"Is Nyren working for you?"
I had so many questions in my head. I thought it was best to start with this one.
Rion leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable save for the flicker of amusent in his eyes.
"I didn’t ask for you here for an interrogation, Vivien." His voice was low, smooth, yet sothing darker lingered beneath it.
A warning, subtle but impossible to miss.
The smile that curved his lips did not soften him, it only made him look more dangerous.
My jaw clenched. I hated that he always seed in control, always three steps ahead, even in conversation.
"I told you I’d think about being your mate," I shot back. "If I don’t know anything about you, how can I decide?"
He tilted his head, a smirk spreading across his face, as though my defiance was nothing more than entertainnt.
"I’m fairly certain most people have already heard a great deal about . And does it matter if I tell you more? You’ve already decided what to think of . It isn’t surprising."
I stiffened, heat flaring in my chest.
He wasn’t wrong, and he knew it. But did he have to look so smug about it? He seed so proud that people think the worst of him.
"I just want answers," I said, softer this ti. "A few things. That shouldn’t be too much to ask."
His eyes narrowed.
"Harmless questions?" he murmured, as though testing the words on his tongue.
I replied with silence.
At last, he decided to give so answer to my curiosity, "Nyren only paid a debt. She’s not working for or for anyone in Undercity. Consider it an act of pity, if you must. After all, she’s old enough to be friends with your grandmother, isn’t she? Who knows? They could even be friends."
That made think. The thought of Nyren knowing my late grandmother, Lucinda Maliore who was once a wife of a council chief, perhaps even standing in the sa room with her once upon a ti, wasn’t a farfetched idea.
Rion glanced at the food in the table.
It was filled with food far too much for just the two of us: roasted at glazed in herbs, loaves of soft bread still steaming, fruits cut into precise slices that glead like garnets.
"Eat before it gets cold," Rion said. Then, with a curl of his mouth that wasn’t quite a smile, "Or is it not to your liking? Well, I wouldn’t bla you. After years of eating scraps, anyone’s sense of taste would dull."
My grip tightened around the fork beside my plate. I imagined the sharp point digging into his arrogant, perfect face.
Instead, I forced myself to pick up a bite of at and chew.
It tasted rich, seasoned perfectly, nothing like the bland als I’d been given in the past. But every bite felt bitter, as though I were swallowing his mockery whole.
"When are you going to tell ," I asked tightly, "the details of your bargain with my father?"
For a heartbeat, his smirk faltered, though only slightly.
I even thought I saw a flicker of annoyance.
He leaned back, stretching his arm lazily along the back of his chair, ocean eyes fixed on . "Maybe after I hear your decision."
My chest constricted with frustration.
This man... this infuriating Alpha who dangled truths just out of reach, who looked at like I was both prey and prize.
I cursed him silently, every word vile enough to make even the spirits flinch.
"You play with words too easily," I muttered.
"And you bristle too quickly." His tone was maddeningly calm, as if my anger amused him more than it threatened him. "Perhaps you should just accept your new life as it is. The bargain was between and your father. You should allow us so privacy."
"Even if I am involved?" I gritted my teeth, my wolf growling inside .
The light footsteps from the entrance of the greenhouse stopped from throwing words that would make regret later.
Diaval’s fra soon ca into my sight. He stood beside the table, his face not bearing any semblance of emotion or color.
He glanced at briefly, then at Rion.
"What is it?" Rion’s tone was low, edged with command.
Diaval hesitated. His gaze flickered toward again. For a mont, I thought he’d hold his tongue, as if he didn’t want to talk business while an outsider was around, but then Rion gave him a faint nod.
"There’s an urgent matter, Alpha," Diaval said at last. His voice was clipped, serious. "A group of rogues has gathered just outside the Undercity. They’re demanding audience with you."
"Oh?" Rion didn’t look the least bit threatened. Instead, amusent danced in his eyes, as if he reveled in those people’s foolishness.
"Rogues?" I echoed under my breath.
"They are from Arthien," Diaval inford.
The na wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. I heard they were like a pack of criminals, but not the typical rogues. They were highly organized and managed by their ruler. I didn’t know much though.
So I asked, "Who are they?"
Rion tapped the table with his fingers, his gaze locking onto mine. "A pack that thrives on illegal trades. They are wolves without roots, moving from one territory to another like shadows. They sell their fangs and claws to anyone willing to pay. Assassinations, abductions, blood-soaked jobs no one else dares touch."
His words dripped with disdain, but there was no denying the edge of respect beneath it—respect for their cunning, perhaps, or for the audacity of wolves who lived outside all law.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Wolves who abandoned honor, bonds, and oaths, trading them for coin.
It was the kind of horror that haunted stories told to children, just like the horror Undercity brought to people.
"Why are they here?" I asked, though my voice ca out smaller than I intended.
Rion’s eyes darkened, and a dangerous glint sparked within them. "I think I know."
My eyes narrowed a bit, staring back at the Alpha’s wicked eyes.
"Finish your breakfast. You will welco our guests with ."
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