A Seat Beside the Monster

Anana’s jaw was tight as steel when she walked into the East Court for the first time since she became Lucien's prisoner.

The air felt heavier, suffocating and laced with ancient dominance. Shadows clung to the corners like watchful spirits, and the light filtering through the high arched windows looked almost reluctant to touch her skin.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew the stories.

Every woman brought here by Lucien met the same fate vanishing without a trace, swallowed whole by the God of War’s fortress. None were seen again. No letters. No graves. Just rumors.

And now here she was.

But unlike them, Anana didn’t have anyone waiting for her return. No one would come searching. No pack. No family. Not even the man who was supposed to love her.

She had nothing to lose.

So she wouldn't be pushed around.

She stepped boldly across the marble floor, head held high, heart thudded like an untamable storm in her chest. They could glare all they wanted. Let them try. If death was coming for her, she’d meet it with her eyes wide open.

Lucien stood at the heart of the hall, surrounded by warriors, advisors, and stone-faced nobles. The tension thickened as Anana moved closer, not faltering even when she felt their hatred like needles pricking her skin.

Lucien turned slightly toward her.

His gaze swept her like a fire that didn’t burn, but branded.

“Finally! You are here,” he murmured.

“Didn’t want to miss the spectacle,” she replied, flatly.

Lucien smirked.

And then he did something no one expected.

He extended his hand.

Again.

Anana’s throat tightened. She remembered what this gesture meant the first time he tried. She had refused it. Ignored him. 

But at that moment…the decision came not from weakness, but strategy.

He was offering her power… if only in perception.

And if she was going to survive in this place, she'd need every ounce of it.

She took his hand.

Gasps rippled through the court like the first crack of a storm.

The warmth of Lucien’s palm against hers made her stomach twist. Not in fear but in confusion. It was the same heat she’d felt when she touched his hands for the first time.

Alive and uncontainable.

He led her forward and gestured to the empty chair beside his.

“Sit,” he said, voice cool but unreadable.

She did.

The whispers began immediately. Sharp, low murmurs between nobles and advisors, warriors shifting uneasily.

“Why her?”

“What does this mean?”

“Has he chosen?”

But Lucien didn’t turn. He didn’t scold.

He merely let the room boil with questions until his voice cut clean through the tensed air:

“Enough.”

Silence.

It wasn’t just quiet.

It was deathly.

His voice had echoed into every shadow and corner, pressing against hearts like a weight. It felt like being inside the chest of a living creature. Like they were all held inside the very heartbeat of Lucien himself.

Even Anana had to steel herself against the chill that rippled through her bones.

The meeting began.

Reports. Border tensions. Trade routes. A brewing rebellion in the East.

But none of it truly registered for Anana. Not when she could feel eyes dragging across her skin like claws. Disgust. Envy. Suspicion.

She’d lived with this kind of attention before back in Kade’s pack. And those times were far worse than the eyes that threatened like claws. 

Here, she was nothing and yet she’d been seated beside a god. They wouldn’t forgive that easily.

She could feel her pulse throbbing in her throat. Her skin prickled, burned.

And without meaning to, her fingers drifted to the raised scars on her right arm and another on her left arm, one of many gifts from the past she’d rather forget. 

A reminder that beauty could be broken. That flesh was only as perfect as the world allowed it to be.

She stared at the faint lines. Once, she’d cried over it. Once, she’d hidden it with makeup, silk, and shame.

Now?

Now it was just her skin.

For a brief second, she forgot where she was. Her eyes glazed over, drawn back into the past. Into pain.

Until she heard her name.

“Anana.” Lucien’s voice.

Her head snapped up.

Everyone in the court was staring at her.

Her mouth went dry. “Yes?”

Lucien leaned back in his chair, dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. His tone was as calm as a still lake, but something dangerous lurked beneath.

“I’ve decided something,” he said. “I want you to hear it with the rest of them.”

A cold, hard silence followed.

Lucien’s gaze swept the room before it landed back on her, anchoring her in place.

“This woman,” he said slowly, deliberately, “will not be killed.”

Every breath in the room hitched.

Anana blinked, stunned.

“I will not dispose of her,” Lucien continued, as if he were commenting on the weather. “She is not prey. She is not a tribute. She is... mine.”

Gasps rang out like blades dropping on stone.

Anana’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Mine?

She opened her mouth to protest, to question what he meant, to remind him she hadn’t agreed to anything but his voice was already rolling over the room like thunder.

“If any of you question that,” Lucien said, “you’re welcome to challenge me.”

No one moved.

No one even breathed.

Because to challenge Lucien... was to die.

Anana felt the weight of a hundred stares pin her in place. She hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’t expected it. She had come in ready to die, ready to be torn apart like the others.

But this… this was worse.

She was no longer a prisoner. Not an offering.

She was something else now.

A possession?

A pawn?

Or something far more dangerous?

Lucien finally looked at her again.

That smirk tugged at the edge of his lips, but there was something sharper in his eyes. He saw through her. Through the mask. Through the toughness.

He knew she was bar

ely holding on.

He knew she thought she had nothing to lose.

But now, he’d changed that.

Because when you're claimed by the God of War…

You have everything to lose.