I felt every laugh slice across my skin, flaying me open one by one. Each guffaw was a claw, each chuckle a blade, until I was nothing but raw nerve endings sitting in silk and pretending to be whole.But it wasn't only me they laughed at.It was him—my father.Alpha Roran Vale, who had once commanded his own wolves with iron authority, who had raised me to believe strength was a birthright and weakness was death. Who had taught me that power was everything and mercy was for the conquered.Now he sat hunched at the edge of Kael's table like a beggar at a feast, teeth bared not in pride but in strain, his knuckles whitening around his goblet as the laughter ate him alive piece by piece.His face didn't redden with embarrassment. It paled, drained of every ounce of dignity, every shadow of the commanding presence he'd once possessed. The Alpha who had terrified me as a child, who had ruled with fear and fury, reduced to this—a shell of a man enduring mockery for the scraps of relevance
The laughter around the table had changed.At first, it had been light, harmless—the kind of banter wolves shared when wine was poured and platters of meat were carved. The air had been thick with smoke and satisfaction, the scent of roasted meat mingling with expensive wine and the musk of powerful wolves celebrating another successful gathering.But the deeper the cups were drained, the sharper the edges of their words became. Wine had a way of loosening tongues and sharpening claws, and what had started as camaraderie was slowly transforming into something more dangerous. More predatory.I sat still, my spine straight as a blade, Kael's hand heavy on my thigh beneath the tablecloth, while I pretended to study the shimmer of my untouched wine. The goblet felt cold against my palm, the silver stem slick with condensation. I tried to drown out the noise, the endless boasting and sly insults that seemed to bounce off the stone walls and echo back twice as loud, but every sound seemed t
The rage was clean and cold and perfect. It gave me something to focus on other than the heat of his touch, other than the humiliation of my body's involuntary responses. It was mine in a way nothing else in this room was.And then, his voice again—smiling."Smile, my lady."The command was soft but absolute. A reminder that even my facial expressions belonged to him now, that even my emotional responses were performance for his political theater.I turned to him slowly.My lips curled.And I smiled.Not soft.Not sweet.A smile carved from everything he'd failed to break in me.This smile is proof—proof that something in me still fights, still resists, still refuses to be his.It was the smile of someone who had stared into the abyss and refused to blink. The smile of someone who had been pushed to the edge and chosen to stand rather than fall. It was defiance crystallized into expression, rebellion distil
The kind of conversational snare that looked innocent on the surface but had razor-sharp edges underneath. Whatever I said, however I responded, he would twist it into something that served his purposes.Still… I didn't spring it.He waited.Patient as a spider in its web, confident that his prey would eventually struggle into the strands he'd laid.Then added, voice lowering like venom slipping beneath skin—"In Karl's arms, I mean."The mention of Karl's name sent a spike of something through me—not quite anger, not quite pain, but something that burned nonetheless. The memory of being carried, of gentle hands and worried eyes, of someone treating me like I was worth saving.I turned to face him.Slowly.My heart was loud, but my voice wasn't."He was doing what needed to be done," I said. "You left me there."Truth. Simple, clean truth.The words came out steadier than I felt. Matter-of-fact. Like I was discussing the weather instead of the moment when Karl had found me broken and
The emptiness was worse than pain would have been. Pain, at least, would have meant he still mattered. Would have meant some part of me still believed in the father he'd once been. But this hollow ache? This was the feeling of love dying not with violence, but with indifference.This is what death feels like. Not the body dying—the heart. The soul. The part of you that used to believe in love and protection and promises that meant something.His stare lasted less than a second.Then he looked down.And so did every one of the wolves seated near him.Submission.Shame.I didn't know which one it was.I didn't care.Because Kael had made his point without saying another word.I wasn't here as his wife.I wasn't here as a diplomat.I was a mirror.Polished and propped at the Alpha's side so they could all see their cowardice staring back at them.Every man in this room had made compromises. Had sacrificed pawns for position, had traded honor for advantage. But only one of them had to sit
I could feel their eyes like physical weight pressing down on me. Some curious, some pitying, some calculating what my presence here meant for their own political positions. None of them looked at me like I was a person—only like a piece in a game they were all trying to understand.Even the ones who didn't look directly at me—I felt their attention.Held like breath in a room full of wolves.The air was thick with unspoken questions. What was I doing here? Why had Kael chosen to display me so publicly? What message was he sending by seating his conquered enemy's daughter at his right hand?I'm the message. I'm the threat and the promise and the warning all rolled into one midnight blue dress. Look what I can do. Look what I did do. Look what I'll do to you if you cross me.I kept my head high. Kept my eyes straight. Mira had taught me how to walk without looking afraid, even when fear pressed like a second skin beneath my dress.Each step was deliberate. Measured. The kind of walk th