Chapter 3 - THE WOLF AND THE SPIDER
Draven turned around instantly at the sound of the shattering porcelain.
"Liora?"
She couldn't breathe. The warm, amber-lit study dissolved, replaced by the dark, suffocating confines of a southern estate. She was back behind a locked iron-reinforced door. She could smell the expensive, cloying rose-water cologne that Casian always wore to mask his ruthless nature. She could hear his smooth, condescending voice telling her that she had nowhere else to go.
The panic rose in her throat like acid. Her vision tunneled into a tiny, dark pinprick, and her knees buckled under her weight.
Before she could hit the floor, strong, steady arms caught her.
Draven moved with a speed that defied human sight. He scooped her up against his chest, but even as panic clawed at his own instincts, he kept his grip loose, careful not to trap her, careful not to overwhelm her with his Alpha presence.
"Liora," his voice cut through the roaring in her ears like a silver blade. "Look at me."
She squeezed her eyes shut, gasping for air. "I can't—"
"Look at only me," he commanded, his voice dropping into a low, resonant register that commanded absolute obedience, yet carried no threat—only safety.
Liora forced her eyelids open.
There were no golden carriage wheels. There was no southern sun beating down on her back. There were only Draven’s eyes—vast, silver, and steady as the northern mountains.
"Breathe," he murmured, his hand gently supporting the back of her head. "In. And out. You are safe here. I swear it on my blood."
Her lungs finally obeyed, dragging in a ragged, deep gasp of air. The suffocating memories receded back into the dark corners of her mind, leaving her trembling violently against the king’s solid chest.
Draven slowly lowered himself onto one knee, keeping her cradled safely against him. His silver gaze was dark, cold, and razor-sharp—not directed at her, but at the empty doorway.
"Casian did something to you," it wasn't a question. It was a terrifying realization.
Liora closed her eyes, a single tear escaping down her cheek. "Yes."
The temperature inside the study seemed to drop ten degrees in a single second. The fire in the hearth flickered, turning an icy, brilliant blue for a fraction of a second as Draven’s suppressed aura flared in response to her distress.
"What did he do?" Draven’s voice was barely a whisper, but it vibrated with enough lethal intent to crush stone.
Liora didn't hold back anymore. Bit by bit, the dam broke. She told him about the debt, her father’s sacrifice, the gilded cage in the southern province. She told him how Casian had treated her like property, how he had hunted her across three provinces when she escaped, and how she had spent four years hiding beneath layers of herbal ash and servant rags just to stay alive.
When she finished, Draven’s hands were shaking. But not with the madness of his beast. They were shaking with a cold, calculated, murderous fury.
He didn't roar. He didn't smash a single piece of furniture.
He gently set her on a velvet armchair, stood up to his full, towering height, and looked out the frost-covered window toward the distant southern gates.
"He will never touch you again," Draven said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
"You don't understand, Sire," Liora whispered, clutching her woolen shawl around her shoulders. "Casian is connected to half the high council in the south. He has wealth, lawyers, and royal charters. He operates above the law."
Draven turned back to look at her. His silver eyes burned with a cold, absolute light.
"He is currently standing inside my kingdom," the king said softly. "And in this kingdom, there is only one law."
He walked over to his desk, picked up a heavy iron signet ring, and slid it onto his finger.
"Go to your quarters, Liora. Rest. Let Mistress Tilda know you are under my direct protection starting today."
May you like
"Sire—"
"Go," he repeated, not unkindly, but with an authority that brooked no argument. "Let the spider come to my web. Let us see how much he likes the cold."
