Chapter 2

'And that girl? Why do I feel like the bond was actually real?'

The thought was a poison. If the bond was real, then he wasn't just rejecting a servant; he was rejecting his own soul. He could feel Floreighn still standing in that alley, her shock and humiliation radiating through the tether like a silver hemorrhage. He felt her knees give out.

He felt the exact moment her heart began to bleed.

"Is something wrong, Greg?" Serefy asked, her voice like honey, though her eyes held the sharp curiosity of a predator. "You look... flushed."

Kreygan forced a laugh, the sound hollow in his own ears. "Only dazzled by the sun, My Lady. It is rare to see such beauty in a place so far from the capital."

Serefy giggled, leaning into his space. She was beautiful, yes. But the bond remained silent. There was no snap. No roar of recognition. Only the cold, calculated satisfaction of a man who had found the right tool for his throne.

Deep in the back of his mind, his Alpha wolf curled into a ball of silent rage. It didn't want the Sun. It wanted the Shadow. It wanted the girl Kreygan had just branded a harlot.

'I will break it,' Kreygan vowed, his eyes locking onto Serefy’s while his heart stayed in the laundry girl— to his mate.

'I will starve the bond until it dies. I will be the first Alpha in history to choose my own fate, even if I have to walk over my mate's broken spirit to reach the throne.'

***

The Great Hall was cooler than usual, but Floreighn felt as if she were standing in the center of a forge. She stood by the heavy oak doors, her fingers digging into the fabric of her servant's apron. Her vision flickered, the Mate-Sickness manifesting as a dull, rhythmic throb behind her eyes.

She wasn't supposed to be here, but Serefy had demanded her presence.

"Father," Serefy’s voice rang out, sweet as honey and sharp as a thorn. "Our pack borders have been restless. And since Greg here proved so... capable... in the village square, I think we should hire him. He shouldn't be a mere laborer. He should be my personal guard."

Floreighn felt the air leave her lungs. No.

Alpha Kenneally looked over the rim of his goblet at the man standing at the foot of the dais. Kreygan—still wearing the humble mask of Greg—bowed his head. He looked every bit the disciplined soldier, his shoulders broad and his gaze respectfully lowered.

"A commoner as a personal guard for a high-ranking Kenneally?" the Alpha mused. "He has no pedigree."

"He has strength, Father," Serefy countered, stepping down from her seat. She walked toward Greg, her silk skirts hissing against the stone. She stopped inches from him, her eyes flicking toward the shadows where Floreighn stood. Serefy had noticed it—the way Floreighn’s scent changed when Greg was near. The way her sister’s pulse hammered in her throat.

Serefy didn't know they were mates, but she knew there was a thread. And she wanted to snap it.

"And besides," Serefy whispered, loud enough for Floreighn to hear, "he is much more pleasant to look at than the old sentries."

"Very well," the Alpha sighed. "Greg, you are hired. Your post begins tonight. You will shadow my daughter."

"I am honored, Alpha," Kreygan replied. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that sent a wave of agonizing warmth through the bond.

Kreygan’s internal wolf was pacing, frustrated by the "Greg" mask and the proximity to Floreighn. Every time he looked at Serefy, his wolf snarled. But Kreygan pushed the beast down. He needed the Sun. He needed the prophecy.

Serefy turned to Floreighn, a glint of pure malice in her eyes. "Floreighn, don't just stand there like a statue. Since Greg is new, he needs to be familiar with the inner sanctum. Fetch the wine and follow us to the garden. You will serve us while I... acquaint myself with my new protector."

The walk to the moonlit garden was a walk through a nightmare.

Floreighn followed two paces behind, carrying a silver tray with a heavy decanter. Every step Kreygan took, the bond tugged at her soul. She could feel his strength, his heat, and the cold, iron wall of his rejection.

When they reached the stone gazebo, Serefy didn't sit. She turned to Kreygan, her movements slow and deliberate. She reached out, her small, pale hand resting on his chest—right where his heart was thundering.

"It’s a heavy burden, being a guard," Serefy murmured, her voice dropping to a sultry register. She leaned in, her golden hair brushing against Kreygan’s shoulder. "Tell me, Greg... do you know how to handle a woman of my station? Or are you used to the... simpler... girls?"

She cast a pointed look at Floreighn.

Kreygan felt the bond flare. He felt Floreighn’s heart shattering behind him. To any other man, Serefy’s touch would be a blessing. To him, it was a test. He looked down at Serefy, forcing a smile that didn't reach his cold, Alpha eyes.

"I learn quickly, My Lady," Kreygan said, his hand moving to cover hers on his chest. It was a gesture of seduction, a public display of interest.

Floreighn gasped, the tray in her hands rattling. The silver decanter wobbled. Through the bond, Kreygan intentionally projected a wave of false desire for Serefy. He wanted Floreighn to feel it. He wanted her to believe that he chose the Sun not just for power, but because he found her sister more desirable than his own mate.

Serefy leaned back against Greg’s chest, her golden hair spilling over his guard’s uniform. She watched her sister with the eyes of a hawk.

"Pour the wine, Floreighn. And do try to be useful for once."

Floreighn leaned in. As the dark red liquid began to stream from the decanter, Serefy didn't just bump Floreighn’s elbow—she grabbed her sister’s wrist and yanked it.

The wine didn't just hit the table. It splashed directly onto the bodice of Serefy’s cream-colored silk gown, blooming like a gruesome, wet wound.

"Oh! My dress!" Serefy shrieked, her voice echoing through the silent garden. She jumped up, her face twisted in a mask of theatrical horror. "You did it on purpose! You jealous, wretched girl! You wanted to ruin me in front of Greg!"

Kreygan—still in his "Greg" persona—stood up slowly. He looked at the red stain on Serefy’s chest, then shifted his gaze to Floreighn.

Through the bond, he didn't feel pity. He felt fury. Not because of the dress, but because Floreighn was making it harder for him to maintain his disguise. Her clumsiness was drawing too much attention to their connection.

"It was an accident..." Floreighn whispered, her voice trembling.

"An accident?" Serefy hissed, turning to Greg. She grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his leather sleeve. "Greg, look at what she did! This silk was imported from the Capital! She hates me because I have your attention. Are you going to let her treat your Lady like this?"

Kreygan looked Floreighn dead in the eyes. In the moonlight, the brown of his 'Greg' eyes seemed to burn with a hidden, golden fire. He reached out and took the decanter from Floreighn’s hand, his fingers bruising her skin as he snatched it away.

"The Lady asked you a question, Shadow," Kreygan said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.

"But I suppose a servant who cannot even pour wine doesn't deserve the breath to answer." He turned to Serefy, his voice softening into a lie.

"Do not weep, My Lady. A stain on silk can be washed. But a stain on the pack's discipline... that must be burned out."

Floreighn felt the bond scream. 

"Go to your room, Floreighn," Serefy commanded, a triumphant glint in her eyes.

"And pray the Moon Goddess forgives you, because I certainly won't."