Chapter 5 FOR THE KING.

Venessa’s POV.

I haven’t slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, I felt that oily black darkness from the King’s chest trying to crawl onto my skin. But more than that, I felt the phantom pressure of his hand on my jaw and the way he had looked at me before he walked out.

He knew we were mates. He knew, and he hated it.

I stood in front of the floor-length mirror, staring at the woman looking back.

My hair was a mess of tangles, and my eyes were rimmed with red. I looked like a disaster. But I also looked alive.

"You are not a victim," I whispered to my reflection. "You are the Queen. Even if it’s only on paper."

I spent the next hour scrubbing the scent of him off my skin and digging through the suitcases my father had sent. I bypassed the delicate silks and went straight for a structured, charcoal-grey dress. It had a high collar and long sleeves.

By the time a knock sounded at the door, I was ready.

Rick, the King’s Beta, was waiting for me in the hallway. He looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes matching mine.

"Rough night?" he asked, his voice casual, but his eyes were going over me, looking for a fault or something.

"The King isn't exactly a 'cuddle after the wedding' type of guy," I said, keeping my tone dry.

"He’s a lot of things, Venessa. Warm isn't one of them.”   Rick chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “Ready for the Elders? They’ve been waiting since dawn to pick apart the new bride."

"Let them try."

We made our way to the dinning hall. I kept my chin up and my shoulders back. I had spent my whole life being the invisible sister; I knew how to blend in, but today, I needed to stand out.

The double doors to the dining hall swung open, revealing a room that smelled of roasted meat, expensive tobacco, and old men.

Three men sat at a massive mahogany table. Lord Silas, the man from the carriage, was at the head.

The other two looked just as old and just as miserable.

The King sat at the far end. He had changed into a black suit that looked like it cost more than my father’s entire fortune.

He didn't look up when I entered. He was looking down, staring into a cup of black coffee like it held the secrets of the universe.

"The Queen has arrived," Rick announced.

Silas looked me up and down, his lip curling. "Late. A poor start for a girl who is already a disappointment."

I didn't wait for an invitation. I pulled out the heavy chair directly opposite Silas and sat down. "The King and I had a long night. I’m sure you understand the... exhaustion of a wedding night, Lord Silas."

Across the table, the King’s coffee cup paused halfway to his lips. He didn't look at me, but I saw the muscle in his jaw jump.

Silas narrowed his eyes. "Bold words for a replacement. Do not think that a crown makes you untouchable, girl. You are here to provide an heir and keep the peace. Nothing more."

"I’m here because my sister was smart enough to leave and I was brave enough to stay," I countered. "If you wanted a silent doll, you should have ordered one. I’m a Queen. Start treating me like one."

A maid hurried forward, her hands shaking as she set a  porcelain teacup in front of me.

"Your tea, Grace," she whispered, her eyes darting toward Silas before she scrambled away.

The steam rose in soft curls, smelling of Earl Grey and something slightly sweet—like almonds.

My stomach did a slow roll. I grew up in a pack house surrounded by gardens. I knew what almond-scented things usually meant.

I looked at the tea, then at Silas. He was watching me with an expectant, cold smile. Then I looked at the King.

He finally looked up. His icy blue eyes locked onto mine. He knew. I could see it in the way his pupils blown wide. He could smell it.

I reached for the cup.

The King’s hand shot across the table, his fingers wrapping around my wrist.

"Don't," he growled.

The room went silent. Even Silas looked surprised.

"Is there a problem, Your Majesty?" I asked, my voice eerie sweet.

"The tea is cold," the King said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He didn't let go of my wrist. "Get her another. Now."

"It looks fine to me," Silas intervened. "The girl needs her strength. Let her drink."

The King turned his gaze to Silas. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "I said... get her another."

He took the cup from the table and poured the liquid onto the floor and for a split second, a faint, acrid smoke rose from the spill.

The King stood up, dragging me with him. "We’re done here."

He didn't stop until we were back in the hallway, his stride so long I practically had to jog to keep up.

He shoved me into a small, private alcove and slammed his hand against the wall next to my head.

"Are you stupid?" he hissed.

"I knew what it was," I snapped, pushing against his chest.  "I wanted to see if you’d let me drink it."

"You were going to risk your life to test me?"

"I wanted to know if my husband was my protector or my executioner," I said, leaning in. "Now I have my answer."

He looked down at me, his eyes dark with a mixture of rage and something that looked suspiciously like hunger. "You are a pawn, Venessa. Silas wants you gone because your father owes him money. If you die, he can claim your father's lands as 'compensation' for the loss of a Queen."

"Then protect your assets," I challenged. "If I’m just a contract, then keep the contract safe."

The King leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. "Do not mistake my intervention for care. I need you alive because of the mark. Because whatever you did last night... it’s the only reason I’m standing here”

He pulled back,  "From now on, you don't eat or drink anything that hasn't been tasted by Rick. You don't leave your room without a guard. And you stay away from Silas."

