The King’s Game

If hell had a seating chart, this was it.

The banquet table stretched on forever, polished wood gleaming under chandeliers dripping with crystals. Noble Lycans preened in silks, dripping jewels, their laughter sharp enough to slice skin.

And me? I was the sideshow act. The rogue. The prisoner. The King’s new chew toy dressed up like a servant.

My wolf paced restlessly inside me, tail lashing, hackles up. We don’t serve. We fight. We run.

Yeah, well, try telling that to the six guards stationed in the room, or to Kael himself, lounging at the head of the table like sin carved into flesh.

“More wine,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying across the hall like a whip crack.

I clenched the bottle so hard my hand shook. Pouring wine. Serving. I’d been exiled because I refused to bow, because I’d never bend to anyone’s rule—and here I was, reduced to this. A waitress in silk. A rogue dressed up as a joke.

“With pleasure, Your Majesty,” I said sweetly, forcing a grin that probably looked more like I was baring my teeth. “Would you like a refill of your ego while I’m at it?”

Gasps erupted. A fork clattered. The air tightened.

Kael? He smirked. Just the tiniest twitch of his lips, like I was an amusing insect buzzing in his ear.

The raven-haired woman at his right practically purred as she leaned closer, her hand brushing his arm. “Your Grace, rogues shouldn’t be allowed to speak so freely. They don’t know their place.” Her eyes raked over me, sharp and disdainful. “Perhaps you should remind her.”

My wolf snarled. My smile widened. “Careful, sweetheart. If you scowl any harder, your face might stay that way.”

Her mouth dropped open. Gasps again. Honestly, I was going to give these nobles heart attacks.

The blonde on Kael’s left giggled behind jeweled fingers, her gaze icy. “She’s entertaining, I’ll grant you that. Like a little pet wolf who doesn’t realize the leash is already tight around her neck.”

My chest squeezed. Leash. Servant. Rogue. The words burrowed under my skin, stinging worse than claws.

Still, I leaned forward, filling her goblet until the wine nearly spilled. “Oh, don’t worry, darling. If my hands slip, it’ll be completely accidental.”

She yanked her cup back with a glare, cheeks blotched red.

Kael swirled his own wine lazily, eyes fixed on me. “She amuses me.”

Three words. That was all it took. The entire table went still.

And just like that, every gaze turned to me—not with curiosity, but with hostility. The rogue who should’ve been executed. The stray wolf dressed in silk, forced to serve while noble women vied for the King’s hand.

My throat felt tight. My wolf snarled louder, humiliated, furious. We don’t kneel. We don’t serve.

I wanted to slam the tray down, tell him where he could shove his wine goblets. But my pride wouldn’t let them see me break. So I smiled brighter, poured smoother, and sharpened my sarcasm to a blade.

“Enjoying yourself, Your Majesty?” I asked sweetly when I reached his goblet.

Kael’s gaze locked on mine, slow and deliberate. “Immensely.”

Heat prickled down my neck, humiliation burning under my skin. He wasn’t just mocking me—he was reminding me. Of what I was. Of what I wasn’t.

And the worst part?

Even while women pawed at him, whispered sweet promises into his ear, the only person he watched was me.

The room buzzed with false laughter and too-sweet wine, but all I could hear was the pounding of my wolf inside my chest. We don’t serve, she snarled. We don’t kneel.

Tell that to the tray in my hands.

Kael lounged at the head of the table, his throne-like chair towering above the rest. Every noble leaned in toward him like flowers craning for sunlight. And me? I was the shadow crawling at his feet.

“Enough,” he said suddenly, his voice slicing through the noise. “The rogue serves me. Only me.”

The words landed like a slap. Every goblet froze midair. Every noble turned their gaze to me with a sneer, delighted at my humiliation.

I stiffened, my tray clutched tight. “Wow,” I muttered, stepping forward, “special treatment. Should I be honored or just nauseous?”

Kael’s golden eyes glinted. “Pour.”

My jaw ached from clenching so hard, but I tipped the bottle, filling his goblet slowly. Too slowly. A deliberate insult wrapped in silk.

He let me. He didn’t break my stare, not once, even as the wine threatened to spill over. The nobles shifted uncomfortably. They hated this—hated me. Why her? Why is the King watching the rogue?

The raven-haired woman beside him spoke up, her voice syrupy with venom. “My King, surely this… display isn’t necessary. She’s beneath us.”

I slammed the bottle down harder than I meant to, the clatter echoing through the hall. “Beneath you? Honey, with the way you’re drooling over him, I’d say that’s your job.”

Gasps erupted. Someone choked on their venison.

Kael didn’t scold me. He didn’t stop me. His smirk deepened, carved with dark amusement, like he was daring me to keep going.

The blonde on his left leaned in closer to him, ignoring me. “Majesty, you shouldn’t lower yourself entertaining rogues. Your people want a queen of noble blood. Not…” Her eyes flicked to me, dripping disdain. “…this.”

My throat tightened, humiliation burning like fire. A rogue. Always a rogue. No matter what gown they shoved me into, no matter how strong my wolf was—I was still the outcast, the exile, the mistake.

Kael swirled his goblet, his tone deceptively soft. “Funny, isn’t it? You call her beneath you, yet none of you can look away from her.”

The hall went silent. His words fell heavy, dangerous, final.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. Anger, shame, something else I didn’t dare name.

I forced a laugh, brittle but sharp. “Wow. Thanks, Your Majesty. Nothing makes a girl feel special like being the evening’s freak show.”

He leaned back, eyes still locked on mine. “Special, yes. Freak show? No.”

And just like that, the hall erupted into nervous murmurs again, the women at his side fuming, the nobles glaring, and me—standing there with shaking hands, drowning in humiliation I covered with sarcasm.

Because no matter how much I sassed, no matter how much I fought, the truth clawed at me from the inside:

I was a rogue.

I was his prisoner.

And for some gods-damned reason… the King of Lycans had chosen to make me his spectacle.