CHAPTER 322: INVITATION III

ADAM

Daniel leaned back into the velvet armchair, his arms stretched wide across the headrest, looking too comfortable for the sharp words he let slip.

"The girl is trouble."

I didn’t look up right away. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, throwing shadows that reached high into the vaulted ceiling of the common room.

We sat there, the three of us, waiting while our wives-to-be prepared themselves for the evening.

A ceremony demanded gowns, makeup, hair, shoes that glittered—all the tedious things that required hours of effort. I had half a mind to retreat back into my study with the stack of reports waiting there, but tradition demanded otherwise.

Beside Daniel’s chair, Noah leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Which girl?"

Daniel scoffed, that deep rumble of irritation that always preceded one of his lectures. He looked ready to spit nails. "Don’t tell me your lunas didn’t mention her. The girl who slapped Claire."

At that, my eyes flicked up from the ornate pattern of the ceiling. I did remember. Claire had come to me with her lower lip pushed out in a pout, recounting the insult as though she had been struck by a thunderbolt.

I had nodded, murmured something appropriately soothing, but truthfully my focus had been elsewhere. Documents lay spread across my table then, maps inked with red circles, reports of growing unease along our borders.

I had promised her I’d look into it, and I had—though not directly. Timothy had been ordered to pit the girl against one of the toughest contestants in the games. If she had crumbled under pressure, that would have been the end of her story.

Unluckily for us, she hadn’t. She had won that fight. She had won the bloody races too.

I shrugged now, dragging my gaze back toward the ceiling as though it held more importance than Daniel’s indignation. "And?"

Daniel’s glare could have scorched stone.

Noah, however, was intrigued. His eyes gleamed with that particular spark he got whenever something piqued his curiosity. "So she survived Timothy’s trial. And she won the race. Who is she?"

"The name doesn’t matter," Daniel snapped. "She’s a disruption."

I breathed out slowly, a long exhale toward the ceiling beams. My brothers could squabble all night about some girl, but my mind was weighed with darker things.

A heaviness clung to me—a familiar cloud of doom that had followed me for days. Nights without sleep. Dreams that dissolved into nightmares. Visions of dark waters and faces I could not name, whispers I could not decipher.

The last time this had happened...

I cut the thought off, shaking my head. I would not go back there. Not tonight.

And still, Dora’s death pressed against me. A memory both sharp and blurred, like glass submerged in water. The witches had claimed it was us. That her blood had stained our hands.

But I remembered nothing. Neither did my brothers.

A blank space in our shared history that I could not fill, no matter how I clawed at the edges. The not-knowing gnawed at me more than guilt ever could.

Noah’s voice broke through, steady, curious. "What do you think, Adam? About the girl."

I dragged my gaze from the flames, forcing the fog of memory to settle. My voice came out flat. "She’ll be put in her place soon enough. The contest isn’t over."

Daniel grunted in agreement, satisfied with that, and Noah leaned back again, though I could feel his curiosity humming like an unsheathed blade.

The door creaked open then, and the air shifted.

Our brides entered in a line, smiles stretched across painted lips, gowns whispering against the marble floor.

Claire’s steps were measured, elegant, her dress a cascade of shimmering silver that clung to her waist and flared around her ankles. Her hair was swept into a crown of braids, pinned with jewels that caught the candlelight. She was beautiful—undeniably so.

Once, that beauty had excited me, ignited something sharp and eager.

Now, it merely drew a sigh I buried beneath my ribs. Beautiful, yes. But beauty alone no longer stirred me. Not with Claire. Not after everything.

She approached with her practiced smile, tilting her chin just so, expecting my full admiration.

I gave her the minimum. A brief, chaste kiss pressed to her lips, my hand light on her arm as I led her forward. It was enough to keep appearances, enough to silence questions. But nothing more.

Tonight was about the ceremony, not truth.

—

Trumpets blared, their golden sound filling the high arches of the hall. The crowd hushed as one, the music fading into silence.

We stepped into the grand room together, Daniel, Noah, and I, our brides beside us like jeweled ornaments. The air was thick with reverence, with expectation. Every head turned. Every gaze lowered.

Every one—except hers.

At first, I barely noticed. I had taken my seat already. But then, like a flame refusing to be extinguished, one figure stood straight. Unmoving. Defiant. My gaze snagged on her, and something in me faltered.

Dark brown hair. Sharp eyes. A spine that would not bend.

Daniel hissed, his fury immediate.

