Chapter 4 Punished for touching the mate
The entire hall fell into a stunned silence.
For a moment, no one dared to move, breathe too loudly, or even lift their eyes. Yet curiosity was a dangerous thing, and Danielle couldn't resist stealing a discreet glance toward the staircase.
What she saw made her forget to breathe for an entirely different reason.
A tall, sturdy man stood at the front of the grand staircase, his posture rigid and commanding. His crisp white shirt was slightly open at the chest, revealing a powerful torso and well-defined muscles that made it painfully easy to understand why so many women whispered about the men of the royal court.
Danielle quickly looked away.
Good heavens.
She had already endured enough trouble for one night.
Curtis's irises glowed a deep, luminous gold—darker and more intense than those of ordinary werewolves. It was one of the unmistakable signs of his status and power, a silent warning to everyone present that his presence demanded respect.
After all, he was not merely Beta Curtis.
He was the personal messenger and most trusted representative of the Supreme Alpha, Lord Cyrus Rhaziel.
Even members of royal blood were expected to obey his commands because everyone knew that behind Curtis stood the authority of the Alpha himself.
"How bold of you," Curtis said coldly, "to attempt to breach the laws."
His voice carried effortlessly across the enormous hall.
Curtis descended the golden staircase positioned at the center of the ballroom, each step deliberate and unhurried. His sleek black hair was tied into a long ponytail, secured by an ornate golden hairpin. As he moved, the strands swayed gracefully behind him.
Just like his master, Curtis possessed the kind of striking beauty that could command attention without effort.
He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, silver dragons embroidered across the shoulders. Yet it wasn't the clothing that made him intimidating.
It was his eyes.
His stare alone carried enough menace to make the entire atmosphere turn suffocating.
The guests instinctively parted as he approached, scattering into two groups and leaving a clear path through the center of the ballroom.
Whispers spread among them.
Everyone already knew what fate awaited Lord Hawthorne.
And no one envied him.
Curtis stopped several feet from the trembling Count, his gaze fixed mercilessly upon him.
"And that too," he continued, his voice dropping into something far more dangerous, "under the Alpha's own roof."
The words echoed through the ballroom.
Several guests sucked in sharp breaths.
Lord Hawthorne could barely keep himself upright. His head was still spinning from the earlier impact, and his vision had yet to recover completely. Curtis appeared as a double image before his eyes, but even through the haze, he understood the gravity of the situation.
There was no excuse he could offer.
No explanation could possibly justify what he had attempted.
He had violated one of the most sacred laws of the kingdom—and he had done so beneath the roof of the very Alpha who had established those laws.
"I believe you assumed the noble lord would simply overlook your transgression."
Curtis tilted his head slightly.
A mocking smile touched his lips.
"Tsk. How ignorant of you."
The words were almost playful.
The threat beneath them was not.
Curtis stopped in the middle of the elaborately decorated hall, where the celebration had been moments away from transforming into a ceremonial altar.
Danielle instinctively clutched the fabric of her dress.
The intimidating aura radiating from Curtis was overwhelming.
He stood directly in front of her, though his attention remained fixed upon Lord Hawthorne.
And yet, one fact continued to confuse Danielle.
Where was Alpha Cyrus?
The supreme ruler of Selene was nowhere to be seen.
"N-no..."
Lord Hawthorne's face drained of color.
"Please... forgive me."
He immediately dropped to his knees before Curtis.
His pride, his title, his reputation—none of it mattered anymore.
He began slapping himself repeatedly, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed and begged.
"I... I got carried away, my lord. Please..." His voice broke. "I beg you. Spare my life."
Curtis simply stared at him.
He did not respond.
He did not flinch.
He did not even acknowledge the Count's desperate pleas.
Instead, he calmly reached up and removed the golden hairpin securing his ponytail.
His long black hair spilled freely over his shoulders.
For one fleeting second, the ballroom remained perfectly still.
Then Curtis flicked his wrist.
The golden hairpin shot through the air.
Thud.
It pierced the center of Lord Hawthorne's forehead.
Danielle gasped.
Blood immediately trickled down the Count's face.
His body went limp.
Then, before anyone could even process what they had witnessed, his corpse began to deteriorate.
His form dissolved into a swirling mass of black smoke.
Within seconds, there was nothing left.
No body.
No corpse.
No evidence that Lord Hawthorne had ever existed.
Only the golden hairpin remained on the floor.
A collective shudder passed through the ballroom.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody dared.
Danielle stared in horror.
What... was that?
