slamming against the stone wall.

"I thought I smelled something rotting," I said, my voice like a winter gale.

Before Amelie could even scream, I had reached across the desk. My fingers tangled in her perfectly coiffed blonde hair, and I yanked. Hard.

"Aella! Stop! You’re hurting me!" she shrieked as I dragged her out of the room, down the corridor, and straight toward the common balcony where at least fifty students were gathering for afternoon tea.

I threw her onto the stone floor in the center of the crowd. She sprawled out in her sheer robe, looking exactly like the desperate social climber she was.

"Is this yours, Maxwell?" I called out, my voice carrying to the lower levels where Maxwell was standing with his few remaining lackeys.

Maxwell’s face went from pale to a deep, embarrassed crimson as he rushed up the stairs. "Aella, let her go! You’ve gone too far!"

"She was in my room," Sol’s voice cut through the air like a blade. He stepped onto the balcony, his presence so heavy that the temperature seemed to drop. "She was trying to trade your honor, Maxwell, for an invitation to the gala. She called you 'beneath her' and tried to force a second-mate bond on me."

I watched Sol as he spoke. He stood close to me, his hand reaching out as if to steady me, but then he stopped. His fingers hovered just over the fabric of my sleeve, gripping the cloth of my shoulder to pull me back—but his skin never touched mine.

My breath hitched. I realized in that moment that for the last two months, Sol had been doing the exact same thing I had. He had never once touched my exposed skin. He had handled me in the pits, gripped my collar, held my arm through layers of training gear—but never, not once, had he risked skin-to-skin contact.

He was protecting himself from another bond he wasn't ready for, same as i was.

"I don't believe you!" Maxwell screamed, his wolf surging to the surface. He looked at Sol, his mind snapping under the weight of his own failures. "You are just trying to humiliate me, you and the rest of the dragons are afraid of the power we have!"

"I have no reason to lie to a man who is already burying himself," Sol whispered.

"I challenge you, Sol!" Maxwell bellowed, the ancient vow echoing across the courtyard. "A duel of honor for the way you’ve slandered my mate! If I win, you leave this academy in disgrace!"

Sol let out a low, dark laugh. He finally let go of my sleeve, his golden eyes turning to molten fire. "If I win, Maxwell... you realize that you lost everything for a woman who would have stepped over your corpse to get to my throne."