Chapter 6 6

Valentino Dante DeLuca

I sat alone in front of the fireplace, the dying flames casting long shadows on the walls. The warmth didn't touch me. My skin burned with sweat, but inside - I was ice.

The door creaked.

Even before the scent hit the air, I knew who it was.

Cassian.

"My Lord," he said, stepping in carefully. "You've been here since morning. It's almost midnight."

I didn't look at him at first. Just stared into the flickering fire.

Then I raised my head, slowly, meeting his gaze with the same blank coldness I'd worn for years.

"Do you know why I learned black magic?"

He straightened, caught off guard. "No, my Lord. You never said."

I exhaled, sharp and quiet, and with a snap of my fingers, the fire vanished.

"I learned it because of my father."

Cassian said nothing, just stood still - listening, the way he always had.

"When I was a child, a seer whispered poison into his ear. She told him my mother used magic to make him love her. That her love wasn't real. That he had been cursed."

Cassian's jaw tightened slightly, but he still didn't speak.

"So my father-Alpha of Alphas, favored by the gods, the mighty Sovereign Lord-banished her," I continued. "Stripped her of her title. Called her a witch. He didn't even look back as they dragged her away. She died months later in a border cell. No trial. No voice. Just ashes."

Silence fell again. Cold. Sharp.

"I never forgot. And I will never forgive," I said.

Cassian took a careful step forward. "My Lord... you've always been strong. But this-if you go after him..."

I turned to him fully now. Voice low. Eyes hard.

"My father didn't conquer this country by playing fair. He's a Lycan Alpha. Chosen by gods."

"To take down a man like that," I continued, pouring myself a drink, "you must become either a god..."

I tossed back the glass.

"...or the devil himself."

Cassian gave a half-smile. "And we both know which path you've already chosen."

I smirked faintly. "I never had the patience for godhood."

---

The Next Morning

The sun had barely touched the horizon when I found myself at the dining table, seated across from her again.

Rosalyn.

Her presence was quiet. Not intrusive, not loud. But it filled the room.

The maid had poured her wine - red as blood - and she sipped it slowly, like a queen in exile.

Then she set the glass down with grace that annoyed me.

"My Lord..." she began, her voice soft but firm.

I growled inwardly.

Not even five minutes into breakfast.

Not now.

I didn't answer - just focused on slicing through my meat.

"I was wondering how your day is going?" she continued, drawing circles on her plate with her fork.

No one asked me that. Not my men. Not even Cassian. What a foolish question.

I looked up briefly, unimpressed. "You don't need to wonder. It's none of your concern."

She paused but didn't back down.

"I just thought since we're... married," she said, that word coming out like a taste she couldn't quite spit out, "a little conversation might not be too much."

I set my fork down, slowly. My gaze locked onto hers.

"Speak only when spoken to, Rosalyn."

There was a flicker - just a flicker - of something in her eyes. Not fear. Not exactly. More like... calculation.

She took another small sip of wine.

Then, carefully:

"May I leave the pack house?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Why?"

"I just want to walk," she replied, eyes lowered now, "get some air. Not beyond the walls. Just... the grounds."

"No."

She blinked. "But I-"

"I said no."

The silence stretched.

Rosalyn let her hands fall into her lap. Her shoulders were stiff. She didn't argue further, but she didn't look away either.

I leaned back in my chair.

"Every step you take outside this house will be watched. Every glance. Every breath. I don't trust your people, and I don't trust you."

"I understand, my Lord," she whispered.

She stood, poised and graceful, but I saw the way her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the hem of her dress.

"I'll return to my chambers."

She turned to leave.

Then paused.

Without facing me, she added in a quiet tone:

"It's strange how someone can lock you in a golden cage and still be afraid of your wings."

I stared at her back, silent.

A small, bitter laugh escaped my lips.

She was smarter than I gave her credit for.

And that made her even more dangerous.

Just as she turned to walk away, I caught her wrist.

In one smooth motion, I pulled her into my lap.

She gasped, the sound sharp, startled. My arm circled her waist, the other resting firmly against the small of her back.

Her breath hitched - not out of fear, but surprise.

I smirked darkly, my mouth inches from her ear.

"Did I tell you to leave?"

She stiffened.

"I remember saying this once - I am the law here," I whispered. "And yet... here you are. Trying to walk away from me."

I let my fingers drift up her spine, slow and controlled. She shivered.

"Besides," I continued, tone lighter now but no less commanding, "you've barely touched your food. I don't want the pack whispering that their Queen is withering away. That I'm starving my bride."

I picked up a piece of meat from my plate, sliced delicately. Then, holding it out to her lips, I said-

"Open up."

Her gaze met mine. Defiant. Daring. But she opened her mouth without a word and took the bite.

She chewed, elegant even in silence. Like royalty born.

I let out a breath, brushing her cheek with the back of my fingers, letting my hand trail until I held her jaw gently but firmly.

"I don't intend to cage you," I murmured. "But trust, Rosalyn... that's not something I hand out freely."

She smiled - slow, deliberate. Then, to my surprise, she lifted her hand and touched the back of my neck, fingers grazing my skin with an unsettling softness.

Her voice was calm. Almost sweet.

"Looking beyond our little performance..." She said, "We both hate each other."

I arched my brow, saying nothing.

She leaned in slightly, her lips close to my ear now - her breath like velvet.

"But trust?" she whispered. "Isn't trusting you the same as trusting the devil?"

She leaned back just enough to meet my eyes again. "Tell me, my Lord... how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

There was no fear in her tone. Only a dangerous kind of grace. A silent war behind a gentle smile.

I stared at her.

And for the first time, I wasn't sure which of us held the leash.

There was a knock - low, hesitant.

Before I could answer, the door creaked open.

Cassian stepped in and stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes flicked to Rosalyn seated on my lap, my hand still on her waist, a slice of meat between my fingers halfway to her mouth.

She looked just as composed - as if sitting on her husband's lap was her daily routine.

Cassian blinked.

"I... should I come back later?"

I didn't even glance at him. "No."

Rosalyn turned her head slightly, giving him a perfectly neutral look.

Cassian cleared his throat, then shifted his gaze back to me. "You've received a summons from Lumeria. The Sovereign Lord-your father-requests your immediate presence at the High Court."

I didn't move. I pressed the food gently to Rosalyn's lips.

"Open," I said softly.

She obeyed, biting down without breaking eye contact. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous.

Cassian shifted, clearly unsettled.

"He said it concerns the rogue insurgency that attempted to assassinate the Sovereign Mother," Cassian added. "Apparently, their origin traces back to NightMoon borders."

That got my attention.

I leaned back slightly, my expression hardening.

"Of course it does," I muttered.

My hand still rested on Rosalyn's waist.

Cassian hesitated. "Should I prepare the convoy, my Lord?"

I gave a nod. "You have one hour."

"And... should Lady Rosalyn accompany you to Lumeria?"

My gaze slid down to the woman still sitting obediently in my lap.

She looked untouched but unreadable. The mask she wore was too perfect.

I tilted her chin with two fingers.

"What do you say, wife?" I murmured. "Shall we visit the lions' den together?"