chapter 5: The Wolf Behind the Mask

~~Aurelia POV~~

Hazel's heart said yes before I did.

It leapt so hard I felt it in my teeth. My fingers twitched toward his open palm like they belonged to someone else.

And they did.

I curled them into a fist and stepped back.

"No."

The word dropped into the ballroom like a stone into a still lake.

Oh my goodness. I had just rejected the Lycan King.

Somewhere to my left, a woman gasped. A glass clinked. The nearest couple stopped dancing mid-turn, and the silence spread outward until even the musicians faltered.

"Is she crazy?"

"Seems the girl wants a death sentence."

I ignored them. My fingers had gone numb against the side of my dress.

Ravik's hand was still extended. He looked at me the way a man looks at a locked door he has never been refused entry to.

"No?" he repeated.

"I don't dance." My voice stayed level, though my knees did not. "Thank you for the offer, Your Majesty."

"You know who I am."

"Everyone knows who you are. You're standing in the middle of your own ballroom, and the entire room just bowed."

"And yet you did not."

"I was behind a pillar. It's hard to bow behind a pillar."

Somewhere in the crowd, a very poorly stifled snort. Daisy, probably. Of course.

The corner of Ravik's mouth did not move. His eyes did, narrowing behind the wolf mask.

"No one has dared refuse me."

"It was only a humble gesture, Your Majesty."

"You dare question a king."

The temperature seemed to drop. I could feel it on my skin, the cold promise under every word.

Behind my ribs, a door closed, careful and quiet. I had heard that tone before. Not from him. From a man in a pack hall, saying take her to the Abyss.

Don't let him lead you. Don't let anyone lead you ever again.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"A seamstress's niece."

"A seamstress's niece," he said slowly, "does not refuse the king." His gaze traveled down, then up. "And she does not stand like that. Spine straight, weight forward. A lady's posture."

"My aunt is strict."

"Then your aunt will answer for your manners."

My blood went to ice.

Aunt Kathy. Begging me with her eyes to stay hidden.

"That isn't necessary," I said.

"I decide what is necessary."

I turned to run. It was a stupid, instinctive thing, and I didn't get three steps before I collided with someone soft, fragrant and expensive.

"Oh!" A gloved hand caught my shoulder. "Forgive me, my lady."

Jasmine and honey. The scent hit me first.

Then the voice.

I looked up. A crimson gown. Silver-gold hair twisted under a gilded mask. Lips curved in a smile that could make anyone forgive anything.

Cordelia.

The whole world narrowed to that smile. My lungs forgot how to work. For one terrible second I was kneeling on cold stone again, hearing her say I love you, sister, while the guards dragged me away.

She didn't know me. Of course she didn't. Her eyes slid over my face the way they'd slide over a servant's.

"What a commotion," she murmured. "Did she offend His Majesty?"

"Cordelia."

A deeper voice came. Calm but cold.

My heart stopped.

He came up beside her, dark hair, sharp eyes, the kind of presence that made a room go quiet without a word. Draven. My husband. The man who had looked at my belly and said that is no child of mine.

His mask was black. His hand settled at the small of Cordelia's back as naturally as if it had always been there.

"Your Majesty." Draven inclined his head, polite and smooth. "Forgive the disturbance. This girl is clearly ill-bred. Allow me to deal with her."

His fingers closed around my wrist.

I flinched so hard I nearly tore free. His touch. His touch. The same hands that had signed my death.

"Let go," I whispered.

"Hold still, girl," Draven said, lightly. "You are embarrassing yourself."

"Remove your hand."

Ravik had not raised his voice. He didn't need to. The words moved through the room like a blade through silk.

Draven's smile thinned. "Your Majesty, I only meant to—"

"She insulted me. I will decide her punishment." Ravik stepped forward until he stood close enough that his shadow fell across us both. "Not you. Not anyone."

A heartbeat of silence.

Then Draven's fingers opened, one by one.

"As you wish."

Ravik's hand replaced his. Not gentle. His grip closed around my wrist like a manacle, hard enough to bruise, and he pulled me to his side.

"Stay," he said, so low only I could hear.

"I am not a dog."

"No. A dog would have obeyed me already."

Cordelia laughed, light and silvery. "Such spirit. Perhaps she's hiding something, Your Majesty."

My stomach turned.

"Everyone here is hiding something, Lady Cordelia," Ravik said, without looking at her. "Some hide it better than others."

Her smile faltered. Barely. Then she tucked her hand into Draven's arm and let him lead her away, while I stood there shaking.

I searched the room for silver and curls. For Daisy, for any friendly face.

Nothing. Not a flash of her gown. Not her laugh.

Where are you?

I was alone. Trapped beside the most dangerous man in the realm, with my husband and my stepsister fifty steps away, and nobody coming to save me.

"You are trembling," Ravik said.

"It's cold."

"It is a ballroom with four thousand candles."

"Then I'm easily chilled."

"No." His eyes held mine through the mask, flat and merciless. "You are afraid. But not of me."

Above the balcony, the great clock gave a low, groaning chime.

One.

"What is that?" I asked, though I knew.

"Midnight," he said. "The masks come off."

Two.

The crowd stirred. Hands rose to ribbons and clasps. Delighted whispers rippled across the floor.

Three.

"Let go of me."

"No."

Four.

His free hand lifted toward my silver mask. Slow and certain.

"You refused me in front of my court," he said. "You have lied to me twice. Whoever you are, I will see your face."

Five.

"Please don't."

"Plead better."

Six.

His fingers touched the edge of the mask.

I did the only thing I could think of. I twisted my arm as hard as I could and tore it out of his grip.

Something snapped off my wrist, but I had no time to look.

Seven.

I ran.

Through the crowd, past gowns, past feathers, past hands reaching for masks. Gasps rose behind me. Every head turned. I heard the whispers catch like a spark racing through dry grass.

"Is that girl insane!"

"First she refuses the King and now she's running from him?!"

"Does she think it's a Cinderella story?"

Eight. Nine.

I didn't stop. My slippers skidded on the marble, and my heart pounded Hazel's name, mine and neither.

At the great doors, I risked one glance back.

Ravik had not moved. He stood where I had left him, one hand still half raised, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Then his gaze dropped.

At his feet, glinting in the candlelight, lay a thin silver bracelet. Its clasp was snapped clean through. One small charm swung from it, an engraved moon, catching the light.

That bracelet—

Ten. Eleven.

Slowly, the Lycan King bent down and picked it up.

He didn't look angry.

He looked like a wolf who had just caught a scent.

Twelve.

The doors slammed behind me.