Chapter 4: The Devil's Contract.

 

-ELERA-

"A negotiation," Darius repeated, the word rolling off his tongue with dark amusement. "You are in no position to negotiate, little thief.

I could summon a dozen guards to replace the ones you drugged. I could have you skinned and hung from the gates as a warning to the next rogue who thinks my sanctuary is a garden."

I swallowed hard, chest burning as my mind panicked for what to say next.

"You could," I rasped, my voice returning. "But then you’d never know how I brewed a sedative strong enough to drop a Lycan in ten seconds without magic.”

Darius tilted his head at me, his grip on my neck slowly easing. His fingers lingered on my pulse point for one terrifying second longer, then he released me.

He took a step back, the cold aura of his power retracting just enough to let me gasp for air. I slumped against the stone dais, clutching my throat, heart still slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird but I forced myself to meet his gaze.

His hand shot at me, stripped the satchel from my waist, and turned it over on the stone dais before I could even flinch.

There were no weapons. No poison, nor magical potions. No stolen jewels. Just vials of fever reducers, a child’s worn out breathing inhaler, and a crumpled photograph.

Darius picked up the photo, staring at it for a long moment with an unreadable expression.

"Your son?" he asked, his voice losing some of its predatory edge.

"Yes.”

Darius tapped the image with a clawed finger. “A child with gold eyes,” he mused.

My heart stopped. I forced my face to remain neutral, praying he couldn't hear the frantic rhythm of my heart. In the photo, Leo’s hair was freshly dyed. To Darius, he probably looked like a normal child with rare genetics. Not the son of his greatest enemy.

"He takes after his father," I lied quickly.

"And where is the father?"

"Dead," I said flatly. That part wasn't entirely a lie. 

"I see," Darius said. He dropped the photo back onto the dais. "A rogue widow."

"Yes," I interrupted, desperate to shift his focus. " And if I don't get that flower to him by sunrise, he dies. So go ahead. Kill me. If he dies, I don't care what happens to me anyway."

Darius’s gaze returned to me. For the first time, it held something other than annoyance. He looked at me like I had become a puzzle.

"A mother with the skills of an assassin and the death wish of a martyr," he mused. " You are an anomaly."

Before he could decide my fate, a heavy pounding shattered the tension. Someone was hammering on the sanctuary’s reinforced door.

"Your Majesty!" A frantic voice muffled through the steel. " Your Majesty, forgive my intrusion, but the Council has assembled. The Obsidian delegation... they are here early!"

Darius’s face changed instantly. The amusement vanished, replaced by pure loathing. The temperature in the room dropped again, frost creeping up the glass walls.

"Seraphina," he growled the name like a curse. He looked at the door and then back at me.

"Open the door," Darius commanded me. "Open it. Or I crush the flower."

I scrambled to the door and unlocked it. A breathless man in a silk robe stumbled in, his eyes widening as he saw me, a rogue in muddy clothes, standing next to the King.

“Your Majesty!” the man squeaked. In one swift motion, he drew a sword hidden beneath his robe. I lifted my hands instinctively, feeling the cold silver edge press against my neck. 

"Who is this? The guards outside are all unconscious! Are we under attack?"

"Calm yourself, Marcus," Darius said smoothly. " We are not under attack."

"The council is waiting in the throne room," Marcus withdrew his sword, trying not to stare at me. "Princess Seraphina has arrived with her party from the Obsidian pack. They are demanding the betrothal be signed tonight. 

Your Majesty, if we do not present your chosen bride by midnight, the alliance requires you to accept the Princess."

"Midnight," Darius checked the heavy clock on the wall. " We have twenty minutes. Summon one of the Sterling daughters. Their Alpha owes me a blood debt.”

“They paid that debt in blood sire,” Marcus said with a steady voice, almost bored. “You wiped them out three days ago. The Sterling pack no longer exists.”

Darius paused, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Right," he muttered. "I forgot."

My blood ran cold. He forgot!? He had slaughtered an entire pack and forgotten about it by Tuesday!? 

Darius. This man was dangerous. Every instinct in me screamed it. 

"Sire, you have no other option," Marcus cried, wringing his hands. " The council has you cornered. You have to take Seraphina as your bride."

Darius ignored him, turning slowly to face me. His eyes flicked from the glowing Moonfire Orchid on the dais to my mud-streaked face. Desperate. Completely unknown to his political enemies. I could see the gears turning in his head

He walked closer, invading my personal space until all I could smell was rain and expensive leather. He reached out and tilted my chin up with a rough finger, inspecting my face like I was a horse at an auction.

"You have good bone structure," he muttered to himself. " Under the dirt."

"Let go of me," I hissed, pulling back.

"You need the Moonfire Orchid," Darius said, his voice low and dangerous. " I need a shield."

"A... shield?"

“Princess Seraphina is a viper,” Darius stated, voice cold and precise. “If I marry her, she will poison my court and sell my kingdom to her father within a year. But I cannot refuse the alliance unless I am already betrothed."

He leaned down, his steel eyes locking onto mine. " I have a proposition, Elara."

My breath hitched. He knew my name? No, he couldn't have. He saw it on my medicine bottles.

"I will give you the Orchid," Darius said. " I will grant your son admission to the Royal Infirmary. I will give him the best healers in the world, and he will live."

Hope, hot and blinding, flared in my chest. "What do you want? I have no money. I have no—"

"I don't want your money," Darius cut me off. "I want your life."

He gestured to the advisor. "Marcus, draft the contract."

"Contract?" I whispered, tension bubbling in my chest.

"You will act as my fiancée," Darius said, reciting the terms as if discussing a trade tariff. " We will be engaged for one year. You will live in my palace. You will wear my ring.

You will attend court by my side and convince the world that I chose you over Seraphina."

"You want me to lie to a Kingdom?" I asked, stunned.

" I want you to save your son," Darius countered ruthlessly. He picked up the Moonfire Orchid, snapping it off its stem, and held the glowing flower just out of reach to me.

" The flower for a ring. That is the trade."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I throw this flower on the floor and crush it under my boot," Darius said. "And you walk out of here with nothing but your grief."

I looked at the flower and thought of Leo, twisting in pain on a dirty mattress. I thought of the red lines burning his skin.

I looked at Darius. He was a monster. Blackmailing a desperate mother. He was everything I hated about Alphas.

But he held Leo’s life in his hand.

"One year?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"One year," Darius confirmed. " After that, the contract dissolves. You leave with a generous settlement. Or you leave tonight with a dead son. Choose."

Marcus was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. He slapped it onto the stone dais, ink still wet.

"Sign it," Darius commanded.

I walked to the dais, my hand shaking as I picked up the quill and read the first line: Contract of Betrothal between King Darius Valerius and...

I looked at him one last time. "You are the devil."

Darius gave a cold and humorless smile. "And you are the devil's bride. Sign."

I pressed the quill to the paper. I wasn't just signing a contract, I was signing away my freedom. I was making myself the enemy of Princess Seraphina, the Lycan Council, and potentially the entire world.

But for Leo, I would burn the whole world down.

I signed my name. Elara Vance.

Darius snatched the paper immediately and handed me the flower.

"Welcome to the Lycan Kingdom, my love," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. " Now, clean yourself up. We have a court appearance to make."