Chapter Six: The First Experience Of Court

RAVEN

Survival required priorities:

One: hide what must be hidden.

Two: do not faint.

Three: if someone notices something amiss, cry. Crying solved many problems.

By the time I finished dressing, I looked…acceptable. Pale, certainly. But no more so than a bride who had survived her first night with a feral prince.

I practiced my expression in the mirror. Soft eyes, small smile, nothing sharp.

I had just perfected the look of “grateful but overwhelmed” when the door opened again—this time without warning.

Denis strolled in like he owned the place.

“Oh good,” he said cheerfully. “You’re upright.”

I startled despite myself, then recovered quickly. “Is that unexpected?”

He tilted his head, studying me openly now, like a cat considering whether something might be a toy.

“Statistically?” he said. “A little.”

I smiled thinly. “Comforting.”

He laughed, apparently delighted. “Don't worry about a thing, I want you to be free with me and you’ll do just fine here.”

I was not reassured.

Denis circled once, hands clasped behind his back, gaze flicking over me with unsettling sharpness. Not my body—my posture, my balance, the way I shifted my weight.

“You move carefully,” he observed.

“I’m human,” I replied sweetly. “We’re fragile.”

“Hm,” he said, unconvinced. “Still, you held yourself together in the hall, that’s something.”

Ah, so he’d been watching, good to know.

“Am I being inspected?” I asked.

“Consider it…orientation,” Denis said lightly. “The court is curious, curious courts become dangerous if not managed.”

“And you manage them?”

He grinned. “Someone has to.”

There it was again—that sense that Denis saw too much and asked too little.

“Well,” he added, clapping his hands once, “you’re expected shortly. Smile, say nothing unless spoken to, and if anyone asks how the night went—”

“I blush?” I offered.

“Exactly,” Denis said, pleased. “You’re learning already.”

“There's an attendant that came with me, when can I see her?”

“When everything is settled.” He answered.

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door.

“Oh—and Raven?”

“Yes?”

“If anything feels…wrong,” he said, not looking back, “tell the prince. Or tell me.”

The door closed before I could answer.

I stood there, heart ticking steadily in my chest.

If I was going to survive this place, I would have to become very, very good at being underestimated.

—----

If I ever wrote a guide on surviving wolf courts while lying about your entire existence, the first rule would be simple:

Never underestimate how much wolves enjoy staring.

The great hall buzzed like a disturbed hive the moment Eilís and I entered.

Conversation dipped—not enough to be polite, just enough to be obvious—then resumed at a lower, more curious pitch. I felt eyes slide over me from every angle, sharp and assessing. I kept my head inclined, expression carefully pleasant. Not too warm. Not too cold. The perfect balance of a human bride trying her best not to faint.

Eilís walked beside me, close enough that his presence was a constant pressure at my side. Not touching. Just there—like a wall I could lean against if I started to fall apart.

A very dangerous wall, but still.

We took our places at the high table, chairs were pulled out, servants moved with heads bowed and hands shaking, careful not to brush my skin. Claiming protocol was being observed with religious devotion.

Good.

If I made it through breakfast without being exposed or executed, I would consider the day a success.

“So,” a woman across the table said brightly, eyes fixed on me. “How was your first night in Caravia, my lady?”

Ah, there it was.

The question hung in the air, wrapped in silk and malice.

I smiled, soft, shy, a touch embarrassed.

Before I could summon a suitably vague answer, Eilís spoke.

“Overwhelming,” he said calmly. “As expected.”

A few wolves chuckled, someone muttered something approving about strong bonds and feral instincts.

I lowered my eyes, letting my lashes do most of the work, inside, I was screaming.

Overwhelming was one word for it, yes. Several others came to mind, but I doubted they were court-appropriate.

Denis appeared at my other side like he’d been summoned.

“Careful,” he said lightly, reaching for a cup. “If you keep staring at her like that, people will think you’re trying to steal the prince’s mate.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” the woman replied, laughing. Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer before sliding away.

Denis leaned closer, voice dropping. “You’re doing well.”

“I haven’t died yet,” I murmured. “The bar is low.”

His mouth twitched. “In Caravia? That’s practically excellence.”

I risked a glance at him. His expression was relaxed, almost playful, but his eyes missed nothing. He watched the room the way Eilís watched himself—like both expected disaster at any moment.

Servants set food before us, I stared at the plate with polite confusion.

It smelled…intense.

“Eat,” Eilís said quietly.

“I’m not sure that’s meant for humans,” I whispered back.

He paused, then subtly slid his plate toward me, exchanging it for mine. “That one isn’t.”

I blinked. “Thank you.”

“You’ll need the strength,” he replied, neutral as stone.

I decided not to ask for what.

Across the table, a young wolf leaned forward, eyes bright. “Is it true,” he asked eagerly, “that humans bruise easily?”

I choked on my drink.

Denis laughed outright. “Gods, don’t be crude.”

“I was only curious!”

“Curiosity gets people killed,” Denis said pleasantly.

The young wolf leaned back, chastened.

I set my cup down carefully, heart hammering.

This was the game, then. Questions wrapped in smiles. Interest sharpened into threat. Every interaction was a test I didn’t know I was taking.

Eilís stood suddenly and the room stilled at once.

“My mate requires rest,” he said. “The bond is still…settling.”

No one argued, he offered me his arm.

I hesitated only a fraction of a second before taking it.

As we left the hall, I felt their gaze on my back, thoughtful and lingering.

Once the doors closed behind us, the noise cut off like a blade.

I exhaled shakily.

“You did well,” Eilís said after a moment.

“Was that me doing well?” I asked. “I dread to imagine failure.”

His mouth curved—not quite a smile, but something close. “You’re still alive.”

“High praise.”

We walked in silence for several steps before I spoke again. “They’ll always be watching?.”

“Yes,” he replied.

As we reached the door, Eilís stopped.

“You should remain here today,” he said. “Let them believe you’re fragile.”

“I can be fragile,” I replied dryly. “I have range.”

He looked at me then, really looked. His gaze held something complicated—regret, resolve, fear tightly leashed.

“I meant what I said this morning,” he added quietly. “I won’t let it happen again.”

I nodded once. “I believe you.”

It wasn’t forgiveness, It wasn’t trust, but it was something.

He turned to leave, then hesitated. “Raven.”

“Yes?”

“If you need anything…ask.”

The door closed behind him.

I leaned back against it, heart racing, mind spinning.

I smiled faintly to myself, If this court thought I was delicate, they were welcome to keep believing it.

Delicate things, after all, were often the sharpest.