ISKERA
This is not the Alpha King's estate.
Even though I haven't been anywhere outside the suffocating walls of my father's house—well, apart from that one night at the club—I know instinctively that this isn't it.
It isn't that the place looks bad; on the contrary, it's beautiful in a rugged, secluded way. But it lacks the gold-leafed arrogance of a High Alpha's seat, let alone the sovereign standard of the King.
This is something else entirely. A hideout, perhaps.
"Get down."
I jerk at the sound of his voice, turning to find Vane already stepping out of the car. I let out a weary sigh and follow suit.
My feet itch to be free of these tight, borrowed shoes as I take in my surroundings. The heavy iron gate groans shut behind us, the sound echoing off the very tall trees.
The estate meanwhile, as we came up here, is a world of its own, carved out of a dense forest where the trees stand like sentinels. There are no neighbors here; the only path is a dusty, winding trail that eventually bleeds into the main road leading toward the King's inner regions.
And at the center of the clearing sits this magnificent stone duplex.
It's built from rough-hewn grey rock and dark timber, looking as though it grew directly out of the earth. Thick ivy climbs the walls, competing with the vibrant explosion of carefully tended flowers—deep violet hydrangeas and blood-red roses—that line the perimeter.
The scent of damp earth and floral perfume hints at a hidden garden tucked away behind the structure.
In the graveled courtyard, another sleek car sits idle. On the wide stone porch, a small assembly of staff—numbering about five—stands in a perfect, silent line, waiting.
"Aren't you coming?"
I swallow hard, my throat feeling like it's lined with sand, and trudge forward. I walk a pace behind Vane, using his broad shoulders as a shield as we approach the porch.
"This is my guest. Her name is Iskera," Vane says when we get to the porch, his voice projecting a natural, terrifying authority. "She is to be treated exactly as I am."
He shifts aside, gesturing toward me.
For a heartbeat, I brace myself. I wait for the gasps of horror, the instinctive flinch, the looks of pure disdain I've lived with for eighteen years. But the staff remains blank-faced, their expressions as unreadable as the stone walls behind them.
Are they coached to be like their boss? Or are they simply too afraid to breathe?
"Any complaints from her, and you will have me to answer to. Am I clear?" Vane's voice is steel, leaving no room for negotiation.
I pinch the skin of my arm, the sharp sting confirming my reality. I'm not in the attic dreaming. I am standing in the presence of royalty, being presented as an equal. A chorus of "Yes, my Prince" ripples through the staff.
But Vane doesn't look satisfied.
Before I can even blink, his hand dashes out, catching my chin and tilting my face up before grabbing my ringed hand and hoisting it for all to see.
Finally, the masks slip. I see it: shock, awe, and a flicker of pure disbelief. So, they know what the ring means.
"Certain events will be triggered by my bride's stay here," Vane continues, his thumb grazing my knuckles. "But whatever happens, remember my instructions. Am I clear?"
The echoes ring back, more respectful this time. He lets my hand go and turns to me, his silver eyes searching mine. "Come to me if you have any complaints. Do you have a phone?"
I frown. "In case you didn't notice, I came here with nothing but the rags on my back."
I hear a faint gasp from one of the maids. I realize instantly I shouldn't speak to him with such edge in front of subordinates, but Nox purrs in the back of my mind, liking the fire.
If I keep mute like a frightened dog, how will they ever believe I'm his bride? I have to inhabit the position, even if I'm faking it.
Vane's eyes harden as he stares at me, but he doesn't snap back. He simply nods and turns to a woman who appears to be the head house-matron. She looks to be in her mid-forties, wearing a sharp black dress with white puffed sleeves and a silver badge pinned to her chest.
"Grace, make sure she has everything. Clothes, accessories, everything. On my return, all of it should be ready. She will be attending the ball with me tomorrow night."
My mouth drops open. On his return? He is leaving me here alone?
And a ball???
That wasn't in the plan!
The thought of a public appearance makes me want to sink into the floor.
"Vane—"
"You have to rest, my love," he interrupts, his fingers lingering on my chin for a second too long. "I will be back soon. I need to speak with my father."
I nod, trapped by the "my love" and the audience watching us. I watch fearfully as he turns and descends the stairs, walking back toward the car that brought us.
He stops, looking at me one last time as the driver opens the door. I'm tempted to scream for him to stay, to plead with him not to leave me with strangers, but I fist my hands into the fabric of my dress and stay silent.
I watch the car drive away until the dust settles, and I've never felt more abandoned.
"Hello, Princess?"
I shudder, licking my lower lip. I expect the worst—mockery, or perhaps a lecture on my "curse." I don't turn around immediately.
"You are the daughter of Alpha Liamq, right? The one kept in the attic?"
The attic. My true identity. It still stung, despite Vane keeping his promise.
I turn to face the head matron. "Yes."
Grace has warm brown eyes that widen a fraction as I speak. The others look on, afraid maybe, but there is no hatred.
Grace lets out a soft breath. "Wow…"
I frown again. "What is 'wow' about me?"
"I thought people who touched you got cursed or died instantly," she says, her voice remarkably calm. "But it seems that's not true. The Prince… he touched you so easily."
I shut my eyes for a nanosecond, finally understanding Vane's parting gesture. He hadn't just been being "showy."
He had touched my face and held my hand to prove to his staff that I wouldn't kill them. He had destabilized the rumors before they could even start.
"Rumors," I say, my voice steadying. "Most are false."
They look at me with a lingering sense of caution, but then Grace does the unthinkable.
She stretches out her hand, ungloved, toward me.
"I'm Grace."
I stare at her hand. It's shaking, just a tiny bit.
My own hand is trembling as I reach out and clasp hers in a firm shake. The skin-to-skin contact feels like a jolt of electricity.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Grace. I am Iskera."
She is the only brave one though; the rest of the staff keep their heads down, scuffling away to their duties at her next command.
Grace smiles at me, and gestures toward the open door. "Welcome, Iskera. I hope you find your stay here pleasing."
Me too, Grace.
Me too.