Chapter 10: Golden Cage

Liora

Four days.

That was exactly how long the Lycan King had given me the space I demanded. He hadn't stepped foot inside my room. He hadn't sent for me. He hadn't forced a single interaction.

The irony was that his absolute obedience to my boundary was driving me out of my fucking mind.

I paced the length of the thick fur rug, wincing slightly as my healing abdomen pulled. Maren’s salves were a miracle —the jagged, burning pain was already fading into a dull, manageable ache. But the physical healing did nothing to soothe the absolute chaos raging inside my blood.

My newly awakened wolf was throwing a relentless, rabid tantrum. She paced my mind, clawing at my ribs, whining pitifully for the scent of dark chocolate and crushed cedar that was slowly fading from the room.

‘He left because I told him to,’ I reminded her bitterly. ‘And there’s nothing you can do about it.’

She didn't care. She wanted her mate. And worst of all, my body agreed with her. Without Kaelen’s constant psychological abuse grinding me down into dust, my biology was finally free to feel, and it was demanding the massive, furnace-hot predator who had touched my jaw like I was the most precious thing in the world. Every time I closed my eyes, my core clenched helplessly, a slick, humiliating heat pooling between my thighs just from the memory of his thumb tracing my throat.

A soft knock interrupted my pacing.

A maid entered, keeping her eyes respectfully lowered. She didn't carry a mop or a bucket of dirty water, which was all I was ever allowed to touch in Frostbane. She carried a polished silver tray holding a steaming bowl of rich, spiced bone broth and fresh bread.

"For you, my Queen," she murmured, dipping into a deep, flawless curtsy.

I stared at her. It had been like this for four days. The servants didn't look at me with pity or sneer at my lack of a wolf aura. They practically worshipped the ground I walked on. They brought me spun-silk nightgowns, drew hot baths, and treated me with a terrified reverence that made my skin prickle.

"Thank you," I said softly.

When the heavy ironwood door clicked shut behind her, I let out a sharp breath. I couldn't take the four walls anymore. I was going to suffocate.

I walked over to the cradle and scooped up my son. Mael was impossibly small, wrapped tight in a bundle of cream-colored wool, his tiny face sleeping peacefully against my chest. He smelled like milk and human frailty, but he was mine.

I wrapped a thick, dark fur cloak over my shoulders, securing Mael tightly against my body, and finally stepped out of my room.

If I had thought the bedroom was intimidating, the rest of the King’s domain was a revelation that shattered every concept of power Kaelen had ever tried to teach me. This wasn't a packhouse. It was a literal kingdom.

I walked down vast corridors carved from cold, black basalt and polished granite. Iron-banded chandeliers burned with eternal, smokeless fire. Massive obsidian pillars held up vaulted ceilings painted with ancient Lycan victories. Unspeakable wealth dripped from every tapestry and silver-wrought window frame.

And the guards. My god, the guards.

Warriors encased in dark, scarred leather and iron stood at every intersection. Whenever I passed, they didn't just nod. They slammed a closed fist over their hearts and bowed at the waist, showing their necks to a woman who couldn't even shift.

I wandered aimlessly, following a distant, rhythmic sound that echoed up through the stone. Clashing steel. Roaring voices.

I stepped out through a massive stone archway and found myself on a high, tiered balcony overlooking the training grounds.

My breath caught in my throat.

Beneath me, the courtyard stretched out like a colossal amphitheater. There were easily more than two hundred soldiers down there, sparring in the dirt and snow. They didn't look like Kaelen's border patrol. They looked like death incarnate. Huge, battle-hardened Lycans, covered in overlapping scars, moving with a brutal, lethal efficiency.

And right in the center of the chaos, fighting three of those massive warriors at once, was the King.

I sank down onto a cold stone bench in the audience tier, pulling Mael closer to my chest, completely paralyzed by the sight of him.

Riven had no shirt on.

The freezing mountain air seemed to completely avoid him. Sweat gleamed like oil over the violently ripped, scarred landscape of his broad back and massive shoulders. His long, dark hair was tied back with a rough leather strap, a few damp strands clinging to his jaw.

He moved like a god of war. He didn't use a weapon. He was dodging, blocking, and sweeping the legs out from under his elite soldiers with a fluid, terrifying grace that defied his sheer size. The flex of his obliques as he twisted, the heavy, dominant roll of his biceps—it was a brutal, unapologetic display of raw, masculine violence.

I couldn't look away. My mouth went bone dry. I swallowed hard, but it didn't help the sudden, heavy throb of my cunt. My wolf pressed against the front of my mind, practically purring.

I was sitting fifty feet above him, and yet, watching the sweat drip down his heavily ridged stomach made my breath hitch. I wanted to drag my nails down that chest. I wanted to taste the salt on his skin.

He threw the last soldier to the dirt, panting heavily. And then, as if feeling the exact moment my arousal spiked, Riven stopped. He turned his head slowly, his golden eyes scanning the high balconies until they locked dead onto mine.

Even from this distance, the possessive, molten heat in his stare felt like a physical hand wrapping around my throat. I shyly looked away. 

"You!"

A harsh, aggressive voice suddenly snapped right behind my ear.

I violently flinched, my protective instincts flaring as I twisted around, clutching Mael to my chest.

A massive, powerful-looking man had stepped out from the shadows of the archway. He wasn't dressed like a guard; he wore the heavy, fur-lined leathers of a high-ranking pack official. His face was twisted into a sneer of absolute disgust, his dark eyes raking over me like I was a piece of rotting meat.

"You stink of weakness," the man spat, his voice a low, threatening rumble that made the hair on my arms stand up.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the sheer hatred rolling off him paralyzed my tongue.

"Don't you dare for a second think you belong here," he continued, stepping closer until his shadow completely engulfed me. "You are not welcomed. You are a stain on these halls."

He looked down at the bundle shivering against my chest, his upper lip curling.

"Be grateful that the Alpha has a condition," the man hissed venomously, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. "Because the moment he finds out about your dormant, weak wolf and your pathetic human pup... he will eat you raw."

My blood turned to ice.

A condition?

The words echoed in my skull, ringing like a death knell. Maren, the healer, had said my wolf was 'too powerful to examine.' But this man... this man was confirming my deepest, darkest hysteria from three nights ago.

Was the Lycan King actually nose-blind? Was his sense of smell defective?

Did he claim me, give me this absolute royalty, and kiss my son’s forehead simply because his "condition" prevented him from smelling the truth?

The slick heat of my arousal vanished, replaced instantly by a cold, suffocating terror. If this man was right, the King didn't know I was defective trash. And when he finally found out, I wasn't just going to lose this kingdom.

I was going to lose my life.