Yeren stood at the balcony above, watching the arrival of guests with a glass of wine in his hand.
Lady Sandor and her drunk of a husband waved at him. Her smile never quite reached her eyes.
He just nodded, deciding to humor her. The harpist struck a soothing melody, enveloping the room in a swirl of music as potent as the strongest of winds.
He took a bold sip from his cup and continued perusing the entrance.
Shrill laughter cut through the veil of vain chatter and whispers.
His gaze flicked to that direction. Three women with excessively powered faces and impeccably cut dresses were deep in discussion.
Yeren resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The night was proving to be a very dull affair.
He decided to go down so the dancing would commence, but a stirring at the entrance stopped him.
Whispers carried through the room.
He rubbed away a tingle at the back of his neck.
Lord Straught, the step-brother of the late Lord Stenly entered the hall.
He was dressed extravagantly. People shook hands with him, congratulating him for some achievement oblivious to Yeren.
But, he didn't need to be told.
The prize walked in wearing a shimmering silver dress. When it caught the light of the chandelier, it looked like she was wearing tiny diamonds.
His jaw hardened. On her arm was the young Lord Straught.
She was getting married?
He searched her face - she was wearing a smile.
Lord Straught took her from his son in a graceful movement.
Yeren's grip on the balustrade tightened.
She wore her hair down, adorning it with pins and jewels.
Her chin jutted out slightly, her eyes wary.
He rubbed the back of his neck again.
Then, she looked up as if pulled by some strange force.
She didn't glare, neither did she look away.
Her betrothed leaned forward to speak to his father, probably to reclaim his bride.
The older man released her, albeit reluctantly.
His gaze lingered at her waist as he watched her walk away on his son's arm.
Lady Stenly - his so-called fated mate.
Andon, his first man came up to him.
"I have news on the girl as you asked."
Yeren spared him a brief glance. "This is not the best place, but carry on. I need only a summary for now, the rest will come later."
A curt nod followed his instructions.
"She is the first born daughter of Lord Harrick Stenly, the great black wolf of Loodswood. She is wolfless. She lost her father two years ago and has been living in the only mansion left to them by the crown."
Yeren winced. "And?"
"There was a terrible fire a few months after her father's passing. She lost half of the keep to the flames, causing all her servants to abandon her."
He stroked his jaw.
"Any love interests?"
"There are rumours that say she is in love with her late father's steward."
He grinded his jaw. "Does this steward have a name?"
Andon nodded.
"Zachary Fletcher."
It all made sense now - why she blamed him for her misfortune.
He turned back to her.
"What of her birth name?"
Andon stared up at the ceiling.
"Your source didn't tell you that?"
The poor man shook his head. "No one really cares to know. They all call her the 'wolfless girl' behind her back. If you want to know, might I suggest that you ask her."
Yeren balled his hands into fists.
"That will be all." He said, his voice curt.
Andon sketched a graceful bow and left.
He clutched the balustrade until his knuckles became white.
The poor girl didn't deserve any of what befell her - yet her shoulders were carried higher than that of anyone in the room.
People congratulated her with polite smiles and warm embraces but turned to their kind and sneered at her.
Why would Lord Straught risk marrying a disgraced girl to his only son?
There had to be a reason.
No sane man would tie his reputation down by a marriage that offered neither wealth nor good name. And the last Yeren heard, Lord Straught hated his brother.
His stomach flipped over.
Something was terribly amiss - but it was not the business of the King to call people's private affairs to order.
A servant moved towards the girl with a tray of buttered scones and wine. Just as she was about to retrieve a glass, Lady Hanswick's daughter snatched it off the tray.
Miss stenly's hands fell back to her side. He saw that she averted her eyes - not out of respect, but to hide the deadly glare burning there.
Everyone was smiling or laughing at some joke except her. Even her boy-betrothed seemed overwhelmed by her - they barely spoke.
It was a sort of appearance for appearance sake.
And, he decided to liberate her for a few minutes.
The moment he reached the bottom of the stairs, strong perfume engulfed him.
All conversation stopped.
With a brisk flick of his hand, the harpists began a soft melody for the first dance.
All the beautiful maidens moved to the front of the crowd.
She didn't come forward - he realized.
He smoothed back his hair as he ran his eyes over the beautiful giggling girls around.
They all wanted to have the first dance with him, and he wanted none of them.
Forcing a smile, he picked the blonde lady with the bright green dress.
She was a beauty, her skin fair and smooth like porcelain.
