Chapter Six

1935 Words
Prince Donnacha is a sight to behold. He’s well-groomed, with healthy platinum-blond hair and ox-like shoulders. Already, he’s tall and well-muscled; the master in his dojo must be very proud of the young prince. But what’s most striking is how he holds himself. Every werewolf is taught to hold themselves with pride; after all, we are both human and wolf, philosopher and beast, healer and butcherer. But he doesn’t hold himself with the typical chest-puffing, peacocking ways of the pack. He’s conversational. He puts his elbows on the table. He laughs a well-practiced, musical laugh. He makes jokes. He wears an ever-present, charismatic, playful smirk. He’s radiant with unapologetic curiosity and energy. But it feels less like a gesture of friendship or cheer or joy, and more like… “Kiana,” he addresses me, his lulling voice guiding me gently away from my thoughts. It’s jarring to hear anyone aside from Tadgh refer to me without “miss” preceding my name. “Yes, my lord?” Prince Donnacha chuckles silkily. “Donnacha will do,” comes his cooing reply. “I was wondering about your scar. Where did you get it?” I do my best to remain outwardly calm, and I maintain eye contact though I desperately want to look at anything but him. I could stare at the walls, all made of twisting, gnarled tree trunks that were hand-grown to form a grand arc, with the ceiling a canopy of woven leaves and branches. I could stare at the ground of green grass, with a thin creek flowing between the floor-level table; I could focus on the velvet pillows that are used as dining chairs. But to break eye contact would be a sign of weakness, and no potential husband seeks weakness in a mate. “My sister gave it to me,” I explain flatly, cutting another bite of steak. Apparently, this meal is courtesy of the Luna herself; she killed it in the wilds last night under the full moon. “We were entangled in a disagreement. She lashed out before I could retaliate.” I’m reminded of her every time I look in a mirror. The scar hardened into a thick ridge of flesh, but at least it’s a clean stroke instead of a jagged lash. “How intriguing!” he gawks, delightedly clasping his hands together and leaning forward. “And how old were you, pray tell?” “It was the eve of my twelfth birthday.” My parents are good at masking their discomfort; from a stranger’s eyes, they would seem completely calm and unbothered by this conversation. But I know their tells. Mother makes a slight shift in her seat and adjusts her napkin; Father’s gaze falters for only a moment as he sits stone-still. “I heard of what happened to your sister,” Prince Donnacha continues. “I offer my condolences, for whatever it may be worth. From her signature on your face, I take it she was a fine warrior indeed.” “Last I checked, we weren’t invited to dinner to discuss my late sister,” I rebuke, and though my tone is firm, I keep it on a tight leash. The last thing I need is to anger my future alpha – and potential husband. “Quite right,” he agrees, leaning back and appraising me with shimmering gold eyes. His eyes are unusual; they aren’t the typical bright yellow of others in the pack. Instead, they burn like a forest fire. I’ve never seen anything like it. “But I am unaccustomed to being told what to do. Perhaps I wish to continue hearing stories about your sister. Would you regale me, Kiana?” He emphasizes my name, again leaving out the formality of “miss”; this time, there’s an undertone of mocking. I hesitate for a moment, stealing a glance at my parents for help, but they offer none, instead locking their sickeningly calm eyes on Prince Donnacha. I compose myself and reply as boldly as I can muster, “No, my lord.” A smirk flickers across his lips. A glint alights in his eyes – I’ve seen that spark before. Sorcha had it whenever she was told a challenge was too great to conquer. It kindled her fire, and no matter the odds, she would vanquish the unvanquishable. It seems I’m Prince Donnacha’s new challenge. A bowl of stones settles in my stomach, and my heartbeat quickens against my fingertips. I’m not some thing to be beaten. “I think I like you, Kiana,” he replies thoughtfully, stroking his still-hairless chin. “Your fiery spirit is…inspiring.” I say nothing, instead taking a bite of my food. Damn it, my hand is shaking. Clearly he notices, for a warm chuckle trickles from his lips. “I request a dance after dinner, in the palace gardens. Will you accompany me? I hear you’re quite the marvelous dancer.” Luna Bleeding Heart nods in approval. Despite my parent’s distaste of my uncouth habits, the Luna enjoys my carefree cheer with the rest of the pack. She’s admitted to turning a blind eye to let me carry on with my frivolity. “Of course,” I reply swiftly. Dancing is something I’m comfortable with; far more comfortable than this suffocating dinner of watchful eyes. However, the importance of this dance already burns hot in my veins; I cannot allow myself to get too comfortable. “I think you will find Miss Kiana’s dancing quite an invigorating experience. I often find myself envious of her