The Shadow of Truth

The whispers of nobles still followed in their wake, but this time, they changed shape after Kael approached his new wife.

"Perhaps he truly favors her."

"Did you see how he looked at her?"

"The Malven girl holds more than just a name."

Their voices danced between silks and wine, slipping like smoke through jeweled collars and powdered masks. The ballroom, once heavy with pity and mockery, now shimmered with a strange new undercurrent—curiosity. Elira could feel it pressing in from every side. Every turn of a head, every darting glance, was laced with something different. Not admiration. Not respect. Something more dangerous.

Speculation.

The tension spread like ripples in water, and then—

The herald's voice rang through the chamber, cutting through the murmurs like a drawn blade:

"Elira Rennar shall open the celebration with her husband."

A breath passed through the room. No one dared question it aloud, but a few leaned forward, as if confirming what they had just seen. Princess Ilyana seem tensed at the other side of the hall room, as if waiting something to unraveling through the event.

A royal guard materialized at Kael's side."His Majesty requests you—urgently." 

The commander gave a curt nod. But his gaze remain fixed at his wife.

Elira stepped forward, spine straight, gaze level. The click of her heels on marble echoed too loudly in her ears, but she didn't slow. Kael was already waiting at the center of the room. A soldier in formal wear, he seemed sculpted from steel, all sharp lines and impossible restraint highlighting his charming face. His hand extended toward her—not in invitation, but in expectation.

His hand closed over hers—a jolt of heat, then ice. As if her wolf recoiled from a hunter's grip. His hand was warm. Solid. Alive. But Uncomfortable.

Together, they moved.

The music began, delicate strings weaving a somber waltz. It was a dance of display, not affection. Yet every step brought them closer—too close. Kael's arm settled around her waist, his hand at her back steady, not lingering. She hated how easily her body remembered the rhythm, how her limbs betrayed her by gliding alongside his with such cruel grace.

Around them, the ballroom watched in practiced silence, only their eyes betraying the questions they dared not ask.

"He doesn't look at her like a stranger."

"And she doesn't flinch."

"She must be loving the show — parading the dream man like a trophy, every move screaming he belongs to her."

Her skin prickled.

She glanced up. Kael's expression was unreadable, but his gaze held hers longer than necessary. Was it control? Calculation? Or something else entirely?

The turn came. She spun out, the hem of her dress fluttering like spilled ink across the floor, only to return to him once more. His hand caught her waist again, firm, as if he knew she might try to run.

Her voice came low, barely audible. "Why did you come back?"

A flicker. Just a shadow in his gaze. But he didn't answer.

The music slowed. The final note curled through the air like smoke fading into night. Kael released her without flourish. Without a word.

Before she could retreat, he spoke, voice low and meant only for her.

"I'm needed. The king has summoned me again."

She nodded, her heart skipping for reasons she didn't dare unpack. As he turned to go, he paused, looking at her in full for the first time.

In his eyes, there was something unsettling. Not affection. Not regret. Recognition.

Ilyana materialized beside him, her smile sharp. "Running so soon, Commander? Or does duty only bind you when she watches?"

Kael offered her only a polite bow before walking past her.

And then he was gone.

Elira stood alone. The dance floor receded beneath her feet, the music forgotten. And for one stretched heartbeat, she felt exposed. A figure carved in ice left under flame.

From the shadows in a distance no one noticed, someone else watched.

Thane.

He hadn't moved. Hadn't stepped forward. He simply stood, arms crossed, half-shrouded in the arch between two pillars, his face unreadable save for his eyes. And they burned.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Elira," came a voice behind her. Familiar. Cold. It soon pulled her to the ground again.

Her father.

"A word."

She turned to find Lord Malven at her side, hand extended in a facsimile of paternal care. She took it without hesitation. Better to walk beside the devil she knew.

He led her away from the ballroom, past fluted columns and gilded archways, into a quieter stretch of the estate. The silence here was sacred, built by the footsteps of dukes and calculated deals.

"You looked the part tonight," Malven said, voice low.

She said nothing.

"But something's different." His gaze swept her profile. "You're fraying. I can see it in the way your jaw tightens. In your breath."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

He take out something deep in his pocket. A pale blue vial, crystalline and cruel.

Elira stared at it. Her stomach twisted.

"You haven't been taking it."

"I didn't think it was necessary anymore."

"It was never optional." His voice cut across her like ice. "You were never meant to be unguarded in public."

"I wasn't—"

"You burned," he said, eyes narrowing. "I saw it. That heat. That pulse. I made you a creature of control. This—this is not control."

Her fingers trembled as she took the vial. The scent alone clawed at old memories. Ash. Blood. Wet earth.

She drank.

The burn was immediate.

It traveled down her throat like a chain snapping into place, dulling everything. Her blood cooled. The pressure behind her eyes faded. Even her thoughts slowed, drifting apart like leaves on water.

As the vial's ash coated her tongue, a distant growl echoed in her mind—Thane's rage, or her wolf's dying snarl?

The fire inside her was gone in a second.

She feel empty.

She pressed a hand to her chest. Where her wolf had howled, now only silence echoed—a tomb in her ribs.

Malven's smile didn't touch his eyes. "There's my daughter. Cold as a buried blade. Not some wild beast wondering inside a cage"

Her voice came from far away. "What am I?"

"My legacy," he said, turning from her. "That's what matters."

They continued walking. The corridor narrowed, shadows folding over polished stone.

"You and Kael performed admirably," Malven said.

She scoffed. "You mean we looked convincing."

"Convincing is enough. The rest can be built."

"Built on what? Lies?"

"On necessity."

He sipped from his wine glass, retrieved from a passing tray. "Kael surprised me."

Her gaze sharpened. "How?"

"I thought I was forcing his hand alone. But when I tried to delay the ceremony, he insisted we proceed. I assumed it was duty. But tonight..."

He met her eyes. "I wonder if it's personal."

Her throat tightened. "Why would he want this marriage?"

"That's for you to uncover."

He stepped closer. "But I suggest you find out quickly. He may understand more than we think."

Then he was gone.

Elira stood alone once more.

The corridor stretched ahead, lit only by flickering candles. Outside the stained-glass window, moonlight glimmered off snow-laced rooftops. The world was quiet.

And within her, the silence was colder still.

She touched her chest, where warmth once lived.

And felt nothing.

Only the echo of a question:

Who had Kael seen when he looked at her tonight?

The mask she wore—or the creature beneath it?