Chapter 7
The door shut behind king Malakai, and the room instantly felt colder—too big, too quiet, too empty. His presence had filled every corner of the chamber, dense and overwhelming, and without him the silence pressed against my ribs like a weight.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to steady my breath. The blue fire in the hearth shifted slowly across the stone walls, casting long, restless shadows that crawled toward the ceiling.
I wasn't afraid of the palace.
Not exactly.
I was afraid of what it meant.
Claimed. Protected. Brought into a kingdom where the king himself was feared like a living weapon. I shouldn't have felt safer with him than with my own pack.
But I did.
I paced once, twice, letting the tension drain—until the stone floor vibrated faintly beneath my feet.
Footsteps.
Several pairs.
Stopping right outside the door.
My pulse kicked hard.
"Is she in there?" someone whispered sharply.
"She is," another answered. "The king brought her inside. Alone."
A frustrated exhale. "He never brings outsiders past the main hall. What is she?"
"I don't know," the second voice muttered.
"But the Council is furious."
My stomach tightened.
A hand brushed the door handle.
I stepped back immediately, my breath catching in my throat.
"She looks human-born," someone hissed.
"Why would the king protect her?"
Human-born.
Weak.
Unwanted.
Their tone made my skin prickle.
The handle turned—
Then froze.
Silence dropped like a blade.
Not normal silence.
Fearful silence.
Boots retreated quickly. Too quickly.
They were running.
Though I hadn't heard Malakai return, something clearly warned them away—something they sensed before I could.
My heart thudded hard in my chest.
Minutes passed.
Then—
A gentle knock.
Not threatening.
Not demanding.
Soft.
"Elaine?" a woman's voice called quietly.
"May I enter?"
I blinked. "Who are you?"
"My name is Maren," she replied. "I am the king's healer."
A healer.
I hesitated, Malakai's warning echoing in my mind.
No one enters.
No one touches you.
"I'm here under his order," she added, voice warm and steady. "He wanted me to check on your condition."
That eased the tension slightly.
I cracked the door open.
A tall woman stood outside—dark hair braided down her back, warm brown eyes, silver-marked healer's robes. She didn't look hostile. Just observant.
"May I?" she asked gently.
I stepped back.
Maren entered the chamber, her gaze sweeping over me like she was reading every wound beneath my skin.
"You look drained," she murmured. "The rejection alone would have weakened you.
But the king's claim… your body is still adjusting to the imprint."
"Imprint?" I echoed.
She nodded. "A Lycan King's claim is ancient magic. Stronger than a mate bond. It reaches deeper—to the spirit, not just the body."
My stomach tightened. "Why would it affect me this much?"
Maren hesitated.
Then spoke softly:
"Because most who are claimed by a Lycan King are warriors. Elders. People forged in battle."
Her eyes warmed with sympathy.
"You should not have survived the rejection the way you did, Elaine. Not without a wolf."
Her words rattled me more than I wanted to admit.
Before I could answer, the air shifted again—heavier, thicker, pulling at the edges of the room like gravity itself was bending.
Maren immediately bowed her head.
I didn't need to look up.
Malakai had returned.
He stepped into the chamber without a sound, but his presence struck like thunder.
His golden eyes settled on me first—sharp, layered, unreadable—before glancing at Maren.
"She is well," the healer reported. "But recovering slowly."
Malakai's jaw tightened. "Leave us."
Maren bowed once more and slipped out quickly, closing the door behind her.
The room felt too warm suddenly.
Malakai's focus returned to me, intense enough to set the air buzzing.
"What did they say outside this room?" he asked.
His voice wasn't raised, but it held a weight that pinned me in place.
"They didn't enter," I replied quietly. "But…
they were questioning why I'm here."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Their curiosity has limits."
He stepped closer.
One step.
Then another.
Every breath in my lungs stalled.
"You will not listen to their whispers," he said, stopping just inches from me. "You belong under my protection now, not beneath their judgment."
My pulse stumbled.
"I never asked—"
"I know what you didn't ask," he cut in softly.
"But that doesn't change what is."
His gaze dropped briefly to my hands—still trembling slightly. When he looked back up, something in his expression had shifted.
Not softness.
Something darker.
Something dangerous.
Something undeniably protective.
He reached out slowly, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. The touch was light—barely there—but it sent heat racing down my spine.
"You will stay here," he murmured. "In this wing. Under my guard."
My breath caught.
"Why?" I whispered.
His voice lowered, quiet and edged like steel:
"Because the moment I saw you on that ceremonial ground, everything in me knew one thing—"
His fingertips grazed my jaw, and my skin burned beneath the contact.
"I will not lose what I claimed."
His words hit deep—too deep—and for a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
The king who terrified kingdoms…
was standing before me, speaking as though my existence mattered.
Truly mattered.
He straightened, voice returning to its cold command.
"Rest. I will return soon."
As he turned to leave, he paused at the doorway, not looking back—but his tone dipped into something dangerously close to a promise.
"Elaine… you are not alone anymore."
The door shut behind him.
And for the first time since the Ceremony of Fate—
I believed it.