natural grace and talent.” Wait – did the Luna just give me such a humble compliment? I stare at her dumbfounded, jarred to silence. “Oh? And what is so enchanting about her dancing?” the Prince challenges, his tone still conversational. “She brings the pack together. The common folk love her far more than they love you or me, Donnacha. She is their darling,” the Luna continues, and her locked glare with the Prince turns authoritative. Ah, I see. If I’m wed to her grandson, the Alpha family will gain social reputation amongst the commoners and Omegas. It’s a clever political stroke. My heart sinks a little; I don’t like the idea of using people for political gain, or turning a hobby into a calculated power move. I danced as a way to let go and be myself; now it seems that, too, has bound me to a new fate. “I think I’ll make that judgment for myself,” Prince Donnacha chirps, looking at me and smiling his award-winning grin. I take a deep breath to hide my anxiety, and I hold his gaze. If I’m to be his “challenge,” I won’t be conquered so easily. The palace gardens are exquisite! Hundreds of flowers, from pastels to dramatic sunset hues, line walkways of wild grass; ivies twist and tangle up the oldest trees I’ve ever seen – these trees must have been alive when Aoibh still walked the earth. Endless acres adorn the forested expanse; already, I can smell the wild hares and deer that call this place home. At the end of the long hike, a moon-soaked path leads to a moss-cloaked bluff with a babbling waterfall and creek that snakes all the way back to the palace. Prince Donnacha’s chuckle brings me out of my stupor. “Impressed?” I close my jaw and nod sheepishly. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a flourish, he holds out his hand to me, and I take it. I expect this to be another slow dance, traditional of royalty— He sweeps me into a flurry of steps and spins, tossing and twirling me as I try to keep up. My feet move in a blur, my hair whips around me; he twirls me into his strong embrace, my back pressed against his chest. I turn to glare at him, and his gaze sparkles with flame. I will not be thrown around like some doll! He spins me out of his grasp, and I tighten my grip on his calloused hand, pulling against his arm and commanding him to glide around me in an arc; I’m now at the center, and he’s on the periphery, subject to my commands. A vicious chuckle escapes him, and he sweeps back to me, grabbing me by the waist and tossing me into the air. I again take control of my fate, angling my arms and legs back in an elegant display; he catches me, his thumbs pressing into my ribcage; I hook my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck— He claws me off and snatches my arm – I shove my palms against his chest, he staggers back, barely catches me by my wrists – he spins me back to his waiting embrace, dips me— I lift my leg and hook the back of my knee around his jaw as I drape over his outstretched arm. The Prince hesitates beneath my headlock; I squeeze tighter. “Whatever you’re trying to prove,” I hiss, my smirk uncontrollable, “it won’t work on me.” His reply is a sickening grin of amusement beneath a glare of condescension. “Is that so?” He drops his arm and I fall to the ground flat on my back; the dirt clubs the breath out of me, and all I can do is pant. He stands over me and dusts off his neck where I had trapped him moments ago. “You’ll come to learn, Kiana, that I always win,” he declares casually, satisfaction washing over him. I sit up quickly, humiliated and enraged by how he’s looking at me. “Who knows? Maybe one day, you will be just as good at dancing as I am.” How dare he, I growl inwardly. I want so badly to snarl at him, to jump right back into the dizzying fray of steps and spins – this is so much more than a simple dance. Already, his look has shifted from ambitious vigor to dehumanizing pity. I catch myself. What am I thinking? The Alpha-to-be just gave me a great compliment. Alphas are no less than gods, and this one reassured me that I could be as great as him one day. As I force my anger back, my throat tightens and my nose stings with the sickness that writhes within me. I must bite my tongue. I must convince myself that this was a great honor. “…Thank you, my lord. I’m honored.” I force myself to bow my head while I still sit in the dirt. My very bones shriek at me. “That’s more like it,” the Prince purrs, and he kneels down in front of me. “Remember this, Kiana: I never lose… and I always take what I want.” His molten eyes trail to my disheveled locks of hair, and I suppress a cringe that creeps up my spine. His finger caresses my cheek, and a shiver breaks through my guard. I want to vomit. He sighs wistfully and helps me to my feet. “Let’s return to the palace, shall we?” He doesn’t let go of my hand. I feel like he’s bound me in a leash. “Yes…let’s,” I murmur, my pride and fire stolen from me by the fingers that capture me. He’s amused by my shame, and our walk is swallowed by the tortuous silence of a victor and his pet.
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