“Kneel.”

The command was cold. Cruel. Echoing off stone walls thick with silence.

Caelira didn’t move.

Not yet.

Therion’s voice darkened. “I said kneel.”

The hall was full.

Court nobles lined the edges of the throne room, whispering behind gloved hands, their eyes flicking from the blood still crusted under the King’s claws to the girl standing barefoot and defiant at the center.

Caelira lifted her chin.

“I’m not a pet.”

Therion descended the stairs from his throne with slow, deliberate steps, his boots echoing on the black marble.

“Not yet,” he said. “But you will be.”

The crowd held its breath.

She opened her mouth…too slow.

His hand was already around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes widen, lips part. He didn’t look angry.

He looked entertained.

“You forget what you are,” he said softly. “You don’t speak unless spoken to. You don’t breathe unless I allow it. And when I tell you to get on your fucking knees, Caelira…”

He shoved her down.

Hard.

She crashed to her knees before him.

“...you do it without hesitation.”

Gasps fluttered across the room like wings.

Caelira clenched her jaw.

Her voice cracked through the silence. “Why humiliate me in front of them?”

He leaned in, fingers still wrapped around her throat, voice low and cruel. “Because humiliation breaks faster than pain.”

“I’ll never beg.”

“Oh, I don’t want begging.” His grin was slow. Sharp. “I want tears. From pride.”

He turned to the court.

“She challenged me,” he announced. “Said she would never obey. Let’s test that.”

He flicked his wrist.

Two guards approached. One handed him a thin whip, braided leather slick with oil.

Therion walked behind her slowly.

“I’ve marked thousands,” he said. “Traitors. Whores. Weaklings. But never a mate.”

She tensed.

He dragged the tip of the whip down her back. “Don’t flatter yourself, little wolf. You’re not that. You’re just a lesson.”

Crack.

The first strike ripped across her skin.

She flinched. But made no sound.

Crack.

Another.

Still silent.

He circled her slowly.

The third lash came across her thigh. Red bloomed.

She hissed, body jerking…but still silent.

Therion stopped in front of her, his eyes sharp with something like… hunger.

“You want them to see you as strong?” he asked. “Then bleed for it.”

He struck again.

And again.

Until blood trickled down her thighs and her knees trembled.

The court watched in stunned silence. No one dared speak.

Until she finally…finally…fell forward, hands catching the floor.

Breathing hard.

Therion dropped to a crouch in front of her.

“You still think this is about pain?”

She glared up, eyes wet. “Fuck you.”

He grabbed her hair.

Yanked her head back. Hard.

“What did I say about speaking?”

She spat at him.

It hit his cheek.

The court gasped.

He froze.

Then laughed.

The sound was wrong. Too dark. Too pleased.

He wiped the spit off with two fingers.

Then shoved those fingers into her mouth.

“Suck.”

She bit.

He didn’t flinch.

Just pushed deeper.

“Gag on my authority, little wolf. Choke on your defiance.”

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

Could only take it.

Finally, he pulled back.

She collapsed to the floor, gasping.

“Now,” he said, rising. “Apologize.”

Caelira’s voice was hoarse. “For what?”

“For pretending you were anything more than mine.”

She didn’t answer.

He turned to the crowd.

“Bring the branding iron.”

Panic surged in her chest.

She scrambled back, legs failing her, mouth opening…but no sound came.

The servant approached, carrying the red-hot iron on a silver tray.

Therion grabbed it.

Turned to her.

“This will hurt,” he said.

“Don’t…” Her voice cracked.

He lifted it.

She screamed.

The brand never touched her.

He dropped it an inch before her skin.

Let the heat blister the air.

Then lowered it to the ground.

“I’ll brand you when you beg for it,” he said. “And you will.”

She trembled.

Her silence had shattered.

He turned to the nobles. “Take a good look.”

They stared.

“She’s not broken yet. But she will be. And when she is…”

He turned his gaze back to her.

“When she is, you’ll see what kind of king I really am.”

Then he left.

Boots echoing behind him.

Caelira stayed on the floor.

Humiliated.

Shaking.

Tears finally falling.

And the court watched.

Silently.

The breaking had begun.

“She’s nothing but an itch you’ll scratch and discard.”

The voice was honeyed venom.

And it belonged to a nightmare draped in sapphire silk.

Lady Elsyra Varné.

Heir of the Western Frostbloods.

Therion’s once-promised mate.

And the first woman to ever try branding him.

Now, she stood in the grand hall, smirking, her pale blonde hair twisted high, lips red as blood, eyes sharp as glass as they swept over Caelira…barefoot, bruised, and quiet beside the throne.

“Tell me, darling,” Elsyra said sweetly, stepping closer to Caelira, “when you spread your legs for the King, does he bark or growl?”

Caelira didn’t look at her.

Elsyra’s voice dropped lower, loud enough for the nobles nearby to hear.

