A cold hush swept over the room has Nicklaus walked in.
He didn't walk—he commanded the space with each slow, measured step, his long coat trailing behind him like a shadow of death. His posture was regal yet dangerous, the kind of quiet that made wolves lower their gaze without realizing why. The flickering candlelight highlighted the sharp planes of his face, the faint scar slashing from his brow to his right eyelid—where his cold blue eye stared with no hint of warmth. His left eye remained shut, untouched and unreadable.
He said nothing as he entered. He didn't need to.
Behind him, Victor Drayven followed with a crooked smile, sauntering in with hands in his pockets, far less tense than his older brother. His gaze immediately swept to the table—landing on Kelly like a snake finding its prey.
Nicklaus didn't bother with pleasantries. He moved to the head of the table and lowered himself into the grand chair in silence. Victor dropped into the seat beside him without asking.
Historia stood as he entered. So did Kelly, her shoulders square though the tension in her jaw betrayed her discomfort.
She waited for the king to speak.
He didn't.
A long moment passed, thick as fog.
Finally, Historia broke the silence.
"I meant what I said earlier," she said, her voice steady despite the weight of the room. "I'm not here to beg. I'm here to offer a deal—a bond that could shift the tides of war."
Nicklaus said nothing. His lone blue eye remained fixed on her.
"I know what my people mean to me," she continued. "And I know what power means to you. We both gain something from this. You help us—we join forces. Permanently."
Victor scoffed. "You talk about power like it's some… household trade item."
Kelly's eyes narrowed. "You talk like your brother can't decide for himself."
Victor leaned forward, propping his chin on his palm. "He doesn't waste words on nonsense. That's my job."
"Then you should be out of breath by now," Kelly muttered, her voice dry.
Victor's smirk widened. "Keep talking, wolf girl. I like it when you growl."
Nicklaus's eye shifted briefly to Victor, a silent command.
Victor held up his hands. "Alright, alright. I'll behave."
Nicklaus turned his focus back to Historia, saying nothing. His silence wasn't passive—it was a slow pressure, like a mountain daring her to collapse beneath it.
But she didn't.
"Eighty days," she pressed, her voice firmer now. "That's the deal. If I can make you fall in love with me by then, you help my people. You marry me. We unite. If I fail..."
"You become ours," Victor said, cutting in with a grin.
But Nicklaus finally moved—just slightly. His finger tapped the table once.
Victor's grin faded.
Just then, the heavy double doors opened again, and a pair of servants wheeled in silver trays and tall crystal decanters.
Dinner was served.
The rich aroma hit Historia like a punch to the senses—warm, smoky, mouthwatering. It was nothing like the meat they hunted and cooked back home. This was layered with scents they couldn't even name—herbs and spices that curled around the roasted flesh like a spell.
Kelly sat up straighter, nose twitching slightly as the scent flooded the room. Her gaze dropped to the approaching trays, and for a moment, the tension in her posture eased.
Two steaming plates were placed before them—each bearing a thick, seared steak glistening with its own juices. The meat was perfectly browned, its edges crisped with just the right char, releasing the kind of fragrance that made resistance impossible.
Then came the drinks.
The vampires were served deep crimson goblets filled with thick, slow-moving blood. But for Historia and Kelly, the drink was a pale golden shade—cool and refreshing, with a sharp, clean scent of fruit and crushed mint leaves.
Historia and Kelly glanced at each other, both wide-eyed.
They'd eaten meat all their lives—grilled, roasted, even raw when in wolf form—but they had never smelled something so intensely alluring. Their stomachs answered the question for them, growling softly in sync.
Kelly hesitated, brows lifting. "Is it bad if I say I'd trade a whole pack feast for this right now?"
Historia gave a small chuckle and shook her head. "We deserve this much."
And with that, they surrendered.
Knives and forks in hand, they began to eat. The first bite melted on the tongue—tender, flavorful, utterly addictive. The seasoning was perfect, the temperature just right.
Kelly barely made it halfway through chewing before whispering, "Holy moon goddess…"
Historia couldn't answer—her mouth was full, her soul momentarily occupied.
From the other end of the table, Victor leaned forward slightly, smirking. "Well, well. It seems the wolves have been starving."
"Maybe we have," Kelly shot back without even looking up. "But at least we've got taste."
Victor chuckled, swirling the blood in his goblet. "And attitude."
"She came with it," Historia muttered under her breath, dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin. Her eyes flicked toward Nicklaus, who hadn't touched his food yet—just sat there, fingers steepled under his chin, watching.
Quiet. Still. Like a judge behind an invisible wall.
Historia met his gaze briefly.
He hadn't said a word since entering the room. Still hadn't.
But she didn't need him to speak to feel the weight of his presence. It pressed down on her shoulders like a silent command—like he could see straight through her with just that single cold blue eye.
And yet, she didn't flinch.
She kept eating.
Let him look.
She was here now.
And she wasn't leaving.
Historia met his gaze.
That cold, piercing blue eye burned into her, calm yet commanding. His expression didn't change—no twitch of irritation, no hint of amusement. Just stillness. The kind that made her bones ache to move, to speak, to do anything but remain frozen under that gaze.
Nicklaus Drayven finished his food with the same elegance he carried in everything he did. Every movement—slow, sharp, deliberate. He wiped his mouth with a cloth, placed it down, and leaned back, unhurried. Beside him sat Jeremiah, relaxed with a faint smirk, and Victor, who looked increasingly annoyed, as though the very sight of Historia drained his patience.
Even so, silence reigned until the two girls had also finished eating. Kelly looked between the royals nervously, but Historia stayed still—focused on Nicklaus, waiting.
He finally shifted his gaze away from her and said calmly, "Levi."
The tall doors opened once more.
A man entered.
And not just any man—him. Tall, devastatingly handsome, with hair like dark silk tied at the nape of his neck and sharp grey eyes that swept across the room like a blade. He wore all black, his coat trimmed in silver, a long sword sheathed across his back. He bowed respectfully to everyone, then raised his head, gaze steady.
Historia blinked.
The air shifted around him. Confidence, danger, and control coiled around Levi like a second skin.
Nicklaus turned to Historia, his voice low but heavy with command. "He will leave tomorrow with his most trusted men—seven of them. They will deal with Dimitri and free your pack."
Kelly made a small sound—somewhere between disbelief and awe.
Historia's jaw parted slightly, brows furrowed. "Eight men? That's… that's all?"
Victor scoffed beside Nicklaus but said nothing.
Before Nicklaus could respond, Jeremiah leaned forward, propping an elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand, eyes gleaming with mirth. "Don't underestimate them, little wolf," he said smoothly. "Especially Levi. He's not just a soldier—he's the king's sword."
Levi offered them a smile then. A faint one, but real. "We don't need numbers," he said simply. "Only purpose."
His gaze met Historia's for a fleeting second before he bowed once again. "We will leave now, Your Highness."
Nicklaus gave the slightest nod.
Levi turned, long coat brushing the floor as he strode out the way he came—silent, efficient, deadly.
Kelly exhaled slowly, barely able to believe what she'd just heard. Historia sat back down, stunned.
Eight men.
Eight men to stand against an entire pack.
She wasn't sure if Nicklaus was mocking her—or proving something.
But one thing was certain.
This king—this man she'd just made a deal with—wasn't ordinary.
He was terrifying.
And now… he had made his move.