They didn't train her to be beautiful. That was biology.
They trained her to be *lethal in silk.*
Each morning began before the sun—mist clinging to stone floors, her breath tight in her chest as she moved through the oldest wing of the palace. The Queen's mistress met her there. Not with warmth. Not with cruelty. But with **purpose**.
"You're not here to be adored, Aurora," the mistress said, circling her like a threat. "You're here to make powerful men *step sideways.*"
There were no mirrors in the room. No paint. Just a dagger, a glass of wine, and a chair.
"Lesson One," the mistress said, "make a man thirst—then *hand him the glass,* but never let him drink."
Aurora learned how to walk like a promise.
How to sit like a verdict.
How to let silence bloom in a room until the strongest one filled it for her.
Weeks later, when the Queen herself stepped into the chamber, all the previous girls had failed.
Except Aurora for now.
"You're the last," the Queen said, voice like honey over bone. "Good. I don't need many. Just one sharp enough to make an Alpha *forget himself.*"
And so the training changed.
She was taught to speak not with sweetness, but with stillness. To never ask—only offer. To touch not for affection, but *precision.*
Zev's name was never mentioned.
But every lesson… was for *him.*
—
Steam curled around Aurora like smoke.
The water scalded, but she didn't flinch. She let it burn, let it carry away the softness the Queen hated—the girl who once waited, begged, hoped. That girl was ash now.
Only purpose remained.
Her sister's breathing had grown thinner the last time she wrote. The healers said "comfortable." The Queen said "replaceable." Aurora had no time left to make this about pride.
She stepped out of the water and dried herself in silence.
Then she dressed.
Not in red. Not in white.
In midnight.
A silk robe the color of a closed door. A thin gold chain lacing the small of her back. A neckline low enough to whisper, *I choose what you see.*
She lined her eyes in shadow, painted her mouth the color of blood not yet spilled. She didn't look into the mirror for approval. Only acknowledgment.
The Queen's message had arrived just before the bath, delivered with wine and orchids.
**"Make yourself unforgettable. Do what I trained you for."**
It wasn't a request. It was currency.
Aurora walked out before her courage had time to cool.
Down the corridors.
Past the silent wings.
To Zev's door.
She didn't knock.
She opened it.
And stepped inside.
—
Aurora stepped into his chambers without ceremony.
The door whispered shut behind her. No guards. No flickering candles. Just the soft hush of midnight and the faint scent of iron and cedar.
Zev's room was clean, but not curated. Sparse, functional, almost too still.
And then she saw him.
Face-down across the bed, one arm bent beneath his head, the muscles of his back stretched under pale linen. His coat had been tossed aside. His boots unlaced but not removed.
He wasn't asleep.
She knew it by the stillness—not relaxed, but watchful. Like a predator that chose not to pounce because the silence hadn't shifted yet.
Aurora didn't speak.
She let the door click closed behind her, the sound a soft punctuation.
Zev exhaled once, slow and steady, before he spoke.
"I thought you'd knock."
"I thought about it," she said, her voice calm. "But then I remembered who trained me."
He turned his head slightly, just enough for one eye to find her.
"You came as the Queen's blade," he murmured.
Aurora stepped closer, silk pooling at her ankles.
"No," she said. "I came as mine."
His gaze dropped—slowly—then returned to hers.
"And what do you want?"
She took another step forward. Her voice steady. Measured.
"To seduce you"
Zev said nothing.
Aurora tilted her head, just slightly. Her fingers brushed the edge of her robe.
"And maybe a kiss."
For the first time, his composure shifted—barely. But it was there. A flicker in his throat. The subtle tension of breath caught before it could become a decision.
"Is that a threat?" he asked.
She smiled—soft, sharp.
"No. That's the courtesy before I ask for what I *really* came for."
And in the quiet that followed, it was clear:
This wasn't seduction.
This was strategy made flesh.
Her hand touched his shoulder.
