4. The Feast of Indifference

Rosalie’s POV

The moment I stepped back into Room 12, the trembling in my knees stopped, replaced by a cold, calculating focus. I had messed up. I had let my pride and my sharp tongue get the better of me out in that corridor. By challenging Alpha King Dominic intellectually, by picking apart the psychological strategy behind his fearsome reputation, I had accidentally done the worst thing possible for my survival: I had made myself unforgettable to him.

If I sat at his right hand tonight and continued to show even a shred of that sharp, observant mind, he would dig into my past. He would find the forged paperwork, realize I wasn’t Cynthia, and execute me.

*I need a new strategy,* I thought, pacing the length of the silk-draped bed. *And I need it now.*

I couldn’t play the trembling, submissive maid anymore; he already knew I was hiding a backbone. So, I had to give him exactly what a war-weary, intense tyrant king would hate most. I had to give him the absolute, exhausting reality of a generic, high-born Alpha’s daughter. I would give him unbearable vanity, shallow greed, and total superficiality. If I could convince him that ‘Cynthia’ was just a brainless, materialistic snob whose only personality traits were spending money and talking about herself, his dangerous curiosity would die a swift death. A man who ruled through lethal dominance would be instantly repulsed by a superficial braggart.

With a grim smile, I marched over to my sister’s heavy travel trunks and threw them open. It was time to dress the part.

I bypasses the elegant, understated dresses and intentionally dug to the very bottom, pulling out the loudest, most gaudy gown Cynthia owned. It was a heavy, neon-pink satin monstrosity, suffocatingly layered with clashing diamonds, faux pearls, and a massive, stiff collar. I loaded my fingers with her most ostentatious rings, draped three competing diamond necklaces around my neck, and finished the look by drenching myself in an unbearable, sickeningly sweet floral perfume that smelled like a dying garden.

“What in the Goddess’s name are you wearing?”

Vanessa stood at the doorway of our shared quarters, her jaw practically dropping as she took in my reflection. She was dressed in a stunning, sophisticated gown of deep emerald, looking every bit the regal, flawless aristocrat. Her scent spiked with a volatile mix of shock and immediate, ugly satisfaction.

I turned around, instantly shifting my posture. I forced a vacant, wide-eyed look onto my face, stuck my chin out in a practiced, haughty pout, and let out a high-pitched, whiny giggle.

“Oh, Vanessa, do you like it?” I gasped, faking a breathy, aristocratic lisp. “Since the Alpha King insisted—absolutely *insisted*—that I sit at his right hand tonight, I just knew I had to wear something that matched my status. A princess must shine, after all! It’s such a chore being the favorite.”

Vanessa’s face twisted in pure, unadulterated rage, her fingers curling into tight fists against her green silk. “You ridiculous, tasteless clown,” she hissed, her scent souring with jealousy. “Enjoy your little moment in the spotlight. When the King sees you looking like a neon court jester, he’ll throw you out himself.”

“Oh, don’t be bitter, sweetie! Maybe he’ll let you sit near the kitchen doors!” I offered her a vapid, airheaded wave and strutted past her into the corridor, my heavy satin skirts rustling loudly.

Inside my own head, my logical mind was already screaming in pure agony. Hating how pathetic I had to act, I forced myself to maintain the bounce in my step as I followed the line of tributes down to the Great Dining Hall.

The banquet hall was magnificent, a vast chamber of black marble illuminated by massive crystal chandeliers that held hundreds of roaring candles. The long tables were packed with the Bloodmoon Pack's elite warriors, wealthy high lords, and powerful commanders. At the very front of the room, on an elevated dais, sat the King’s table.

As I was escorted up the steps by a grim-faced guard, I could feel the eyes of the entire room locking onto me. Dominic’s crushing Alpha aura was on full, oppressive display tonight, hanging over the room like a heavy, dark storm cloud. Down at the lower tables, the other tributes looked pale, rigid, and barely able to breathe under the weight of his power. I used every ounce of my internal maid-discipline to keep my breathing steady against the suffocating pressure, but I masked my composure behind a bored, entitlement-filled pout.

I took my seat directly to the right of the Alpha King.

Dominic sat back in his heavy carved throne, looking devastatingly handsome and utterly lethal in a formal, dark military doublet. He didn’t look at me as I sat down, but the moment the heavy scent of my sickeningly sweet perfume hit his nose, his jaw visibly tightened.

