The trial was held at dawn.
Under the crimson sun, every rogue in Lucian's kingdom gathered around the stone altar — a relic from the old wars.
A place soaked in death and sacrifice.
The perfect place for betrayal to meet its end.
Lucian stood at the center, a dark god crowned in blood and rage.
I stood beside him, bound by nothing but the invisible thread that tied our fates tighter with every shuddering heartbeat.
His hand wrapped possessively around my wrist — a silent command.
Stay with me.
Stand with me.
The traitor was dragged forward by two guards — a gaunt, sneering man with sunken eyes.
Lucian's former second-in-command.
A man who had fought beside him for years.
A man who had plotted my death.
My chest tightened painfully.
If Lucian could betray his own blood brothers so easily, what hope did I ever have?
The traitor spat at Lucian's feet.
"You're weak," he snarled. "Soft. Letting a pretty little witch wear our crown."
Lucian's grip on me tightened to the point of pain, but his voice stayed deathly calm.
"Confess," he said.
The traitor laughed, broken and savage.
"We were kings once! We ruled with fear, not lust! And now look at you, tethered to a silver-haired whore!"
The crowd shifted, uneasy.
Tension snapped the air taut.
Lucian's gold eyes gleamed like the devil himself.
"You misunderstand," he said softly.
He turned to me, reaching up with bloodstained fingers.
He curled them in my hair, tugging my head back just enough that the crowd could see the mark he'd placed on my throat — the bruising evidence of his claim.
"She is mine," Lucian growled, his voice rippling with power. "Not because I am weak. But because I am strong enough to break the world for her."
The air seemed to shudder.
Every wolf present dropped to one knee instinctively, even the rebels.
Even me.
Lucian turned back to the traitor, his smile razor-sharp.
"You wanted to remind them what fear feels like," he said. "Allow me."
Without another word, Lucian shifted.
Bones cracked, muscle tore — and in the blink of an eye, the monster within him stood where the man had been.
Massive.
Savage.
Merciless.
The trial ended in blood.
Lucian tore the traitor apart with a single brutal swipe, blood splashing across the stones, hot and steaming.
The rogue kingdom roared approval — a wild, terrifying sound.
Lucian shifted back, breathing hard, covered in gore.
He stalked toward me, his bare chest heaving, his body a masterpiece of violence.
The crowd watched.
Waiting.
Judging.
Would he choose me?
Would he crown me?
Lucian stopped inches from me, towering, devastating.
His hand rose, slow and deliberate.
He touched my face — a smear of blood across my cheekbone — marking me again in front of them all.
"Queen of the Damned," he said roughly.
The rogues howled their approval.
The sound rattled my bones.
I didn't move.
I didn't breathe.
I stared up at the monster who had destroyed my life.
The monster who had saved it.
The monster who might just break me completely.
Lucian bent closer, his forehead pressing to mine — a terrible, tender act in the midst of carnage.
"You hate me now," he murmured. "But one day, little wolf… you'll beg for me."
Tears burned my throat.
I hated him.
I hated how right he might be.
Because standing there, drenched in blood and fury, Lucian Vale was the only thing more powerful than my fear.
He was the storm.
And I was already drowning.