Chapter 3: The Brother's Smile

The courtyard of Blackthorn Palace was vast, paved with dark stone that gleamed under the torchlight. Guards stood like statues along the walls, their armor catching the fire’s glow, but Elara barely noticed them. Her gaze remained fixed on the man who had stepped from the shadows, his lips curved in a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

Lucien Blackthorn.

He was striking in a way wholly different from his brother. Where Kaelen was sharp angles and ruthless power, Lucien carried himself with a softer, almost careless elegance. His hair was a shade lighter, chestnut touched with gold, and his smile—oh, his smile—was disarming, the kind that could make anyone believe they were safe. Yet Elara’s stomach twisted, warning her that his charm was as dangerous as Kaelen’s dominance.

“Brother,” Lucien said again, voice smooth like honey, though the faintest edge of mockery lingered in his tone. “You’ve brought her at last. Our prophecy’s jewel.”

Kaelen’s expression hardened. His hand, still clasped around Elara’s, tightened slightly, as though reminding her who she belonged to. “Mind your tongue, Lucien.”

But Lucien only chuckled, bowing low in an exaggerated gesture of respect that looked more like mockery. When he straightened, his eyes found Elara’s. They lingered far too long.

“And this must be the bride fate has promised you,” he murmured, his smile deepening. “Though I must admit, brother, the moon has been generous. She’s far lovelier than I imagined.”

Heat crept up Elara’s neck at his boldness. She wanted to shrink under his gaze, but instead she forced herself to stand taller, her chin rising with defiance she didn’t know she possessed.

Kaelen stepped forward, his broad frame shifting just enough to shield her from Lucien’s stare. His voice was low, dangerous. “Enough.”

The tension between them was thick, like a storm waiting to break. Elara sensed a history here, something unspoken and sharp, simmering beneath the surface. Brothers they may be, but there was no warmth in Kaelen’s warning nor in Lucien’s smile.

“Of course,” Lucien said lightly, raising his hands in feigned surrender. “I only meant to welcome her. Surely you wouldn’t deny me that?”

His words were smooth, but his eyes never left Elara’s, and something in that look unsettled her deeply.

Kaelen growled low in his throat, a sound so primal it vibrated through her bones. “Do not mistake my patience for mercy. She is mine. Remember that.”

Lucien’s smile faltered for only a heartbeat before returning, polished and flawless. “As you say, brother.”

Elara’s heart pounded. The weight of Kaelen’s claim pressed against her, heavy and suffocating, but what unsettled her even more was the way Lucien’s eyes glimmered, as though her defiance—or perhaps her innocence—was a challenge he intended to test.

Kaelen tugged her hand, pulling her away from Lucien and through the palace gates. The massive iron doors creaked shut behind them, cutting off the night and sealing her inside a world of shadows.

The halls of Blackthorn Palace were as foreboding as the fortress walls outside. The ceilings soared high, lined with torches that flickered against banners bearing the sigil of the crowned wolf. The air smelled faintly of steel and smoke, a scent that seemed to follow Kaelen himself.

They passed guards who bowed low, servants who scurried into alcoves to avoid the king’s gaze. Every eye that lingered on Elara carried the same mixture of pity and curiosity, as though they already knew she was less a bride and more a sacrifice.

At last, Kaelen stopped before a massive set of doors carved with snarling wolves. He pushed them open, revealing a chamber lit by a roaring fire.

“This will be your room,” he said curtly.

Elara stepped inside, her breath catching. The chamber was lavish—draped in silks, furnished with dark wood, the bed enormous and covered in furs. It should have been beautiful, but the size and opulence made it feel like a cage.

Kaelen followed her in, his presence filling the room. She turned, her heart racing as she realized they were alone.

“Why me?” she whispered again, unable to stop the question.

His gaze hardened, molten gold burning into hers. “Because fate willed it. Because you are the key.”

“The key to what?” she pressed, desperation breaking through her fear.

His jaw clenched, his hand shooting out to grip her chin, tilting her face up toward him. His touch was firm, almost bruising, but not cruel. His eyes glowed brighter, hunger and warning mingling.

“You ask too many questions,” he growled softly. “Obey, Elara. Or you will regret it.”

Her lips parted, a tremor running through her body—not only from fear, but from the closeness of him, the heat of his breath, the sheer pull he seemed to have over her. For one agonizing second, she thought he might kiss her.

But he released her abruptly, turning away as though dismissing both the thought and her.

“You will dine with me tonight. Until then, rest.”

He strode from the chamber, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him.

Elara staggered back, pressing a hand to her chest. Her heart thundered wildly, her lips tingling where his thumb had grazed them. She hated the weakness in her body, the way it responded to him despite the fear clawing at her chest.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands. She was trapped, alone in a palace of stone and secrets. But even as her thoughts spun, one image refused to leave her mind—Kaelen’s eyes, burning with a hunger he had not yet acted upon.

And beneath that memory, like an unwelcome shadow, came another: Lucien’s smile, sharp and knowing.

She shivered. For if Kaelen’s touch had the power to unnerve her, Lucien’s attention felt like a knife waiting for the right moment to strike.

Outside her chamber door, unseen by Elara, Lucien lingered in the shadows of the hall. His smile had faded into something darker, more dangerous.

“She’s even more intriguing up close,” he murmured to himself.