I didn’t need to look at Noah, to know his brows would be lifted, intrigue sparking again. I rather forced my own face into stillness, though my pulse had quickened.

Attraction? No. Impossible. This was annoyance, nothing more. Startlement at her audacity.

She stood, and the hall seemed to hold its breath with her.

I looked away deliberately, pushing my gaze toward the people. My voice carried, cool and dismissive. "Take your seats."

The crowd obeyed. But my mind did not.

I also saw the hostility in the eyes turned toward her as she moved through the hall. Saw how the people closed ranks, refusing her space at the tables. Even the contestants’ section—where she rightfully belonged—offered her no chair. Whispers hissed like snakes, faces pinched with disdain.

I wondered what she would do.

I stayed still when her jaw tightened; when her hand snatched a jug from the table; when she slammed it down, the crack ringing like thunder; when the music stopped, and all eyes turned.

I watched her fume, watched her tilt her prideful head toward me.

"I raced today. I bled. I won. Yet here I stand without a seat, without a place, while others feast and pretend. Is this your justice? Is this your honor?"

The hall trembled with silence.

I leaned back slowly, letting the weight of my position settle. Then I spoke. "Bring her a seat. Place her with the elders. There is room there."

Gasps. Murmurs. Outrage rippling through the hall.

Daniel’s head snapped toward me, fury clear.

Noah tilted his head, surprised, studying me as though I had revealed some hidden truth.

Claire hissed softly at my side, her nails tightening on my arm.

I ignored them all. My word was final.

But she did not thank me. Did not even glance my way. She walked with her friend toward the elders’ table, sat without greeting them, without bowing her head in respect.

And still—I watched.

I watched her beckon a waiter with the barest flick of her fingers, as though she had always commanded service. I watched her lift two glasses, passing one to her friend before sipping her own, her eyes sharp as they swept the hall. Calculating. Measuring.

I told myself I watched for strategy. For threat. But when my gaze lingered on the curve of her dress, the way the fabric shimmered against her skin, I knew I was lying to myself.

Who was she?

A flicker of something pulled in my chest again. I crushed it immediately, stamping it down into the cold place where such feelings went to die.

I would not be moved. Not by her. Not by anyone. I had better things to worry about. She was only a contestant who might die tomorrow.

Later, when the hall had filled with laughter and clinking glasses, I rose. The music dimmed. A hush spread through the crowd as I stepped forward, lifting my glass high, ready to recite what my secretary had drafted for me hours ago.

"Everyone," I began, my voice carrying to the farthest corners of the room, "Tonight we gather under the gaze of the Moon Goddess, whose light has guided our steps, whose mercy has guarded our path."

A pause. A breath. I scanned the crowd, my gaze brushing hers briefly before moving on.

"We have known peace these past years. Hard-won, fiercely defended. And we honor it tonight — not by idleness, but by remembrance. Remembrance of those we lost. Of those who fought. Of those who carried us to this moment."

Faces nodded. Glasses lifted. I let the silence stretch, the weight of memory pressing down.

"And yet," I continued, "peace is not the absence of struggle. It is the proof of strength. Strength shown here, in the contests, in the courage of those who risked their lives for our entertainment, yes, but also for our pride as a pack."

Applause rippled. I let it swell, then raised a hand for quiet.

"So tonight, we feast. We dance. We lift our glasses not only to the Moon Goddess, but to each other. To the bonds that hold us. To the pack that endures. To the future we will forge together."

I lifted my glass higher. "A toast."

The hall echoed the words. "A toast!"

I drank, the wine sharp on my tongue. When I lowered the glass, I felt it—her eyes. On me. Intense. Unwavering. Like a hand pressing against my chest, refusing to let me breathe too easily.

I forced my shoulders straighter. Forced my expression to be neutral. Forced myself not to look at her.

The music swelled again, and it was time for the dances. We moved to the dancefloor, my brothers and I, our brides in tow.

The first dance was tradition—the kings and their queens opening the floor. Claire’s hand was light in mine, her smile perfect. We moved together in sweeping arcs, steps we had performed a hundred times before. The crowd watched, clapping in rhythm.

And yet, even as I spun her, dipped her, lifted her, my mind wandered. My gaze flicked once, unbidden, to the elders’ table. To the girl who sat there, glass in hand, eyes like daggers.

The dance ended. We bowed. Applause filled the hall as we stepped back, prepared to leave the floor to the others.

And then...

A voice. Sweet, clear, close behind me.

"Care for a dance?"

I froze.

When had she left her seat?