Yeren guided her to the dance floor and the ball began. One by one, couples graced the floor, greeting him any time they were fortunate to come close.
There she was, dancing with her betrothed like she was born to waltz. Her posture was stiff, her lips thin, but her movements were as graceful as a cat's.
"What a talented dancer you are, Your Grace." The girl in his arms said.
He glanced down at her. She was grinning like an idiot, which irritated him beyond measure.
"My thanks. I must compliment your beauty, my lady."
She looked like she would swoon, her lashes fluttering furiously.
The tiresome dance finally ended. He had done his duty of beginning the dance, he didn't have to dance again if he didn't want to.
As he passed, he heard the sound of ripping fabric. Yeren spun around.
The music stopped. The dancing ceased.
Someone had stepped on Miss Stenly's dress, ripping it all the way up to her thigh.
His lips tightened.
Couldn't they behave themselves for one night?
"My apologies." Lord Graden kept saying, trying to rearrange the tatters.
Her uncle swatted the Lord's hand away and draped his cloak over her. Yeren noticed that he pushed his son away.
Yeren climbed the steps and took a seat.
Her uncle guided her to a seat at the rear of the room and sat beside her. The older man laid a hand on her thigh, rubbing soothing circles.
"They're just jealous." Yeren heard him say.
He picked up a knife on the table and twisted it.
Instead of crying, Miss Stenly looked rather relieved.
Yeren felt he needed to help her however he could.
Murmurs and laughter spread through the crowd. The music for the second lap began.
He rose up and walked to the rear of the hall. Lord Straught stood immediately.
"Your Grace." He sketched a bow.
Yeren nodded in acknowledgement.
"Might I have your hand for this dance?" He asked her.
She lifted her head slowly, darting a glance at her uncle.
"She is yours, my lord." The older man quickly said, his jaw hardening slightly.
He offered her his hand. She took it, rising up.
He could feel the warmth of her hands through the fabric of both their gloves.
She sagged against him slightly, her breathing uneven.
"I trust you are enjoying your evening." Yeren said, sparing her a glance.
"It's wonderful, Your Grace."
He cleared his throat. "Last I saw you, you were insulting Kings at marketplaces. How did you end up as the betrothed of a twelve year old?"
Her shoulders stiffened. She almost stopped walking.
"It's none of your business, Your Grace."
"Oh, but it is."
"They're staring. Coming here was a mistake."
"Marrying him was a mistake. You could have been a queen by now if you were not so focused on the past. And, the very people that are sneering at you would have been forced to bow."
"At the cost of what? I won't marry a murderer for the sake of power and position."
He grinned. "Your mentality is rare. Most girls would marry me, then plot to kill me in my sleep."
She actually chuckled. "That's another way to get justice - but a dishonest way. I'd be leaving my children fatherless and in disgrace."
She shook her head.
He swirled her around.
"Do you like children?"
Her gaze narrowed. "Why do you ask, Your Grace?"
He shrugged, pulling her to himself for another twirl. People stared. Whispers died.
"If all children are like my sister, then I'd love all of them."
He averted his gaze. "Love like that makes people make wrong choices - which gets them killed at the end."
"As long as we keep them alive, what else matters?"
His gloved hand rested on her waist, guiding her forward.
"That's where you're wrong. People use them to get to you - so, they're the ones who die first."
Her gaze flew to his. "You must be talking from your vast experience at court, I presume. No one will care about the love a peasant girl has for her little sister. They may hate me for a reason I can't fathom, but they won't try to hurt me. My uncle will protect me."
Yeren searched the room for her uncle.
The man was at a table, drinking wine and following her with his hawk gaze.
"He seems very protective."
A shiver ran through her. He felt it.
"Aye, he is."
He leaned closer, such that his lips brushed her ear. "How protective is he?"
She turned towards the man in question. Her uncle smiled at her, raising his glass in salute.
A smirk curved Yeren's lips.
He didn't move away from her ear. She flushed, her neck bobbing as she gulped.
"You smell very good for a peasant girl."
"And you appear very charming for a murderer."
He laughed, a deep yet low sound.
"You are very bold to call a King a murderer, Miss Stenly. That's an act of treason by all the laws."
"Then, take me as a prisoner, Your Grace. I will always call a spade a spade."
"Be careful what you ask for."
"I don't ask for things."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Because, no one offers anything without wanting something in return. You took me from my uncle under the illusion that you are saving me. What do you want in return?"