Chapter 3 CHAPTER 3

Amara's POV

I expected a monster.

What I found was a man barely holding himself together.

The throne room stretched before me like the belly of some great beast, all black stone and shadows that moved in ways shadows should not move. Torches burned along the walls, their flames flickering nervously as if they too feared what sat at the center of this hall.

The Lycan King.

He did not look like the creature from the legends. He was not covered in blood or snarling with rage. Instead, he sat perfectly still on his iron throne, watching me with eyes that held something far worse than anger.

Exhaustion and pain. The kind of weariness that came from fighting a battle you knew you could not win.

His presence hit me like a physical force. Power radiated from him in waves, pressing against my skin, making it hard to breathe. But beneath that power, I felt something else. Something dark and writhing, something that did not belong to him.

My witch senses flared to life, weak but unmistakable.

There was a demon inside him.

And it was awake.

"Step forward," a voice commanded from my left.

I tore my gaze away from the king to see a man in expensive robes standing beside the throne. His face was sharp, his eyes calculating. The kind of man who measured everything in terms of power and profit.

"I am Lord Cassian, head of the royal council," he said. "You have been brought before His Majesty as part of the surrogate selection. You will approach the throne and present yourself properly."

My legs moved before my mind could protest. Each step echoed in the vast hall, loud as thunder in the suffocating silence.

I kept my eyes lowered, playing the role of the frightened she-wolf they expected. But my senses were screaming at me, warning me of danger.

The demon inside the king was not just present. It was watching me.

I stopped at the base of the throne and dropped into a bow, my weak knees hitting the cold stone harder than I intended.

"Rise," the king said.

His voice was deep, rough, like he had not used it in a long time. I stood slowly, finally allowing myself to look at him fully.

He was younger than I expected. Perhaps only a few years older than me. His dark hair fell past his shoulders, tangled and unkempt. His jaw was sharp, covered in days of stubble. But it was his eyes that held me frozen.

They were gold. Bright, burning gold that seemed to look straight through Octavia's borrowed body and see the soul hiding underneath.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Octavia, Your Majesty," I whispered, hating how weak this body made me sound.

His eyes narrowed slightly, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. For a moment, I thought he could see the truth. I thought he knew I was not who I appeared to be.

Then Lord Cassian stepped forward, breaking the tension.

"Your Majesty, as you can see, the girl has recovered from her unfortunate poisoning. The healers assure us she is strong enough to proceed with the ritual."

"Ritual?" My voice came out sharper than I intended.

Lord Cassian's eyes flashed with annoyance. "You were not informed? How careless." He turned to me with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "You have been chosen as a potential surrogate for His Majesty. If the king does not find his true mate before the next Blood Moon, you will be honored to carry his heir. The ritual to bind you to this duty will take place in three days."

Horror crawled up my spine. Three days. They were giving me three days before they forced this on me.

"I see," I managed to say, keeping my voice neutral.

"You should be grateful," another council member spoke up, a woman with silver hair and a voice like ice. "Most would kill for this opportunity. To serve the king is the highest honor."

I wanted to laugh. Wanted to scream that I had already given everything to one man who promised me the world, and it had destroyed me. But I stayed silent, playing my part.

The king had not taken his eyes off me. There was something in his gaze that made me uneasy. Not cruelty, but recognition. Like he was searching for something he had lost.

"Leave us," he said suddenly.

The council members froze.

"Your Majesty?" Lord Cassian asked carefully.

"I said leave. All of you."

The command in his voice was absolute. The council exchanged worried glances but obeyed, filing out of the throne room like scolded children. Their footsteps echoed until the massive doors closed with a heavy thud.

Now it was just the two of us.

And the demon inside him.

I could feel it more clearly now without the distraction of others. It pressed against the edges of his control, hungry and restless. Dark magic clung to him like a second skin, the same kind of dark magic I had sensed the night my coven burned.

My breath caught.

This was no ordinary curse. This was deliberate. Someone had put this demon inside him, bound it to his blood, made it part of him.

The same way someone had used dark magic to destroy the Oris Coven.

"You are afraid," the king said, his voice softer now.

I looked up at him, meeting those golden eyes. "Should I not be?"

Something flickered across his face. Surprise, perhaps Or respect.

"Most people cannot even look at me without trembling," he said. "Yet you stand there asking me questions."

"I am trembling," I admitted. "This body is weak. But fear and respect are not the same thing."

His jaw tightened. "Wise words for someone bought and brought here in chains."

The bitterness in his voice surprised me. He was not speaking about me. He was speaking about himself.

"You did not choose this either," I said quietly.

His eyes flashed, gold deepening to amber. "What do you know of my choices?"

"Nothing," I said honestly. "But I know what it feels like to be trapped in something you cannot escape."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us felt heavy, charged with something I could not name.

Then his expression changed.

Pain twisted his features. His hands gripped the arms of the throne so hard the iron groaned. The temperature in the room dropped suddenly, frost spreading across the stone floor.

"You need to leave," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Now."

I took a step back, my witch senses screaming warnings.

The demon was rising.

"Go!" he roared, his voice no longer entirely human.

But I could not move. Because in that moment, as his control slipped, the demon inside him surged to the surface. And it turned its attention directly on me.

Ancient, malicious intelligence looked out through the king's eyes.

And it recognized me.

Not as Octavia. As Amara.

As the witch whose ancestors had sealed it away centuries ago.

The demon inside Alaric threw back his head and laughed, a sound that shook the very foundations of the palace. The throne room trembled. Cracks spider-webbed across the stone walls. Torches exploded in bursts of green flame.

"You," the demon hissed through the king's mouth, his voice layered with something inhuman. "You dare

return to me wearing stolen flesh?"

Terror flooded through me.

It knew. The demon knew exactly who I was.

And it was very, very angry.