Chapter 9 CHAPTER 9
Tessa's POV
The corridor felt endless.
Each step echoed—too loud, too final—like a death march. My hand trembled in Meira's steady grip, the only thing keeping me upright.
Keep walking. Just keep walking.
The healing wing fell away behind us. Stone walls stretched ahead, lit by flickering torches that cast dancing shadows. Servants pressed themselves flat against the walls as we passed, eyes downcast.
Were they looking at me? Pitying me?
Did they know where I was going?
My stomach churned.
Meira's pace was measured, unhurried. Like we weren't walking toward the one place I'd been dreading for a week.
"Breathe," she murmured without looking at me. "You're holding your breath again."
I forced air into my lungs. It came out shaky.
He's waiting. He's there right now. Waiting.
We turned a corner, and I saw her.
A woman stood in the middle of the corridor, speaking to a servant who cowered before her. Tall—impossibly tall—with long dark hair that fell in perfect waves down her back. She wore a gown of deep crimson that hugged every curve, the kind of dress that demanded attention.
Power radiated from her. Confidence. The kind of presence that made the air feel heavier.
Meira's grip on my hand tightened.
Then she dropped it.
And bowed.
Deep. Immediate. Her head nearly touched her chest.
"Lady Kira," Meira said, voice respectful. Careful.
Lady Kira?
I stood there, frozen, staring at the woman who was now turning toward us.
Meira's hand shot out, grabbing the edge of my gown and pulling down.
Bow. I need to bow.
But I was too slow. Too confused.
My knees bent awkwardly, my head dipping forward, but it was too late.
Lady Kira's eyes—cold, sharp, calculating—locked onto me.
She went still.
Then her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Rise."
The word cracked through the air like a whip.
I straightened slowly, heart hammering. Meira stayed bowed beside me, perfectly still.
Lady Kira moved closer. Her heels clicked against stone—deliberate, predatory. She stopped directly in front of me, so close I could smell her perfume. Something dark and heady. Expensive.
"Look at me."
I lifted my eyes.
She was beautiful. Devastatingly so. High cheekbones, full lips painted deep red, eyes like polished amber that seemed to see straight through me.
But there was nothing soft in that beauty. Nothing kind.
"You." Her gaze raked over me—slow, assessing. Contemptuous. "You're the little thing everyone's been whispering about."
Thing.
The word settled like ice in my chest.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
"And you don't know how to bow to your betters?" Her voice dropped, dangerous. Silky. "How dare you."
"My Lady, please—" Meira started.
"Silence."
Meira's mouth snapped shut.
Lady Kira's hand moved so fast I didn't see it coming.
The slap cracked across my cheek with enough force to snap my head to the side.
Pain exploded through my face. White-hot. Blinding.
I stumbled, catching myself against the wall, hand pressed to my burning cheek.
"How dare you stand in my presence without showing proper respect?" Lady Kira's voice rose, sharp and cutting. "Do you know who I am, girl?"
I shook my head, tears blurring my vision. My cheek throbbed, the skin already swelling.
"I am Lady Kira Ashenheart. Consort to His Majesty. The most powerful Lycan in this castle aside from the King himself." She leaned in closer, voice dropping to a hiss. "And you—you pathetic, wolfless creature—you will bow when you see me. You will avert your eyes. You will remember your place."
Consort.
The word echoed in my head.
His mistress. The one Meira mentioned.
"My Lady," Meira tried again, voice trembling slightly. "She's new. She didn't know—"
"I don't care what she knew." Lady Kira didn't even glance at Meira. Her eyes stayed locked on me, cold and merciless. "Ignorance is not an excuse. She should have followed your lead. Should have recognized authority when she saw it."
"I-I'm sorry," I whispered, the words scraping out of my raw throat. "I didn't—I wasn't—"
"Sorry?" Lady Kira laughed. The sound was sharp. Cruel. "You're sorry?"
She circled me slowly, like a predator sizing up wounded prey.
"Let me make something very clear." Her voice was silk over steel. "I don't know what you did to survive the King's... appetites. I don't know what trick you pulled or what magic you used." She stopped directly in front of me, so close I could feel her breath. "But don't think for one second that it makes you special."
My hands trembled against my sides.
"You're nothing," she continued, each word precise. Deliberate. "A temporary curiosity. A fragile little thing that will break the moment he tires of you." Her lips curved. "And he will tire of you."
Tears burned hot trails down my cheeks. I couldn't stop them.
"Look at you." Lady Kira's tone shifted—almost pitying now, which was somehow worse. "Already crying. Pathetic."
She stepped back, smoothing her gown with practiced elegance.
"Remember your place, girl. The next time you see me, you bow. Immediately. Or I'll do far worse than slap you." Her amber eyes glittered. "Do you understand?"
I nodded frantically, not trusting my voice.
"I didn't hear you."
"Y-yes." The word came out choked. "Yes, my Lady."
"Better."
She turned on her heel, gown swishing, and walked away without another word. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor until they faded into silence.
I stood there, shaking, hand still pressed to my burning cheek.
Meira straightened slowly, her face pale.
"Tessa—"
"I'm fine." The lie came automatically.
"She shouldn't have—"
"It doesn't matter." My voice sounded hollow. Distant. Like it belonged to someone else.
It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
Meira reached for me, but I pulled away.
"We need to go," I said quietly. "He's waiting."
She hesitated. Then nodded.
"Yes. He is."
We started walking again.
Each step toward the throne room felt heavier than the last.
My cheek burned. The pain radiated down my jaw, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I tried to focus on other things—the torch flames, the stone beneath my feet, the sound of Meira's steady breathing beside me.