There was no known werewolf ability that could make a body disintegrate into smoke.
Yet Curtis had done it effortlessly.
He walked toward the fallen hairpin, bent down, and retrieved it.
The weapon had been stained with Lord Hawthorne's blood.
Curtis casually wiped it against his fingers before lifting his gaze.
His piercing golden eyes locked directly onto Danielle.
She froze.
For a moment, it felt as though the entire ballroom had disappeared.
There was only Curtis.
And those terrifying eyes watching her.
The mystery surrounding him had only deepened.
It was common knowledge that werewolves could not transform their dead into smoke or ashes. Such abilities belonged to legends and creatures far older and darker than ordinary wolves.
But Curtis had never been ordinary.
He was a peculiar exception.
A child blessed by the Moon Goddess.
A hybrid.
His veins carried vampiric blood alongside his werewolf heritage, granting him abilities and strength far beyond those of ordinary werewolves.
And yet, even that explanation failed to answer the questions surrounding him.
Because there was another mystery.
One that had puzzled the royal court for years.
How had Curtis and Cyrus even met?
The friendship between a werewolf and a hybrid carrying vampiric blood should have been impossible.
Werewolves and vampires had been enemies for centuries.
Their races had fought countless wars.
The vampire clans were notoriously proud. They did not bow easily, and they certainly did not willingly serve others.
Yet Curtis had chosen to serve Cyrus.
Willingly.
That fact alone had been enough to fuel countless rumors throughout Selene.
Why would a powerful hybrid with vampiric blood willingly lower himself to the position of Beta?
Why would someone with such strength choose to serve another man?
Was there some forgotten history between them?
A debt?
A curse?
A secret pact?
Or perhaps something far more dangerous?
Nobody knew.
And the uncertainty had only made the rumors grow.
Curtis served as Cyrus's Beta, but the nature of their relationship remained an enigma. To outsiders, it appeared as though the hybrid had willingly surrendered his pride and accepted the role of servant to the Alpha.
But why?
What could possibly make someone like Curtis submit to another man's authority?
The answer remained buried somewhere in the past.
And that past was something neither man had ever allowed the kingdom to uncover.
Meanwhile, the endless winter continued to grip Selene.
The kingdom appeared powerful from the outside, but the deeper one looked, the more unsettling it became.
Its Alpha ruled almost entirely from the shadows, relying heavily upon Curtis to handle matters in his absence.
And that raised yet another question.
How could a supposedly sick Alpha possess such overwhelming power?
Some believed Curtis was the source of that strength.
Others claimed the Moon Goddess had personally blessed Cyrus.
Some whispered about ancient magic.
Others suspected that another mystical force was involved—something far older than the werewolf clans themselves.
But there was no proof.
Only rumors.
And at the center of them all stood one man.
Alpha Cyrus Rhaziel.
The mysterious ruler of Selene.
Who was he?
Where had he come from?
What was his true lineage?
Why did he remain hidden from the public?
The elite Counts had developed countless theories.
Some claimed Cyrus was a rogue wolf who had risen through sheer brutality.
Others insisted he had once served as the personal bodyguard of the former king and had secretly murdered his master before seizing the throne.
There were even rumors that the previous Lord had never truly died—that Cyrus had erased every trace of his existence and fabricated his own rise to power.
But none of them possessed solid proof.
Most of them had never even seen the Alpha with their own eyes.
Cyrus had deliberately cultivated that mystery.
He ruled from the shadows.
Curtis dealt with the people.
Curtis delivered his orders.
Curtis handled disputes.
Curtis punished those who violated the laws.
And slowly, inevitably, the people began judging Cyrus through the man who represented him.
They saw Curtis's ruthlessness and imagined Cyrus was even more merciless.
They witnessed Curtis's extraordinary power and assumed the Alpha must possess something far more terrifying.
They heard Curtis's cold words and believed Cyrus himself had spoken them.
Thus, without ever showing his face, Cyrus Rhaziel had accumulated countless titles.
Tyrant.
Usurper.
Rogue King.
Shadow Alpha.
Monster.
Nobody truly knew which rumor was true.
Perhaps none of them were.
Perhaps all of them were.
But standing beneath the golden chandeliers, watching Curtis calmly retrieve the bloodstained hairpin while the entire ballroom remained frozen in fear, Danielle realized one thing.
Selene was not the simple kingdom she had imagined.
And if Curtis was merely the man standing behind its mysterious Alpha...
Then she was beginning to fear what kind of monster was sitting upon the throne.
