CHAPTER 323: INVITATION IV

ADAM

The mysterious girl’s words struck like an arrow, piercing through the carefully woven shield I had wrapped around myself tonight. I turned my head slightly, slowly, deliberately—as if delaying would give me time to steady the sudden pull inside my chest.

My eyes landed on her: Sage. The victor. The one who had already refused to bow. What did she want?

My wolf stirred instantly, a restless rumble deep inside me. And then it hit me—her scent. A heady, intoxicating wave that assailed my nose as she stepped closer.

It was warm, earthy, threaded with something sharper—like wildflowers crushed underfoot on a stormy night. My pulse tightened in my veins. My wolf growled softly, claws scraping against my mind as though desperate to claw his way out and get closer to her.

No.

I clamped down hard, locking him back into his cage. I would not allow this. I hoped she was not my mate, not bound to me by some cruel twist of fate. I wanted nothing to do with a magic wielder—a witch, nothing to do with trouble.

Because trouble was all I saw in her.

And trouble had already nearly destroyed me once. Six years ago.

The thought slashed across my mind before I could stop it. Six years ago, when my father had been ready to condemn my brothers and me to the Desert, to rot under its unyielding sun and blistering sands. He would have done it too—if sickness hadn’t struck him down before the decree could be carried out.

I remembered the weight of his glare, the judgment of the council, the blood that had already been spilled, and the whispers that never left us. Six years, and still the nightmares clung to me like smoke.

Six years, and I still didn’t know what happened to Dora. Or how our alliance with the witches community had come to an end.

Dora. Did she really die?

My jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

I would not—could not—let another wielder of strange power drag me into darkness again.

Before I could answer Sage, Claire’s hiss cut across my thoughts like a whip.

"Have you no respect?" she snapped lowly, voice dripping with venom, just loud enough for Sage to hear. Her nails dug into my arm as she clung tighter. "Asking a king to dance as if he were some tavern boy. Shameless."

I didn’t look at Claire. My gaze was fixed on Sage, appraising her up close for the first time. Her features were sharper now, framed by the light spilling across her skin.

High cheekbones, lips curved not in sweetness but in challenge, smoky eyes that seemed to pierce through flesh and bone alike. There was a sly smile tugging at her mouth, the kind of smile that dared me to react. That dared me to break composure.

The hall had fallen into an unnatural standstill. Music faltered. Steps slowed. Eyes turned, all of them watching the spectacle: the king, his bride, and the victor who had just asked him to dance.

I could feel my brothers’ stares burning into me, could guess what they were thinking about this scene.

And Sage? She stood utterly unconcerned, scanning me subtly even as she waited for my response. Those smoky eyes tugged at me again, pulling me closer to the very edge of something dangerous.

"She’s trouble," Daniel had said earlier. I could hear his voice echoing in my head now. I agreed with him.

"I don’t see it anywhere in your lawbooks. I don’t think it’s an abomination either."

Her voice came again, calm, amused, taunting.

I realized she was quoting back to Claire, pointing out that nowhere in our laws did it say a woman could not ask a king to dance.

My lips pressed into a line. She had a way of pushing without pushing, of playing by the edges of rules and slipping between them.

I dismissed her without a word. No answer, no acknowledgment.

I rather tightened my hold on Claire instead, drawing her arm into mine, presenting the picture of elegance and composure. And then I led her away, each step measured, graceful.

The murmurs began immediately—taunting whispers against Sage, disapproval rolling like waves across the hall.

But Sage was not done. That lady was bent on getting a rise out of me.

Her voice rang out again, teasing, bold, threading into my ears like an arrow dipped in fire. "Stiff kings. Stiff people. None of you can even dance properly... Y’all should loosen up. It’s not that serious."

The murmurs became not-murmurs. I was hearing threats now, but I also know my people won’t attack her first. She was a magic wielder, a crazy one at that. She can decide to pull the building down on us.

My jaw tightened, my hand fisting at my side even as I refused to turn. Ignore her, I told myself. But my wolf was challenged, always like challenges, and demanded that I face her.

