Lucian's POV
The car smelt like leather and Jalin’s cologne - sickly sweet, like rotting roses. I stared at my reflection in the tinted window. The suit he had stuffed me into was too tight around the throat. A king’s attire for a king’s corpse.
"Sit straight," Jalin said. His gloved finger prods my spine, a mockery of tenderness. "You look like a stray."
I slumped further. Let him rage. Let him break. It’s all the same now.
The car hit a pothole, jostling us. Jalin’s hand clamped my thigh. "You’ll ruin everything," he hissed. His breath is hot against my ear, the way it always is before he peels me open. "Fix your face. Now."
I didn't move.
He sighed, that familiar blend of irritation and hunger. Then his hand fisted my hair, slamming my forehead into the window. Pain exploded behind my eyes. "Better," he murmured. "A little color in those dead cheeks."
The divider between us and the driver was up. Jalin liked privacy for his lessons.
He unclasped his belt buckle slowly, the sound metallic, final. "You’ve forgotten your manners, Your Majesty."
I didn't fight. Fighting stopped mattering months ago. The car's plush seats creaked as he dragged me onto my knees. His gloves stayed on. He liked the leather against my skin - he said it reminded him of my father’s study, where he first learned what power tasted like.
"You’ll smile tonight," he said, fingers tightening. "You’ll nod. You'll be the Lycan King. And don't you dare to let a single drop out."
My throat tightened. He felt it, the way my pulse jumped. I didn't need to look up to know that he grinned.
"There he is," he whispered. "Still something alive in there."
--
The slave market's gates loomed ahead, iron spikes crusted with old blood. Jalin wiped my mouth with a monogrammed handkerchief, tutting at the split in my lip. His touch was gentle now, almost loving. Almost.
"Remember," he said, straightening my tie. "You’re here to negotiate with Finn. You’re grateful for his… hospitality."
I fixed my eyes on the dashboard. Hospitality. The word curdled in my gut.
Jalin opened the car door, sunlight flooding in. "Your Majesty," he announced, loud enough for the guards to hear.
I stepped out, the heat of the market hitting me like a fist. Rogues leered from stalls, their stares crawling over my tailored suit. Jalin hovered at my shoulder, a shadow in a silver-trimmed coat.
"Breathe," he murmured, pinching the back of my neck. "Or I’ll give you a reason to limp."
--
Finn's banquet hall stinked of roasted meat and cheap perfume. He sat at the head table, looking like a real King. "Your Majesty!" He spread his arms, a boar's grin splitting his face. "Still letting your Beta dress you?"
Laughter ripples through the room. Jalin's hand settled on my lower back, a warning.
"We appreciate your invitation," I said. The words tasted like ash.
Finn kicked a chair toward me. "Sit. Drink. We’ve got a show for you before we get down to some serious business."
The wine was sour. I swallowed it anyway. Anything with alcohol would do. Jalin stood behind me, a statue in silk.
Finn leaned close, his breath reeking of venom. "Heard you’ve been… unwell. Pity. Your father lasted longer."
I stared at the table. Let him talk. Let him carve me open.
He snapped his fingers. "Bring the girl."
She entered with her head bowed, a scarred thing in a servant's rags. Her hair was matted, her face a ruin of burns. But her hands - steady as she poured my wine - are hers.
Leah.
My daughter's fingers grazed the goblet. Her pinky was crooked, just like it was when she broke it climbing the palace walls at seven years old. She was too young to recover herself at that time.
I gripped the table’s edge. Jalin's nails dig into my shoulder.
"Like her?" Finn leered. "You Lycans have got an eye for everything, I've gotta say. Found her in the pits. Ugly little rat, but she's got uses."
Leah didn't flinch. Didn't blink. A ghost in a beast's skin.
Finn grabbed her chin. "Fetch the Alpha's wine, girl. And smile. Remember what you've been taught?"
She turned to me, empty-eyed. The goblet trembled in her hands.
"Well?" Finn said. "Take it, Lucian. Or are you too good for my scraps?"
I stood, swaying. Let them think it's the wine. Let them think I'm broken.
"Keep the drink," I slur, catching Leah’s wrist. "I'll take the girl."
I yanked her into my lap. She stiffened, her scent cutting through the rot. I recognized her scent- honeysuckle and steel. My daughter is alive.
Jalin's hand locked around my arm. "Your Majesty," he said, too loud. "You’re drunk."
Finn roared smirked. "Let the Lycans have their fun!"
Everyone roared with laughter, their voices echoing off the grand but garishly adorned walls. The entire scene felt like a grotesque parody of the royal court I once knew, now perverted by Finn's reign of blood and fear.
Finn snarled at Jalin, "Don't worry, Beta. She's trained to please and she'll do anything you ask!"
Leah's breath hitched. My fingers brushed her ribs, searching for the scar from the a wolfsbane dipped arrow she took for me in an assasination at 12. There. Raised flesh beneath the rags.
Finn leaned in, grinning. "Go on, Your Majesty. See how obedient she is."
Jalin pried me off her, his voice honeyed poison. "Another time, Alpha Finn. My lord needs some fresh air."
"I insist." Finn snarled at Jalin.
Leah stumbled back, her gaze darting to mine. A flicker - a spark in the void.
Then it was gone.