Chapter Eight: A Lie

I was navigating the edge of the dance floor, trying to reach a pillar where I could disappear for a moment, when it happened.

A servant, darting through the crowd with a heavy silver tray of crystal flutes, misjudged the turn.

We collided.

It wasn't a hard hit, but my body was a map of raw nerves and bruised muscle. 

The impact jolted my spine, and a sharp, white-hot flash of pain shot through my lower back, it was a direct reminder of the Wolf’s lack of restraint.

I gasped, my knees buckling for a split second.

"Your Grace! Forgive me!" the boy stammered, his face turning the color of ash as he struggled to steady the rattling tray.

I grabbed his forearm to steady myself, my fingers digging into his sleeve. For a heartbeat, the mask slipped. My jaw tightened, my breath hitching in a way that wasn't feminine or soft. It was the reaction of a man bracing for a fight.

I saw the boy’s eyes widen. He was close enough to see the tension in my neck, close enough to hear the rough edge of my gasp.

"I—I didn't mean—"

"It’s fine," I hissed, then immediately caught myself. I forced my hand to relax, smoothing the silk of my gown with trembling fingers. I blinked, letting my eyes go wide and watery. "I’m just… a bit lightheaded. The heat, you understand."

The servant nodded frantically, but he looked unsettled. Did he perhaps notice something?

Before the servant could apologize for the third time, a hand clamped on my shoulder.

I jumped in fright and made a very unladylike sound.

“There you are, I've been looking all over for you.” Denis smiled at me. I let out a deep sigh, trying to calm my nerves.

“How are you enjoying the party?” 

I shrugged. “It's been great so far.”

His smile tightened. “Nothing out of the ordinary?”

I returned his smile. “Not that I could think of.”

He chuckled, the tense smile vanishing. “Hope you're taking my advice well?”

“As well as I can.” I tried chuckling back but it just sounded awkward.

“Wait!”

The sharp, shrill cry cut through the music, causing the dancers nearby to falter. I turned toward the sound, my heart sinking as I saw a younger woman—one of Lady Solvra’s companions—marching toward us. Her face was flushed with a mixture of anger and excitement, the kind wolves showed when they smelled blood in the water.

“My bracelet!” she gasped, stopping inches from me. She held up her bare wrist, her chest heaving. “It’s gone! My mother’s heirloom, the sapphire cuff—it was here only a moment ago!”

Denis sighed, a sound of pure boredom. “Lady Mila, surely you just dropped it. The floor is covered in enough gems to buy a small village. Check your hem.”

“I did!” Mila snapped, her eyes snapping to me with a terrifying focus. “I felt it snag when I passed her. When the servant bumped into the Prince's mate.”

The circle of nobles widened, a predatory silence falling over the immediate area. I felt the weight of a hundred stares.

“Are you suggesting something, Mila?” Denis asked, his voice losing its playful edge.

“I’m saying I want to see her pockets,” Mila said, her voice rising so the surrounding tables could hear. “Or perhaps she’s tucked it into that silk bodice. It’s no secret her family’s estate is… struggling. Perhaps a human bride needs a bit of Caravain gold to feel at home?”

A ripple of hushed whispers broke out. Thief. Human. Commoner. The words drifted through the air like smoke.

I felt the heat rise to my face, not out of shame, but out of a cold, white-hot fury. I looked at Mila—at the smug curve of her lip and the way her friends were already giggling behind their fans. This wasn't about a bracelet. This was an execution.

If I let her search me, the corset would be a problem. If they laid hands on me, they’d feel the binds. They’d feel the lack of softness. They’d find out I wasn't just a thief, but a lie.

“Lady Mila,” I said, my voice steady, though my heart was a frantic drum in my chest. I used the lower register of my voice, the one Solvra had mocked, making it sound slow and dangerous. “You’ve had quite a lot of wine tonight. Perhaps it simply slipped off while you were… gesturing so wildly?”

“How dare you!” she hissed. “Search her! If she has nothing to hide, she won't mind.”

She reached out, her fingers clawing toward my shoulder, intent on dragging me toward the center of the hall.

My instinct screamed to catch her wrist and twist, to put her on the floor the way my brothers had done to me. I had to physically lock my muscles to keep from reacting.

“Is there a problem here?” 

The predatory circle that had been closing on me scrambled at the presence of the prince. 

Mila's hand froze, inches away from my shoulder.

Her bold, wine fueled courage vanished, replaced by a visible tremor as Eilis golden gaze locked on her.

“My prince.” She gasped as Eilis stopped at my side.

“I asked a question.” He said, his voice dropping an octave. “Why is your hand near my mate lady Mila?”

Mila stammered, her face turning a deep shade of grey. “My… my bracelet, Your Highness. It went missing, and I thought—I felt a snag when she passed—”

“You thought?” Eilís stepped into her space, forcing her to look up at him. “You thought to lay your hands on her in the middle of my father’s hall? To accuse her of theft like a common cutpurse?”

“It is a sapphire, Your Highness,” a voice called out from the crowd, emboldened by the safety of numbers.

My fist tightened, what reason would I have stolen a sapphire when I had dozens embroidered into my wedding gown?

“A family heirloom,” another whispered, the sound carrying easily in the hushed hall. “And the humans are desperate. Who could blame her for wanting something to take back to that crumbling estate?”

The murmurs rippled through the circle like a slow-moving tide. She’s a commoner. She doesn't belong here. A wolf would never stoop so low, but a human?

The air in the room seemed to sharpen as the collective suspicion of the court solidified. Mila took a shaky breath, her confidence returning as she felt the backing of the other nobles.

“I am not the only one who thinks so, My Prince,” she said, her voice regaining its edge. “The girl has no jewelry of her own. Is it so hard to believe her fingers wandered?”