The Lion's Den
Hazel POV
Royal courts always smelled the same.
Polished stone. Old blood. Incense layered thick enough to choke truth out of the air.
This one was no different.
Gold-veined marble stretched beneath our feet as we crossed the threshold, light spilling down from vaulted ceilings carved with the victories of men who had never earned them. Kings slaying beasts. Councils raising banners. Wolves kneeling.
Every lie immortalized in stone.
I kept my expression neutral. Submissive. Just another noble-born survivor returning to the fold.
Inside, Flora stirred.
Not loud.
Not sharp.
But present.
It stopped me half a step into the hall.
"—Easy," she murmured, her voice brushing my spine like velvet over steel. "Too much attention gets us killed."
My breath stayed steady.
"You're back," I said silently, careful not to let it bleed through my face. Careful not to start crying.
"—I never left."
That wasn't comfort.
It was a warning.
"I'm so glad you're alright. Really. I don't know what id have done if you disappeared completely like Helene."
"Don't mention her, she tried to tell you. You said she should wait, she was and probably forgot, but as impulsive as you always are, you just let her go, let's just focus on the mission for today please."
Lucien walked to my left, posture relaxed, eyes scanning reflections instead of faces. Caleb was on my right—measured, controlled, every inch the loyal Alpha they expected to see. The bond between us remained tight and restrained, a closed door we both pretended not to touch.
Good.
This wasn't the place for fractures.
A herald's voice rang out, echoing down the hall. "Hazel Alice Thornblood the traitor. Alpha Caleb Benjamin Blackmoor. Lucien beta to Blackmoor pack."
Heads turned.
Eyes sharpened.
Power shifted.
The Royal Court sat in a semicircle at the far end of the chamber—seven thrones raised on a dais, each occupied by a ruler whose hands were stained with centuries of sanctioned violence. Wolves in white and gold. Lions carved into armrests. Banners heavy with false sanctity.
The Lion King sat at the center.
Aurelian Foster.
The architect.
Flora coiled tighter.
"There," she said. The one who signed the second decree."
My pulse didn't change.
I inclined my head.
"Your Majesties," I said evenly.
Aurelian leaned forward, interest glinting sharp and assessing. "Thornblood," he said. "We heard you'd gone… feral. You have courage showing up here. A lot of it."
A ripple of soft laughter followed.
Caleb smiled before I could react—charming, controlled. "Grief does strange things," he said smoothly. "But loyalty endures. Shes innocent majesties."
"We have proof," Lucien saidbowed just enough to sell it. "Here," He said moving over to where they were and showing them everything. All the records and all.
I followed suit.
Flora bristled.
"Careful. Don't let them too close to you. They know you're alive amd innocent not the red wolf."
"I'm honored to stand before the Court again," I said. "Alive and free"
That earned me silence.
Good.
Aurelian's gaze lingered. "You've been quiet since the… incident."
"The massacre," I corrected softly.
A beat.
Then the King smiled. "History prefers gentler words."
Flora surged—hot, restrained fury pressing against my ribs.
"Say nothing. Let's just listen."
The Court began its performance.
Platitudes about unity. Regret without accountability. Promises of reform that tasted like rot. Each word carefully chosen to provoke gratitude instead of suspicion.
Lucien played his part flawlessly—nodding at the right moments, offering neutral agreement that revealed nothing. Caleb spoke when needed, reinforcing the illusion of reconciliation.
I watched.
I listened.
Flora counted.
"Four of them were present that night, she murmured. Two voted by proxy. One abstained publicly but approved privately."
My fingers curled slowly at my side.
Aurelian rose.
"Tonight," he announced, "we celebrate survival. Renewal. The strength of our alliances."
Servants moved forward, carrying goblets of dark wine.
Flora went still.
"Don't drink."
I accepted the cup anyway.
Lifted it.
Held it.
"Did not sip."
Caleb mirrored me. Lucien didn't bother pretending.
Aurelian raised his goblet. "To the future."
"To truth," I replied quietly.
Somewhere between us, something shifted.
Flora leaned forward inside me—not to attack, not to dominate—but to seed.
"Now."
I felt it then—subtle, elegant. Our power threaded through mine, slipping into the room like breath. Not overwhelming. Not hostile.
Influence.
The torches flickered.
Whispers carried further than they should.
Eyes drifted. Attention fractured.
Seeds planted.
"They'll doubt each other by morning," Flora said. Small inconsistencies. "Delayed reactions. Fractured trust."
"That's it?" I asked.
"That's enough, for today."
Aurelian's gaze snapped to me again, unease flickering briefly across his expression.
"You seem distracted, Thornblood."
I met his eyes.
"No," I said calmly. "Just… observant."
The Court laughed uneasily.
We were dismissed shortly after.
As we turned to leave, Flora tightened—not in fear, but in resolve.
"This place remembers blood," she said. "It will drink again."
Outside, night air hit my lungs like freedom.
Lucien exhaled slowly. "They bought it."
"For now," Caleb said.
I said nothing.
Because Flora was no longer silent.
Because the lion had noticed the mouse in his den.
And because the first crack in the Court's foundation had already formed.
This wasn't an assault.
It was a collapse.
And when it came—
They wouldn't see it until the ceiling caved in on their crowns.