chapter 9

Lucia POV

After those final, merciless words left his lips, I didn't argue anymore.

How could I? How could a fragile, mute omega—discarded by her own family, stripped of her dignity, and branded a fraud—dare to trade words with the absolute sovereign of the Lycan realm? He was a god among wolves, an apex predator whose very breath could order my execution, while I was merely a phantom haunting the fringes of his dark kingdom.

I closed my eyes, letting my heavy eyelids seal in the bitter, scalding tears that threatened to overflow. I pulled my thin nightgown tightly around my shivering frame, laying my head back down upon the hard, unforgiving floorboards.

Above me, the heavy wooden bedframe creaked softly as King Damian turned his back on me and laid down in his massive, fur-draped mattress. The bed was immense—vast enough to easily accommodate four people without their shoulders ever brushing. There was more than enough room for me to rest my exhausted, aching body beside him without disturbing his sleep. But his pride and his hatred demanded my humiliation. To him, my mere proximity was a stain upon his sanctuary, an unwelcome presence that polluted the pristine air of his chamber.

I lay there in the quiet pitch-blackness, listening to the slow, rhythmic cadence of his breathing while the ice from the wooden floor seeped deep into my bones, chilling my spirit until I felt entirely hollow.

The next morning, consciousness returned not with peace, but with a sharp, agonizing wave of pain that shot through every muscle and joint in my body.

My spine felt as though it were lined with broken glass. A deep, throbbing ache radiated along my ribs and shoulders from spending hours pressed against the bare, freezing floor. I slowly opened my eyes, shivering violently in the dim, dreary light of dawn.

King Damian was already gone.

The massive bed was neatly made, its dark velvet covers smoothed over as if no one had ever slept there. I looked around the silent, cavernous suite, my heart sinking further into the abyss of my chest. There was no blanket left behind to cover my trembling body. There was no glass of water placed on the bedside table to soothe my parched, dry throat. There was not a single trace, not a solitary whisper of proof, that the ruler of this fortress cared whether I had survived the freezing night on his floor or perished in the dark.

I was completely, utterly alone.

Dragging my aching limbs off the ground, I stumbled toward the velvet couch near the fireplace, collapsing onto it for a brief moment just to catch my breath. Every breath felt heavy, tasting of dust and cold stone.

After several long minutes, I forced myself to stand and walked toward the adjoining bathing chamber. I stopped in front of the tall, gold-framed mirror mounted on the wall, staring at the reflection that gazed back at me.

A silent gasp escaped my lips as tears immediately brimmed in my eyes and spilled over my lashes, tracing wet, painful trails down my pale cheeks.

The boy in the mirror looked shattered. My skin was ghostly pale, my eyes hollow and ringed with dark purple shadows of exhaustion and grief. The silver hair that usually shone like spun moonbeams hung limp and tangled over my thin shoulders.

Why me? I asked myself in the quiet void of my mind, my chest convulsing with silent, pathetic hitches. Why am I never enough? Am I not beautiful enough? Am I not worthy of a single drop of kindness?

First, it was my stepsister, Elena, who smiled in my face while stealing my life. Then it was Adrian—my boyfriend, my supposed fated mate—who threw my love away like worthless trash to sleep in my sister’s bed. And now, the terrifying Lycan King treated me like a disease he was forced to wear around his neck.

Do I bear an invisible mark of hatred carved into my forehead? I wondered bitterly, wiping the tears from my cheeks with trembling hands. Is there something fundamentally broken inside me that makes every person I meet despise and reject me?

I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep, shuddering breath to steady my frayed nerves. I couldn't afford to break completely. Not here. Not in a fortress surrounded by enemies who prayed for my downfall.

I washed my face with cold water, scrubbing away the tear stains until my cheeks burned red. I dressed in a heavy, dark tunic and trousers lined with understated silver embroidery—the robes of a Luna, though they felt more like a prisoner's uniform—and carefully brushed out my silver hair.

Wiping away the last lingering trace of weakness, I stepped out of the suite and navigated the cold stone corridors toward the grand dining hall.

The heavy oak doors of the dining hall stood open, revealing a vast, sunlit room filled with the rich, intoxicating aromas of roasted meats, fresh bread, and fine wine.

At the head of the long obsidian dining table sat King Damian. He looked imperial, dangerous, and impossibly handsome, clad in a dark leather tunic that emphasized his broad shoulders and commanding presence.

Beside him sat another male—a striking, dark-haired warrior with sharp, elegant features and piercing amber eyes. He was laughing warmly at something the King had just said. They shared the same high cheekbones, the same predatory grace, the same regal aura that demanded respect. Is he his younger brother? I wondered quietly, shrinking back slightly into the shadow of the doorway.

As I hovered near the entrance, the stranger's sharp amber eyes suddenly flicked toward the doorway, catching sight of my hesitant frame. His laughter died down, replaced by a look of curious intrigue.

“Who is she?” the handsome man asked, leaning toward the King and pointing a subtle finger in my direction.

King Damian didn't even turn his head to look at me. He casually raised his silver goblet to his lips, taking a slow sip of blood-red wine before answering in a voice as smooth and cold as polished ice.

“She is my unwanted wife.”

The harsh, cruel label echoed through the spacious hall, ringing in my ears like a funeral bell.

I flinched, a fresh wave of agony slicing through my heart, but I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and forced my posture straight. I would not cry in front of strangers. I would not give them the pleasure of seeing me crumble.

“Lucia,” King Damian called out, his deep baritone cutting straight through the quiet atmosphere.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I managed to whisper, forcing my breathy voice to carry across the floor while my hands quickly signed the words in polite, submissive gestures, desperately trying to mask the raw, bleeding hurt in my soul.

“Come here,” he ordered, his glowing silver eyes finally snapping onto mine, cold and entirely devoid of warmth.

I walked toward the head of the table with slow, measured steps, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Every gaze in the room felt like a physical weight pressing down on my fragile shoulders.

I stopped beside his high-backed chair, lowering my body until my knees rested against the hard stone floorboards, bowing my head in complete submission before the sovereign.

King Damian looked down at my kneeling form, a dark, patronizing smirk touching the corner of his chiseled lips as he picked up a heavy crystal decanter filled with dark wine. He pushed the decanter toward me.

“Since you are so determined to play the role of my Luna,” the Lycan King commanded, his voice dripping with low, ruthless disdain that echoed off the high vaulted ceiling, “you might as well learn how to serve me.”