2. The Taste of a Lie

Rosalie’s POV

The silence in the courtyard was absolute, a heavy, suffocating weight that pressed down on my lungs. Alpha King Dominic’s fingers remained hooked beneath my chin, his leather glove cold against my skin, forcing my face up into the piercing light of his golden eyes. Two dozen high-born tributes stood frozen behind him, their collective breath hitched in their throats. Vanessa’s scent was a sharp, volatile spike of pure shock and mounting jealousy right beside me.

He had caught the lie before I had even spoken a word. My prey-like scent had betrayed me, and the fresh, purple bruise mapping the shape of my father's heavy grip along my jaw was a dead giveaway.

My mind raced, spinning into a blind panic. If I faltered, if I tripped over my words or let my voice shake, he would know I wasn't Cynthia. He would look into my background, discover the identity swap, and execute my entire pack for treason—and me along with them. I had to use my sister's spoiled, defiant reputation as a shield. I had to make the bruise look like the result of an aristocratic tantrum, not the markings of an abused servant.

I forced myself to drop my eyes, mimicking the sullen, resentful pout Cynthia always wore when she didn't get her way.

"My father," I whispered, keeping my voice low but laced with a carefully manufactured bitterness. "He didn't want me to come to the Bloodmoon Pack, Your Grace. He wanted to keep his precious jewel hidden away in the North. We... we had a disagreement before the carriage arrived. He didn't want to let me go, and I refused to stay behind."

It was a dangerous gamble, spinning a lie that painted me as a girl who desperately wanted to be here to see him.

The silence stretched for three agonizing heartbeats. Dominic’s golden eyes narrowed slightly, tracking the smallest shifts in my expression. I could feel him analyzing the air, tasting the chemical shift of the lie in my scent. He didn't fully believe me—a man like him didn't survive a decade of political betrayals by trusting the first words out of a girl’s mouth—but a slow, dark tilt of his lips told me he was amused by my desperate attempt to play the game.

With a sudden, dismissive flick of his wrist, he released my jaw.

"I loathe liars, Cynthia," Dominic murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous, freezing promise meant for my ears alone. "But since you fought so hard to enter my gates, let's see if you possess the spine to survive the selection."

He turned on his heel, his military coat snapping in the wind as he stalked back up the stone steps. "Take them inside," he commanded the waiting guards, not looking back once as the massive obsidian doors swallowed him whole.

The oppressive pressure of his aura vanished with him, and a collective gasp echoed through the courtyard as the tributes finally found their breath. Before anyone could speak, a line of fierce, heavily armed Bloodmoon warriors stepped forward, their faces grim under their helmets.

"Move," the lead guard barked, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Tributes will march in single file. Keep your heads down and your mouths shut."

We were marched out of the freezing mountain mist and into the towering, subterranean depths of the castle. The interior of the Bloodmoon fortress was a labyrinth of polished black stone, flickering torchlight, and cold iron. It didn't feel like a palace; it felt like an impenetrable cage designed to keep a tyrant safe from the world.

After several minutes of navigating winding stone staircases and heavily guarded corridors, we were led into the East Wing—familiarly known among the staff as the Crimson Wing. It was a massive, enclosed dormitory lined with heavy oak doors, thick velvet rugs, and high arched windows that looked out over the jagged mountain cliffs.

"You will be paired in twos," the guard announced, pointing down the row of doors. "Your trunks have already been delivered to your assigned quarters. You are restricted to this wing until tomorrow morning's assembly. Anyone caught wandering the halls after dark will be thrown into the dungeons."

The guards retreated, the heavy iron gate at the entrance of the wing slamming shut with a deafening, final echo.

The moment the security detail was out of earshot, the polite, aristocratic masks of the tributes completely shattered.

Before I could even locate my room number, a rough hand grabbed the shoulder of my travel cloak and spun me around. I was slammed backward, the small of my back hitting the hard wood of a heavy wardrobe with a blunt thud.

Vanessa stood directly in front of me, her crimson cloak flaring around her like spilled blood, her face twisted in a sneer of pure rage. Two of her high-born friends flanked her, blocking my path down the hallway.

"You pathetic, manipulative little bitch," Vanessa hissed, her fingers digging deep into the fabric of my cloak. "You think you're clever, don't you? Playing the tragic, abused daughter right on the steps, begging for the Alpha King's pity the second he walked out?"

I didn't answer. I instantly dropped my chin, rounding my shoulders and falling back into the exact, submissive posture I had used for years to survive my father's wrath and Cynthia's tantrums. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the floor by Vanessa’s expensive leather boots.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up!" Vanessa snapped, shoving me back harder against the wood. "I know exactly what you're doing, Cynthia. Your pack is weak, and you're desperate. But let me make one thing perfectly clear to a clumsy, broken thing like you: Alpha Dominic doesn't feel pity. He doesn't want a charity case. If you think a fake sob story about your father is going to keep you in this lineup, you're dead wrong. I will make sure you are exposed and kicked out of this castle before sunset tomorrow."

"I don't want any trouble, Vanessa," I murmured, keeping my voice flat, trembling, and entirely devoid of a spine.

Vanessa huffed, a look of immense satisfaction crossing her face as she took my silence for total cowardice. She released my cloak with a disgusted sneer, brushing her hands off as if I were covered in dirt. "Good. Remember your place, coward. Come on, girls, let's leave the garbage to unpack."

She turned and strutted down the hall, her friends laughing loudly as they followed.

I let out a long, slow breath, my heart finally slowing to a steady rhythm as I adjusted my cloak. I didn't care about the insults, and I certainly didn't care about the threat. In fact, Vanessa’s arrogance was exactly what I needed. As long as she believed I was a weak, spineless target, she would focus all her energy on dominating the other high-born girls, leaving me safely in the shadows.

I found my room number at the end of the corridor—Room 12—and pushed the heavy door open. It was a lavish space, filled with silk sheets, a roaring fireplace, and two large travel trunks sitting at the foot of opposite beds. Vanessa’s trunks were already dominating the center of the room, her expensive furs spilling out onto the floor.

I walked over to the small, dark corner of the room assigned to me, sitting down on the edge of the mattress.

My plan was still intact. I just had to survive this initial evaluation period. I would act completely useless, fail to catch Dominic's eye, and ensure I was among the very first girls he dismissed from the roster. And the moment I was dropped, I would find a way to slip into the lower kitchen levels, steal a servant's uniform, and disappear into the anonymous workforce of the Bloodmoon Pack.

I made a silent vow as I looked out the dark window at the rising moon: I would keep my head down, I would play the fool, and I would never let Alpha King Dominic look me in the eye again.