The music roared back to life. The nobles laughed too loudly, drank too deeply. But the fear was still there, humming under the marble floors, bleeding through the walls.
I stood near the far pillars, half in shadow, half in the light — watching everything. I didn't touch the wine. I didn't dance. I didn't pretend.
I should have expected it when the black-cloaked guard appeared beside me — silent, sudden.
"The King requests your presence," he said with a bow.
I followed him through the crowd. Heads turned. Eyes flicked toward me and then quickly away. No one stopped me. No one dared.
The King stood, away from the worst of the noise, a goblet in his hand, untouched. He didn't look at me as I approached. Just said, almost lazily, "You never claimed your reward."
I stiffened slightly. That again. I hadn't expected him to remember. Had hoped, maybe, that he wouldn't.
I bowed my head, voice careful. "I didn't want to presume, my King."
He finally turned, gray eyes sharp as winter steel. "You earned it," he said simply. "And I always keep my promises." His gaze pinned me there, silent command wrapped in silk. "Speak, Athena. What do you want?"
My mind raced. I hadn't thought about it. Not seriously. And now, under the weight of that gaze, the wrong answer could destroy me.
Think. Think fast.
"I want..." I hesitated, heart thudding in my ears. "I want the right to... reverse a command of yours."
The words hung in the air like a blade. The music behind us blurred into a distant hum. The King tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was some rare, wild thing he hadn't decided whether to cage or set free.
"Oh?" he said, voice soft. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"
I swallowed. Steeled myself. "I mean later on, if there's an order you give — an order I believe is wrong — I want the power to refuse it." I lifted my chin, locking eyes with him. "I want the power to reverse it."
The silence between us sharpened. Heavy. Electric.
Behind us, the hall glittered with fake laughter and clinking goblets. Here, there was only the sound of my own heart beating very rapidly. I hoped that I hadn't gone too far in my request.
The King's mouth curled slightly — not quite a smile. More like a crack in an old stone wall. Dangerous. Unpredictable.
"You're bold," he said quietly. His voice wasn't mocking. It wasn't even angry. Just... considering. Like a predator contemplating whether to test the edge of his prey's teeth.
"And if I say no?" he asked, voice light, almost amused.
"Then I accept it," I said immediately, voice steady. "But you asked what I wanted. And that's my answer."
The King chuckled low under his breath. A sound like dark thunder rolling across the mountains.
"You are either very foolish," he said, "or very clever. Others would ask for gold or a higher position of power. I mean, what if I just make the command again?" He turned away slightly, gazing out across the court again. The nobles dancing. The generals posturing. The vultures pretending to be lords.
"You may have it," he said after a long, heavy pause. "But only once." His eyes slid back to me, sharp as a blade. "One command. One reversal. No more."
Relief flooded through me. Cold and bright. I bowed again, lower this time.
"Thank you, my King."
He waved a hand lazily. "Enjoy the celebration," he said, voice smooth, dangerous. "As long as it lasts."
I backed away carefully, weaving through the drunken nobles, the perfumed courtiers, the endless music that now felt more like a funeral dirge than a song of victory.
The banquet ended as quickly as it had begun. No cheers.
No grand final toast. Just an abrupt dismissal, like the King had grown bored of the charade. The nobles scattered from the Grand Hall in a wave of rustling silks and hushed whispers, fear heavy in the air. The Obsidian Throne stood silent once more, bathed in cold torchlight. Waiting.
The heavy doors creaked open, and they dragged Lord Everan inside.
He was a wreck — bloodied, bruised, barely upright. Two black-cloaked soldiers shoved him forward until he fell to his knees at the base of the black stone dais. The King watched from his throne, one hand resting lightly against the armrest, a picture of composed brutality. No crown. No armor. Just simple black. And more power than anyone else in the room.
Everan lifted his head, trembling, his once-proud silver hair matted with sweat and dirt. "Brother," he rasped, voice hoarse from screaming, from fighting, from losing. "Brother, please—"
The King rose slowly from his throne. Each step down the dais echoed like a drumbeat through the silent hall. He stopped before Everan and looked down at him — nothing but cold calculation in his gray eyes.
"Oh, brother," the King said, his voice soft, almost amused. "What were you thinking?"
Inside the King's mind, his wolf snarled — vicious, savage. End him. End him now! The need to rip, to tear, to destroy, pulsed beneath his skin. But the King didn't move. He let the moment stretch. He let the fear bloom. He smiled — sharp and slow.
"Why," he said softly, almost to himself, "would I grant you such a quick death?"
Everan's wolf, beaten and broken, whimpered inside him, clawing at the edges of his shattered soul. "Brother," Everan gasped again, crawling forward a few desperate inches. "Please. Please—"
The King tilted his head slightly, studying him like he might a bug he wasn't sure was worth crushing. "You should be tortured," the King said casually. "Till you die."
Everan choked on a sob. The black stone floor stained red where he knelt. The King watched him for a long, cold moment. Then turned away, his black cloak sweeping behind him like smoke.
"Take him to the lower cells," the King commanded, his voice calm, almost bored. "Make sure he lives a very, very long time."
The guards seized Everan's arms. He screamed once — broken, desperate — but it didn't matter. He had already passed judgment. And mercy was not part of it.