Chapter 4 The Prince's Game

The palace corridors were colder on the inside.

Rielle followed silently behind two elite guards, her head lowered, hands tucked in front of her, eyes locked on the polished obsidian floor. Her heartbeat roared in her ears, but she didn't dare falter.

Not when he was waiting.

Prince Darian had claimed her like she was nothing-like he already knew who she was and was just playing along for fun. Every instinct screamed at her to run.

But running would only confirm everything.

So she walked. Into the lion's den.

The guards opened the heavy doors to his private wing, revealing a chamber that felt like night and fire and danger. Black velvet curtains, golden candlelight, sharp silver weapons lining the walls like art. She stepped inside...

And he was already waiting.

Leaning lazily against the window, one arm crossed over his chest, the other holding a glass of dark crimson wine.

His eyes never left her.

"You took your time," he said, voice low and smooth.

"I came as ordered," she replied, carefully formal.

Darian tilted his head. "Such obedience. That's new for you."

Rielle blinked. "I don't know what you mean, Your Highness."

He chuckled.

Then he crossed the room in two slow, calculated steps and stood just behind her.

So close.

His heat poured against her back like fire. "You smell better tonight," he whispered. "Your scent... cleaner. Tighter. Almost flawless."

She didn't move.

"But it's still not real."

Rielle swallowed hard. "I was born in the lower eastern sector. Our kind smells... different."

"Mmh." His breath touched her neck. "Is that what we're calling lies now?"

She turned quickly. "Why pick me?"

His eyes glittered. "Because liars don't belong in the palace... unless they amuse me."

He stepped back finally, circling her slowly.

"You'll clean this chamber. Serve my meals. Be silent unless spoken to. But most importantly..." He stopped in front of her, lowering his gaze.

"You will stay where I can see you."

"Afraid I'll run?" she said before she could stop herself.

His eyes darkened. "No, little wolf. Afraid I won't catch you in time."

---

Later that night, Rielle lay in the servant quarters, unable to sleep. Her entire body was tense, heart pounding with every memory of his voice, his scent, his gaze.

He knew. He definitely knew.

But why hadn't he exposed her?

What game was he playing?

She rolled over, staring at the ceiling.

Was it punishment?

Amusement?

Or... something else?

Somewhere deep inside, a traitorous voice whispered:

What if he's drawn to you too?

---

Meanwhile, in his chamber, Darian stood shirtless at the balcony once more, staring into the distance.

He could smell her through the layers of potion and perfume. Faint... but still there.

His claws itched.

Her lies didn't bother him.

What bothered him was how badly he wanted her to lie again-just so he could hear her voice tremble.

He didn't want the truth yet.

He wanted her to break it. Slowly.

"She has no idea what she's playing with..." he murmured.

Just then, his door opened without a knock.

His younger cousin-Liora, head of the Royal Watch-stepped inside.

"She's not what she says she is," Liora said coldly, dropping a sealed scroll onto the table.

Darian raised a brow. "Who?"

"The maid. The red-haired one. The background on her name is forged. We checked the registry. She doesn't exist."

Rielle.

His expression didn't change.

Liora narrowed her eyes. "Shall I alert the council?"

Darian stepped forward slowly.

"No," he said.

"But she's-"

"She's mine." His voice was like thunder wrapped in silk. "And I will deal with her."