Chapter Two — Wolves in Silk
The hall was too long.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that wasn't an absence of sound, but a holding of it — like the air itself was waiting to see if she would trip.
Serenya matched Kael's stride, hating herself for it. She wanted to drag her feet, to break the precision of their steps, but every time she thought about slowing, she imagined his head turning just slightly… and the humiliation of whatever he might say in front of the guards.
The men flanking them wore black armor trimmed with a faint sheen of red, the metal polished enough to catch the lamplight in thin, sharp lines. They didn't look at her. Not directly. But she could feel them looking.
At the far end, a pair of doors as tall as the ceiling swung open. No one touched them. They simply moved, letting the light spill out in a golden flood.
The room beyond made her stomach tighten.
The vaulted ceiling soared overhead, painted with a storm scene so vivid she half-expected to hear thunder. Thick columns marched down the sides like pale sentinels, and between them stood clusters of people in clothes that looked like they could buy whole streets — deep jewel silks, gold thread, embroidery that glittered when they shifted.
Every head turned.
It was like walking into the moment after a dropped glass hits the floor — that stretched, sharp stillness before the pieces settle.
Kael didn't slow. His hand brushed her back, the barest contact, but enough to guide her toward the center of the room. Not enough to claim her. Not enough to reassure her. Just enough to remind her she was here because he put her here.
"Smile," he murmured without looking at her.
She kept her face still. Not quite a refusal, but not obedience either.
Whispers bloomed like weeds. They didn't even try to hide them. She caught fragments — "Vale girl"—"burned out"—"alive?"— before the voices tangled together again.
A figure broke from the crowd — tall, broad-shouldered, armor gleaming in the lamplight. A knight, by the cut of it, though the steel was ceremonial, too fine for battle. He didn't bow deeply like the others. Just a slight inclination to Kael, eyes flicking — briefly — to her.
There was something in that glance. Not pity. Not hunger. Something harder to name, like recognition, or the echo of an unfinished thought.
Kael's steps slowed just slightly, enough for her to notice. His tone cooled a fraction. "You're far from the outer grounds."
The man's mouth curved as if he might reply, but he didn't. Instead, his gaze lingered on her a heartbeat too long before sliding away.
Kael moved again, and so did she, though she had the absurd urge to look back at the knight — to see if he was still watching.
The courtiers shifted as they passed, silk whispering against silk, jewels winking in the candlelight. Two women in gowns the color of crushed berries bent toward each other, speaking behind fans, eyes darting to Serenya's gown.
The air was heavy here — sweet with incense, undercut by the faint metallic bite of too many candles burning at once. It clung to her tongue in a way that made her want to swallow just to get rid of it.
At the far end of the hall, a dais rose like a stage. Two thrones waited there: one of blackwood, carved with curling designs that might have been vines or chains, and the other smaller, draped in scarlet silk that spilled onto the steps like blood.
Her throat tightened.
Kael stopped before the larger throne. "You'll stand here," he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"And if I don't?" The words were out before she could stop them.
His gaze moved to her slowly, like a blade being drawn. "Then you'll stand somewhere else." He paused just long enough to let her feel the weight of it. "With sharper teeth."
She lifted her chin just a fraction — enough to say she'd heard him, enough to say she wouldn't break here in front of these people.
The great doors banged open again, the sound rolling down the length of the hall like thunder. A herald's voice carried over the murmurs, announcing a name she didn't catch.
The man who entered moved like someone who belonged to both the battlefield and the ballroom — confident, precise. He carried himself like the weight of armor was second nature. His gaze swept the hall, catching on her for only a moment… and in that moment, there was no court polish in his smile.
It was the kind of smile that made promises without speaking a word.
Promises that could get her killed.