He didn't flinch.
It moved across his chest—palm flat, tracing the steady rise of his breath. He watched her through half-lidded eyes, unreadable.
And then—he smirked.
A dark, dangerous kind of smile.
"You want to see the side of me they all whisper about?" he said, voice low.
Aurora met his gaze without blinking.
"I want to know if it's real."
In one movement—fluid, fast—he caught her wrist and rolled, pinning her beneath him. Not rough. Not violent. Just fast enough to make her breath catch.
One hand over her wrist, held gently but unyielding above her head.
His face inches from hers. His weight heat and gravity.
"Now who's winning?" he asked.
Aurora's voice didn't shake.
"Still me."
He paused.
Then smiled again.
Something shifted in the air. Not dominance. Not fear. **Recognition.**
"What do I do to you now?" he asked, voice like smoke.
And she whispered back—
"Whatever makes you hesitate."
Zev's weight pressed into the mattress, not crushing her, but caging her. One of his hands still held Aurora's wrist above her head—not tightly, but unyielding. The other braced beside her cheek, keeping him steady as his body hovered just close enough for her to feel every flicker of heat from his skin.
Her robe had shifted.
The silk clung where it should've fallen. A single lock of hair curved along the hollow of her collarbone. His eyes traced it like it mattered.
She didn't look away. She didn't beg.
She dared him.
"You're trembling," he said, voice low.
She smiled, breath shallow. "So are you."
His fingers tightened slightly. Not painful. Just a warning—or a confession.
Zev lowered his face until his lips hovered at her jaw, not touching, just breathing her in.
"This isn't a game you win by bluffing."
Aurora's free hand lifted—slowly, deliberately—and pressed flat against his chest again. Over his heart.
"Then stop bluffing," she whispered. "And show me how you plan to break me."
That word—break—twitched something inside him.
He inhaled sharply.
And then his voice dropped, dark and smooth.
"I don't break things I want to keep."
His mouth was still inches from hers.
But it hadn't moved closer.
And neither had she.
Because this wasn't surrender.
This was *alignment.*
The moment where hunger stops pretending to be hate.
The moment you decide **not** to kiss someone because *you want it too badly.*
They stared at each other.
Still.
Locked.
Every heartbeat screaming.
And outside, the night shifted—and held its breath.
For a long breath, they hovered—foreheads nearly touching, eyes locked across a fraction of space too wide for silence and too narrow for escape.
Aurora had touched his back. His chest. She'd mocked, challenged, baited. But this?
This was different.
Zev moved first.
Just barely.
His hand slid from her wrist to her cheek. Slow. Certain. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, as if he were testing the curve before claiming it.
And then he kissed her.
No rush. No hunger. Just pressure—measured and quiet.
But it unraveled her.
Aurora didn't gasp. She didn't lean in greedily. But her body betrayed her. Her fingers clenched in the linen at his side. Her breath caught mid-inhale. Her knees, tucked neatly beneath her in posture-perfect control, *shivered*.
Zev felt it.
He pulled back just enough to see her face. Lips parted. Eyes still chasing the kiss that had already ended.
And then he *laughed.*
Low. Real. A sound like thunder *finally amused* by rain.
"Stars," he murmured, voice dripping with surprise and satisfaction, "that was your first."
Aurora blinked, color rising to her cheeks—not embarrassment, just heat.
"Don't flatter yourself," she whispered.
But she couldn't look away.
He was still close. His hand still at her cheek. And that smirk?
Carved.
Permanent.
Deadly.
"You shook," he said, grinning now. "That wasn't me winning. That was your truth breaking the surface."
Her mouth parted, a retort ready—but nothing came out.
So he leaned in again, lips brushing her jaw now, not her mouth.
"Want another?"
Her voice came soft this time. Threaded with danger. And maybe something else.
"Not if you ask permission."
Zev's smirk deepened.
No one left that room the same again.