I turned just in time to see Leon.

Daniel’s gamma was already striding toward Sage, a broad grin splitting his face. He extended his hand like a man eager for glory, and to my simmering frustration, Sage smiled. A slow, dangerous smile that curved like a blade.

She took his hand without hesitation. And the dance began.

—

Leon wasn’t a skilled dancer, but Sage made him look like one. She moved like liquid fire—hips swaying, arms gliding, laughter spilling like music. Every step she took drew eyes, every turn of her body made the hall lean closer.

I sat rigid in my seat, my brothers flanking me. Claire’s nails dug into my thigh, sharp as needles, but I barely felt them. My eyes kept dragging back to Sage no matter how many times I told myself to look away.

With every hand Leon traced along her arm, my chest burned hotter. With every laugh that spilled from her lips, I felt my wolf thrash harder against my control. She wasn’t using magic—I could sense no threads, no spells. It was all her. And it was infuriating.

When Leon’s hand slid lower, daring to rest on her hip, my fingers clenched so tightly around the edge of my seat I thought the wood might snap.

She looked like a siren. And the others saw it too—eyes hungry, mouths parted, lust threading through the hall. She was drawing them all in, and I could do nothing.

By the time the music slowed, Daniel was already rising.

I bit back a curse.

He descended the dais with measured steps, his expression carefully neutral but his presence heavy with intent. Anticipation spiked in the crowd.

He stopped before her, eyes fixed on her as though she were prey worth the chase.

"An impressive performance," he said smoothly, voice carrying across the hall.

Sage tilted her head, eyes glinting. "I love dancing. Are you here for it?"

The music swelled again, covering the murmurs, covering Daniel’s answer. I stayed seated, though unease crawled through my chest.

How was I supposed to end this without sparking another scene? She was pulling the hall into her gravity, pulling me, and I couldn’t see a clean way out.

So I reached for my phone. Pretended to check a message. Pretended to receive a call. It was easier to walk out than to sit there, simmering while another male pressed closer to her.

"Put her out of the contest," Claire hissed as I rose.

"Impossible," I answered flatly, eyes on the screen I wasn’t reading. "She’s already being betted upon by viewers outside the pack. You know that."

And then I left, striding out of the hall, ignoring the beautiful charade.

—

The garden was a balm.

Moonlight silvered the leaves, laying a soft glow over the hedges and stone paths. Roses and jasmine scented the air, sharp and sweet. The fountain in the center trickled softly, its waters reflecting the stars above. I breathed deeper, willing the night air to cool the heat still coiled inside me.

I sat on one of the benches, leaning back, staring at the sky. Thoughts circled endlessly. Sage’s face. Her voice. The way she moved, the way the hall bent toward her.

My wolf pressed against me again, restless, growling his approval. I shoved him down, my fists tight in my lap.

"No," I muttered. "Not again. Not her."

Not when she reminded me of someone.

The memory of six years ago rose again, unbidden, jagged. The chants of the witch community, the accusations, the death of Dora, the silence that followed. We had been guilty in their eyes no matter what we remembered or not. I had sworn never to let another wielder touch my life again.

Heck! Why did the goddess always fate me to them? I just couldn’t understand it!

I pushed the thought aside, dragged in another breath of jasmine.

Then I heard it—footsteps. Light, unhurried, approaching.

I straightened instinctively, gaze narrowing. And then she appeared.

Sage.

Speak of the devil...

The moonlight seemed to find her first, gilding her skin, catching on the dark strands of her hair. My chest tightened. I schooled my features into calm, though shock pricked at me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked evenly, masking the sudden jolt inside me.

She smiled—slow, deliberate, like she knew exactly the effect she had. "Looking for you."

My throat went dry.

For a second, words failed me. I watched her approach, each step confident, measured, until she lowered herself onto the bench beside me. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin, close enough that her scent wrapped around me again like a noose.

Her lips curved, and when she spoke again, her voice rolled out husky. "I wanted to dance with you."