Chapter 6: Wolves at the Door
The great hall roared with voices.
Guards lined the marble columns. Nobles whispered behind jeweled masks. Silver trays clinked. Sycophants smiled too wide.
And in the center of it all—
Damon Kings.
Tall. Regal. Wrapped in silver-threaded robes with his crown tilted slightly, like power was a casual thing.
He turned the moment Bryant entered.
"Little brother," Damon drawled, spreading his arms. "Finally."
Evelyn stepped beside Bryant, every eye turning to her.
She felt them crawl across her scar. Her collar. Her silence.
Monster. Property. Weakling.
Let them look.
Let them choke on it.
"Damon," Bryant said coolly.
"You didn't mention a wife," Damon said, gaze flicking to Evelyn. "Or is she not that yet?"
Bryant didn't answer.
Instead, he reached behind her.
Laid a hand—heavy and slow—against the back of her neck.
Evelyn didn't flinch.
The room noticed.
"She's wearing your mark," Damon said, smiling now. "Interesting choice."
"I don't choose for interest," Bryant replied. "I choose for use."
Evelyn's jaw clenched.
Damon's eyes caught the twitch.
"Does she speak?"
"She listens."
"Even better," Damon said. "So rare to find one who knows when to hold her tongue."
His tone was gentle. His smile, soft.
But his eyes…
They calculated.
Measured.
Wanted.
"She's exquisite, under the scar," he added, stepping closer.
Bryant didn't move.
But his fingers tightened at her neck.
"Careful," he warned.
Damon laughed.
Then leaned just slightly toward Evelyn.
"Blink once if you ever want to trade cages."
Her breath caught.
Not from fear.
From rage.
She didn't blink.
Didn't look away.
And that—that made Damon grin.
"She has fire," Damon said. "I wonder if it'll still burn once you put her out."
"She's not yours to wonder about," Bryant said. His voice stayed calm, but the chill spread.
"Everything in this kingdom is mine to wonder about," Damon replied, softer. "You forget whose throne you live beneath."
Silence fell sharp and loud.
Bryant didn't answer.
Instead, he turned.
"Evelyn. Come."
He didn't wait to see if she followed.
She did.
But not before glancing once—directly—at Damon.
No blink.
No bow.
Just that scarred face, tilted high.
And a thought Damon didn't like:
She's not afraid of me.
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