CHAPTER FIVE

Lyra’s POV

The door clicked shut behind me with the finality of a death sentence.

I stood frozen. My heart beat so loud I swore he could hear it. The room was dimly lit, and large, all black and silver, too vast and cold for comfort. Velvet curtains hung like blood dripping from the ceiling and the fireplace burned low in the corner, casting gold across the floor. But it was the silence—the thick, pressing silence—that terrified me most.

King Ronan stood still for a moment, just watching me. That stare again—sharp, consuming and golden. My bare feet throbbed against the floor.

He moved. Not like a man—no. Like something primal, dangerous. His cloak dropped to the floor as he stalked toward me. I flinched, but he didn’t raise a hand. Not this time.

Instead, he said, voice low and cold,

“Sit. There.”

I blinked. My lips parted, but he cut me off without looking at me.

“Don’t talk. Don’t question me.”

I obeyed. My body moved on its own, sliding onto the plush chair he pointed to near the fire. I sat stiffly, too scared to even breathe too loudly. His scent surrounded me—smoke and pine and blood.

He knelt in front of me.

My heart stopped.

King Ronan was… kneeling?

The King of the most feared pack in the realm… knelt in front of me.

“I said don’t talk,” he repeated before I could even think to speak again.

He pulled something from a drawer. A small black box. Opened it. Bandages. Cloth. A glass vial of something that stung the air.

I stared down at him, utterly lost.

“Hold still,” he said, tearing the edge of my dress open where it was soaked with dried blood.

I gasped but bit down on the sound. His touch wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either. It was surprisingly professional. His fingers pressed along my ribs, mapping out damage like he was memorizing my pain.

As if I’d shatter. As if—despite the way he’d snapped someone’s throat clean out of their neck hours ago—he didn’t want to break me.

He dabbed at the crusted blood on my lip. The sting made my eyes water.

“Don’t cry,” he muttered.

“I’m not—”

His glare silenced me instantly.

His hand moved to my ankle next. I hadn’t realized how swollen it still was until he pressed down. A strangled sound escaped me.

“Tch. It’s worse than I thought,” he muttered to himself.

I watched the way his brows furrowed, the way his jaw ticked as he pulled out a small jar of salve and began working it into my skin.

And then in barely audible voice which wasn't meant for me, he whispered, “What are you doing to me?”

My throat tightened. I looked down at him, stunned.

“I… I don’t know,” I answered truthfully, barely above a whisper.

His hands stilled. Slowly, his golden eyes lifted to mine.

And for one moment—one fragile, fleeting moment—I saw something human behind that monster’s gaze. Something shaken. Confused.

But then it vanished.

He returned to his work in silence, wiping blood from my arms, wrapping the worst of the bruises.

Minutes passed. Long, tense minutes filled only with the crackle of fire and the brush of cloth against skin.

Then he broke it with a command I didn’t expect. “Learn to speak up.”

I blinked. “What?”

Wrong answer.

He snapped.

His hand slammed the jar down beside him. He stood abruptly, towering, shadowed, furious.

“If I hadn't seen her do it, I would have nearly killed you today!” he snapped. “And you—what would you have done? Just stood there? Let it happen like a spineless thing?”

I flinched as his words struck harder than any blow.

“You let her trip you. You let them mock you. And you said nothing. You are weak. Pathetic. Is that how you survived this long? By being silent?!”

I opened my mouth but nothing came.

Because he was right.

I was weak.

The truth of it burned in my chest, bitter and humiliating. My eyes stung but I didn’t let the tears fall. I wouldn’t give him that.

“You want to survive in this castle?” he asked, voice like thunder. “You learn to speak. You fight. You make noise. You claw, scratch, scream. Because no one’s going to save you if you stay this silent.”

He exhaled hard, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides. For a second, I thought he might hit me after all. But then…

He looked away.

Just like that, it was over. The storm passed.

He turned back to the drawer and set down the supplies.

“It’s late,” he said. His voice was even again, cold and sharp. “Too late for you to be wandering the halls like an idiot. You’ll sleep here tonight.”

“What?” I gasped.

My breath caught. Sleep here?

I looked toward the massive bed carved from black wood, covered in dark sheets and furs. I started to shake my head, unsure what to say, what to do—

But he was already moving.

He walked to the door.

Paused.

Then said without turning,

“Don’t make me regret not snapping your neck like the others.”

And with that, he stepped out and slammed the door behind him.

I sat in the chair, breath frozen in my lungs. The fire crackled. The silence returned. But it felt different now—heavier. My fingers trembled as I looked around the room.

Alone.

Still alive.

But what the hell had just happened?

Why did he care? Why didn’t he let Mira’s shove be the end of me? Why had he—of all people—bandaged my wounds with his own hands?

What are you doing to me?

His words echoed again in my skull.

I’m not strong.

I didn’t speak.

I couldn’t protect myself.

And yet, he hadn’t killed me.

He’d cared for me. Bandaged me. Saw me. Claimed me.

But I didn’t understand it.

Not even a little.

Was I his responsibility? A burden? A toy? A puzzle he couldn’t quite piece together?

I stood slowly. The fire was warm, but the heat didn’t reach the chill inside me. I looked toward the bed but… I couldn’t. No matter how soft or inviting it looked, I couldn’t bring myself to touch it.

I didn’t belong there.

I didn’t belong anywhere in this place.

I curled up on the cold stone floor near the fire instead. Hugged my knees to my chest.

The pain in my body throbbed in waves. My side ached. My hands throbbed. But I didn’t cry. I didn’t even sleep at first.

I just stared at the fire.

Confused.

Terrified.

And aching with a question I couldn’t answer.

What was I doing to him?

And what the hell was he doing to me?