The journey from the secret council chamber to the Heir's suite was the most humiliating walk of my life.
I was bound to three Alphas, each step governed by their competing claims.
Crown had my left wrist, his fingers digging into the flesh near the psychic bruise, his entire body radiating arrogant ownership.
Rhys held my right arm, his presence a heavy, suffocating cage of duty and demand.
Kain walked behind me, his shadow clinging to my back, a silent promise of future violation.
The Heir's suite—once my sole sanctuary—was transformed.
The King's guards had cleared out everything: the soft reading chaise, the delicate vanity table, and most damningly, the small, intimate twin bed.
In its place stood a single, massive, four-poster bed draped in crimson and obsidian silk, large enough for four.
"Containment," Crown announced, throwing me into the center of the vast chamber. His voice was a cruel, dominant purr.
"The King requires proximity. The bond demands control."
I spun around, meeting his gaze with defiance. "This is a decree of servitude, not containment."
Rhys stepped in, his expression rigid.
"Call it what you will. The alternative was a freezing exile. Here, your Moonfire remains stable. And you will not leave this room without one of us."
I looked at the bed, then back at the three Alpha Princes, realizing the full, agonizing reality of the decree.
There was no escaping their scents, their power, or their competing desires.
Every moment of my life would now be a performance of submission for them.
Kain moved, his dark silk robe swishing against the marble floor.
He didn't approach me; instead, he walked straight to the wardrobe and methodically began emptying my private drawers.
He didn't look at what he was taking; he just tossed my personal belongings—simple human lace and silk—into a massive velvet satchel.
"What are you doing?" I gasped.
"Removing temptations," Kain said, his red eyes briefly meeting mine.
"You will wear only the clothing provided by the Crown. Simple, heavy silks. Nothing that distracts from your primary function as the Heir." He was stripping me of my autonomy, item by item.
Crown watched, leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed.
"Excellent initiative, brother. Let's establish the rules of engagement."
He pushed off the door, approaching me with the predatory confidence of a wolf stalking prey in its cage.
"Rule number one: You have no private space. No corner of this room is yours. Everything, including your thoughts, is accessible to us."
Rhys moved to the opposite side of the room, examining the heavy, silver-worked locks on the door.
"Rule number two: You will not speak unless spoken to, especially outside this chamber. You are the volatile Moonfire; we are your handlers."
Kain finished his task, throwing the satchel into the fireplace where it burst into flames.
"Rule number three: The bed is not a choice. It is a shared containment zone. Tonight, you will learn who dictates the boundaries."
The night that followed was a masterclass in psychological torture and the suffocating pressure of absolute, shared dominance.
As darkness fell, the Alphas went through their nightly routines, utterly indifferent to my presence.
They spoke of Pack politics, border patrols, and military strategy—treating me as a piece of necessary furniture in the room.
They stripped down to only simple training pants, showcasing their intimidating physiques and filling the air with their overwhelming, intoxicating male scents.
When it was time to sleep, they performed a silent, horrifying ritual of territorial claim.
Crown took the side closest to the windows, arranging the pillows with meticulous care. He glanced at me and gave a dismissive smirk.
You wait.
Rhys took the middle section. He was the anchor, the one who would feel the bond's stability most intensely.
He removed his outer shirt, his scarred, muscular back to me, the very image of powerful, silent command.
Kain took the opposite side, the wall side, the deepest, darkest corner of the bed. He didn't look at me, but his presence was a constant, cold promise.
He was the watcher, the one who would breach the psychic barrier again.
I was left with the remaining space—the cold, exposed edge of the massive mattress, directly beneath the watchful eyes of the entire room.
I climbed into the bed, sinking into the silk sheets, trembling. I was surrounded, pinned down by the sheer collective weight of their Alpha energy.
The air was so charged with their power that my breath hitched with every inhale.
Just as I settled, Crown reached out a single, possessive hand and clamped down on my ankle. His grip was firm, a reminder of his physical claim.
"The rules change now," he whispered, his voice dangerously low.
"We share the room, but the Heir sleeps where she is most needed."
He yanked my ankle hard. I gasped and slid across the silk, ending up wedged against the solid, immovable body of Rhys.
Rhys didn't move, but his massive arm instantly came up, a cage of muscle and heat that prevented me from moving back toward the safety of the edge.
I was now caught between the brute force of Rhys and the psychological torment of Crown.
The center of the bed was the center of the conflict.
"You are contained now, little fire," Crown concluded, a satisfied, wicked smile on his lips.
"And every night, you will learn that there is no escape from your purpose."
The Moonfire flared in my chest, a desperate, contained heat, signaling its turbulent acceptance of this new, terrifying reality.
I was their prisoner, and the night had just begun.