Slowly, the Alpha King turned his head to look at me.

I watched the exact moment his golden eyes swept over my gaudy, neon-pink dress and clashing jewels. A flash of profound, cutting disappointment rippled across his sharp features. The thrilling, dangerous curiosity that had been in his eyes out in the corridor completely vanished. He had clearly thought he found a sharp, mysterious tribute hiding under a gray cloak, but now, he thought he was looking at just another basic, materialistic princess with terrible taste.

The strategy was already working. I just had to drive it home.

“You changed your clothes, Cynthia,” Dominic murmured, his deep baritone dropping into a cold, flat tone that lacked any of the dangerous playfulness from earlier.

“Oh, Your Grace!” I squealed, intentionally leaning in too close so he would get a full blast of the cheap perfume. I patted my ridiculously curled hair and offered him a vacant, wide smile. “Do you love it? I just felt like the gray was so *drab*. The North is so boring and gloomy, you know? I told my father that if I have to live in this big, dark castle for a whole year, I am absolutely going to need a massive jewelry allowance to brighten things up! Black stone is just so depressing for my skin tone.”

Dominic didn’t say a word. He merely stared at me, his golden eyes hardening into chips of ice.

A high lord sitting across from us cleared his throat, trying to salvage the conversation. “Lady Cynthia, the Northern Frost Pack is known for its strategic border defenses along the icy ridges. Your father must have taught you much about territorial security.”

This was the test. I knew Dominic was watching my face, waiting to see if the tactical mind from the hallway would show itself.

I let out a loud, grating, high-pitched laugh that sounded utterly repulsive to my own ears. I wanted to swallow glass just listening to myself.

“Oh, please!” I whined, waving a hand dismissively as a servant poured my wine. “Territorial security is so exhausting! All those boring border wars do is ruin the wheels of my carriages. And the soldiers! Have you seen their armor? It is so plain and unfashionable. I told my father he should really invest in gold trim. If you’re going to die for a pack, you should at least look pretty doing it, right?”

The high lord blinked in absolute, stunned disgust.

I turned back to Dominic, determined to put the final nail in the coffin. I reached out and playfully tapped his forearm, ignoring the way his corded muscles instantly locked like iron beneath my touch. “And another thing, Alpha King! If I sign this twelve-month contract, we are absolutely going to have to do something about the curtains in the Crimson Wing. Velvet is just so old-fashioned. I was thinking a lovely, bright pink silk…”

I trailed off as Dominic slowly reached up and took a slow sip of his dark wine. He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile. The initial spark of fascination in his gaze was entirely dead, replaced by a profound, freezing boredom. He looked at me the way one might look at a particularly annoying insect.

It was a total, brilliant success.

By the middle of the feast, Dominic had completely stopped looking at me. He turned his massive shoulders entirely away from my seat, engaging in a deep, hushed political discussion with his head commanders and ignoring my existence for the rest of the night. I was left to eat my roasted meats in glorious, beautiful isolation, occasionally pretending to fix my makeup in a silver spoon to maintain the act. Down the table, Vanessa was watching, a smug, triumphant grin spreading across her face as she realized the King had completely dismissed me.

When the banquet finally concluded and we were permitted to return to our wing, I walked back to my room with a heart that felt lighter than air.

I had done it. I had completely turned him off. He thought I was just another vapid, gold-digging princess with a negative IQ, and I was practically guaranteed to be dropped from the roster during the very first culling in a few days.

As I stripped off the heavy, suffocating pink satin and washed the thick perfume from my skin, I walked over to the high arched window to look out at the night. I felt euphoric, safe, and completely victorious.

But as I looked up at the sky, the smile faded from my lips.

The air outside felt strangely heavy, vibrating with a tense, low hum that made the hairs on my arms stand up. Down in the courtyard, the armored guards weren’t just patrolling; they were doubling their numbers, locking down the iron gates with heavy chains. And high above the jagged mountain cliffs, the full moon was beginning to take on a strange, ominous, blood-red tint.

I pulled my nightgown tighter around myself, shaking off the sudden chill. I was home-free. Dominic thought I was a fool, and tomorrow I would begin planning my slip into the servant quarters.

I climbed into bed and closed my eyes, completely safe in my victory—entirely unaware that tonight was the Night of the Red Moon, and that a tyrant king’s human boredom meant absolutely nothing once his feral, unhinged beast took over.