"And what do I get in return?" I asked.

"You get to live."

"Not good enough," I said. I reached out, my fingers grazing the lapel of his expensive suit.  "I want the truth. I want to know what that mark is. And I want to know why you’re so afraid of me."

The King’s eyes flashed white for a fraction of a second.

He grabbed my hand, his thumb brushing over the palm I’d used to heal him.

"I’m not afraid of you, little wolf," he whispered, his voice dropping low in a way that sent shivers down my spine. "I’m afraid of what I’ll do to you if I let myself touch you."

He dropped my hand like it was red-hot and turned on his heel.

"Get her back to her room," he barked at Rick, who was standing a few steps away.

Back in my room, I paced the floor, my mind racing.

Silas wanted me dead. The King wanted me alive but only as a prevention for whatever is happening to him. And Elara was somewhere out there, terrified of a "red moon."

I needed answers, and I wasn't going to get them by sitting on the bed.

I started examining the room.

It was massive, filled with antiques.

I moved a large picture of a wolf hunt and found it—a small, iron-bound door hidden behind it.

It was locked, but the lock was old. I grabbed a  hair needle from the vanity and went to work.

It took ten minutes and a lot of swearing, but finally, the lock clicked.

I pushed the door open, revealing a narrow spiral staircase that smelled of damp earth.

I grabbed a lit candle and headed down.

The stairs led to a small, circular room that looked like a private library.

The walls were lined with journals, their leather covers looking old.

In the center of the room sat a basin filled with dark water.

I picked up the nearest journal. The handwriting was jagged, as if the person writing it had been in immense pain.

Day 400 of the Curse, the entry read.

The shadow has reached my lungs. I can hear the Void calling. The prophecy says the mate is the key, but the mate is also the trigger. To save the King, the Queen must bleed. One life for the light. One death for the dark.

My heart hammered against my ribs. One death for the dark.

Was that why Elara ran? Not because she was scared of the King, but because she knew the only way to save him was to die?

A floorboard creaked behind me.

I spun around, dropping the journal. The candle flickered, nearly going out.

Standing in the doorway was Rick. But he wasn't smiling. He was holding a dagger, the blade glinting in the dim light.

"You shouldn't have come down here, Venessa," he said softly. "Some secrets are meant to stay buried."

"Rick?" I whispered. "What are you doing?"

"The King is a good man," Rick said, taking a step toward me. "But he’s a dying man. And the prophecy is clear. We don't need a Queen. We need a sacrifice."

He lunged.

I dived to the side, the blade slicing through the air where my throat had been a second ago.

I scrambled toward the staircase, but he was faster.

He grabbed my hair, pulling me back.

"I’m sorry," he hissed. "But the pack comes first."

Suddenly, the iron door at the top of the stairs was ripped off its hinges. A blur of black and grey fur barreled down the stairs.

It was a wolf—a massive, midnight-black beast with eyes like icy blue fire.

The King.

He hit Rick like a freight train, pinning him to the wall. The snarl that ripped from the wolf’s throat was loud enough to make me wince.

Rick dropped the dagger, his face pale. "My king... I was doing it for you! She’s the only way!"

The wolf shifted, a process that happened in seconds.

The King stood there, naked and the black mark on his chest was pulsing with  light.

He didn't look at Rick. He looked at me.

"Are you hurt?" he rasped.

"I'm fine," I breathed, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest.

He turned back to Rick, "Leave. If I see you within the Citadel walls before sunset, I will tear your heart out with my bare teeth. You are no longer my Beta. You are nothing.”

Rick didn't argue. He scrambled out of the room, leaving us in the suffocating silence of the secret library.

The King slumped against the wall, his breathing ragged.

He looked weaker than he had this morning. The black stuff was spreading again.

"He was right," he whispered, not looking at me.

"The prophecy says the Queen must die to break the curse. That’s why I stayed away. That’s why I treated you like garbage. I thought if I didn't care about you... I wouldn't be tempted to use you."

I walked over to him, stepping over the discarded journal. I reached out and took his hand.

"You don't get to decide my fate," I said, my voice shaking. "And you don't get to decide how this ends."

I looked up at the small, high window in the room.

The bruised purple sky was deepening. And there, hanging low on the horizon, was the moon.

It wasn't white. It wasn't even silver.

It was starting to turn a deep, bloody red.

"The moon," I whispered. "The red moon is tonight."

The King looked up, and for the first time, I saw tears in those icy blue eyes. "It’s starting. The shadow will reach its peak tonight. If we don't break the curse by midnight... the king falls. And I’ll become the monster everyone thinks I am."

I squeezed his hand. "Then we’d better get to work. Because I didn't put on this expensive dress just to watch a king fall down."

He let out a short, broken laugh. "You really are nothing like I expected."

"Good," I said, pulling him toward the stairs. "Now, tell me everything. No more secrets. No more jerk-King routine. If we’re going to survive this, we do it together."