“Or is he too busy fucking you from behind like the bitch in heat you are?”

Gasps fluttered. Whispers slithered.

Caelira stiffened.

Therion didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop her.

Just leaned back on his throne, one leg thrown over the other, watching with that unreadable glint in his eyes.

Elsyra stepped even closer.

“You don’t even wear shoes. Are you his pet or his whore?”

“I’m not yours to touch,” Caelira muttered.

“I wasn’t planning to touch you. I’d rather not catch disease.”

Caelira finally looked at her.

“No wonder he never claimed you.”

Elsyra’s hand struck fast.

A sharp slap echoed through the hall.

Therion’s fingers twitched on the armrest.

But he didn’t move.

Elsyra tilted her head.

“Cute. You think having his cock inside you means you matter.”

Caelira straightened slowly, blood on her lip. “No. I just think it means he likes the taste of me more than your desperation.”

Another slap. Harder.

This time, Therion rose.

“Enough.”

Elsyra turned, smiling sweetly. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I thought I was doing your Omega a favor by teaching her some court manners.”

“Then teach her somewhere else.”

Caelira wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she said flatly. “It was just getting entertaining.”

Therion’s eyes flicked to her.

Elsyra smirked.

“Oh, how I missed this palace,” she purred, stepping toward the King. “Perhaps I’ll stay a few days. You wouldn’t deny an old friend a room, would you?”

He didn’t answer.

But his silence was permission.

And Elsyra knew it.

That night.

The torment began.

Caelira’s chamber door burst open before sunrise.

Maids rushed in, ordered by Elsyra, tearing down the furs, replacing silks with rough sheets, tossing her clothes into piles.

“What are you doing?” Caelira asked, voice sharp.

“Orders,” the eldest maid muttered. “Lady Elsyra demanded your quarters be… humbled.”

“You mean sabotaged.”

The maid winced. “She said the King approved.”

Caelira gritted her teeth.

Her bathwater was dumped. Her food replaced with dry bread. Her gowns switched for plain rags.

And when she went to the grand hall for breakfast…

The humiliation waited.

The nobles whispered.

The staff stared.

She sat on the floor, where no chair had been set for her.

Elsyra sat beside the King, dressed in silver and sapphire, her hand brushing his arm as she laughed.

“She’s got quite the talent for silence, doesn’t she?” Elsyra said with a smile. “Or has she already been gagged too many times to speak?”

The nobles chuckled.

Caelira’s gaze burned.

Therion didn’t stop it.

Didn’t defend her.

He just watched.

She stood.

Walked up to the table.

And dumped the entire jug of wine into Elsyra’s lap.

Gasps. Shrieks.

Elsyra shot to her feet.

“You filthy…”

Caelira leaned in. “Careful. You’ll get your desperation all over the floor.”

Elsyra’s slap was faster this time. And harder.

Caelira stumbled back.

Therion rose from his chair, slow and deliberate.

“Both of you,” he said. “Follow me.”

He didn’t speak until they were inside the West Wing chamber.

Then…

“Strip.”

His voice was aimed at Caelira.

She didn’t move.

Elsyra leaned against the wall, smirking.

“I said strip.”

Still, Caelira didn’t move.

Therion crossed the space in two strides.

Grabbed her by the neck.

Shoved her against the wall.

“You don’t defy me in front of them,” he growled. “You want war? I’ll give you war.”

She spat in his face.

“Then give it. I’m already burning.”

He grabbed the front of her tunic and ripped.

Elsyra laughed behind him.

“You know, she’s starting to sound like me.”

Therion’s fangs bared.

He threw Caelira to the center of the room.

“On your knees.”

“Make me.”

He stepped forward.

But this time…it wasn’t anger.

It was something else.

Something twisted.

“Elsyra,” he said. “Hold her arms.”

Caelira froze.

“What?”

Elsyra moved fast.

Grinning.

Grabbing Caelira’s wrists from behind and yanking her arms up.

Therion knelt.

Grabbed her jaw.

“You want to fight in front of them?” he hissed. “Then bleed for me in front of her.”

He bit.

Hard.

Not her neck. Her breast.

His fangs sank deep enough to leave blood.

She screamed.

Elsyra laughed.

“Finally. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Caelira thrashed.

But Elsyra held her tight.

Therion’s tongue licked the blood.

“You wanted to be strong?” he said. “Strong wolves cry too.”

He didn’t stop until her sob cracked through the room.

And then he did.

He pulled back.

Released her jaw.

Looked into her eyes.

“You just cracked, little wolf.”

He stood.

Turned to Elsyra.

“Leave.”

“What?”

He didn’t look at her.

“Now.”

She hesitated. “I thought…”

“Out.”

Her face twisted.

But she went.

Caelira slumped forward.

Chest heaving.

Tears falling.

He didn’t touch her again.

Just stood there.

Watching her shatter.

And whispered under his breath,

“You weren’t supposed to cry.”