Anything but the sting.
Anything but Lady Kira's words echoing in my head.
You're nothing.
He will tire of you.
My fingers curled into the fabric of my gown, knuckles white.
Don't think about it. Just don't.
But the pain was a constant reminder. Every throb, every pulse of heat—proof that I was exactly what she'd said.
Nothing.
The massive doors of the throne room loomed ahead. Dark wood reinforced with iron, carved with symbols I didn't recognize. Two guards stood on either side, faces hidden beneath helmets.
They didn't look at us as we approached.
One reached for the handle.
The door swung open with a groan that seemed to echo through my bones.
This is it.
My legs nearly gave out.
Meira's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "Courage, child," she whispered.
Courage.
I didn't have any left.
But I walked forward anyway.
The throne room swallowed us whole.
Vast. Impossibly vast. The ceiling disappeared into shadow, so high I couldn't see where it ended. Torches lined the walls, their flames casting long, dancing shadows across the stone floor.
And at the far end, raised on a dais of black stone—
Him.
Dmitri sat on his throne like he'd been carved from the same dark rock. Massive. Imposing. Every inch of him radiated power that made the air feel thick and heavy.
My breath caught.
He's here. He's real. This is happening.
A man stood beside the throne—tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and sharp features. He wore armor marked with the same insignia as the guards outside. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes were alert. Watchful.
The Beta. The one who brought me here.
"My Lord." Meira's voice rang out clear and steady. She released my hand and dropped into a deep bow.
I copied her movement, head lowered, knees trembling.
Silence.
Heavy. Oppressive.
I could feel his eyes on me. Could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.
Don't look up. Don't move.
"Meira." His voice cut through the silence—deep, commanding, utterly controlled. "Report."
"Yes, my Lord." Meira straightened, though she kept her eyes respectfully lowered. "The girl has recovered fully. All injuries have healed. She is mobile, functional, and no longer requires medical supervision."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"Good." The single word carried layers I couldn't decipher. "You may go."
"My Lord—"
"Go."
Meira flinched. She cast one quick glance at me—worry flickering in her gray eyes—before bowing again and retreating.
Her footsteps echoed across the stone.
Then the door closed.
And I was alone.
With him.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might break through.
Breathe. Just breathe.
"Thea."
The name—not mine, never mine—felt like a brand.
"Come forward."
No.
But my feet moved anyway. One step. Then another. Slow. Trembling.
The distance between us seemed endless. Each step felt like walking toward an execution.
Closer.
Closer.
Until I stood at the base of the dais, head still bowed, hands clasped so tightly my nails bit into my palms.
Silence stretched.
I could hear my own breathing—too fast, too shallow.
What does he want? Why did he summon me?
"Look at me."
The command was quiet. Almost gentle.
But there was steel beneath it.
I forced my chin up. Slowly. So slowly.
And met his eyes.
Dark. Fathomless. Unreadable.
He stared at me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Like he was seeing through me. Past the dyed hair and colored contacts. Past the lies and fear. Straight to whatever pathetic truth lay underneath.
I couldn't look away.
Move. Say something. Do something.
But I was frozen.
His jaw tightened. Something flickered across his face—too fast to catch.
Then his eyes narrowed.
Focused.
On my cheek.
The air shifted.
A low growl rumbled from his chest—deep, primal, setting off every instinct that screamed danger.
I took an involuntary step back.
His hands gripped the armrests of his throne, knuckles white. The wood groaned under the pressure.
"Who." The word came out rough. Barely controlled. "Who slapped you?"
My breath hitched.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed. The mark must be visible—red and swollen, probably already bruising.
"I..." My voice failed. I tried again. "I-it's nothing, Your Majesty. I—"
"Who?"
The roar echoed through the throne room.
I flinched so hard I nearly lost my balance.
His beta shifted slightly. His eyes darted between Dmitri and me, assessing.
Dmitri's eyes had darkened. Not just dark—black. Completely black, like ink spilled across glass.
And they were locked on the mark on my face.
"Answer me." His voice dropped lower. Dangerous. "Who touched you?"
My mouth opened. Closed.
What do I say?
If I told him it was Lady Kira—his consort, the woman he'd been with for goddess knows how long—
What would he do?
Would he punish her? Would he punish me for causing trouble?
"I..." Tears burned behind my eyes. "Please, Your Majesty. It was an accident. I—I wasn't paying attention and—"
"Lie."
The word cracked like a whip.
I shrank back, trembling violently now.
He rose from his throne.
The movement was slow. Deliberate. Predatory.
And suddenly the entire room felt too small.
He descended the steps of the dais, each footfall echoing like thunder. His eyes never left my face.
Closer.
Until he stood directly in front of me.
Towering. Overwhelming.
I couldn't breathe.
He reached out—slowly, giving me time to see it coming—and his fingers touched my chin.
Gentle. So gentle it made my chest ache.
He tilted my face to the side, exposing the full extent of the mark.
His jaw clenched.
The growl that tore from his throat wasn't human.
"I will ask you one more time." His voice was barely more than a whisper. But it carried more threat than any shout. "Who. Slapped. You."
A tear slipped down my cheek.
I can't. I can't tell him.
"Please," I whispered. "Please, don't—"
"Her name."
His thumb brushed across the swollen skin—so carefully, like I was made of glass—and I broke.
"Lady Kira." The words tumbled out in a rush. "It was Lady Kira. I-I didn't bow fast enough. I didn't know who she was. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—"
His hand dropped.
The air went cold.
I looked up at his face and immediately wished I hadn't.