Chapter 31
Chapter 31
Lila
I stopped looking at Damon three days ago. I couldn’t afford the distraction, and Damon Sinclair was definitely distracting.
If I was going to survive the next trial, I needed to become someone else. Someone smarter, who knew what fork to use, how to speak in riddles that sounded like respect, and how to manipulate a conversation without touching a weapon. I needed to become my half–sister Elena Ashford.
And Elena definitely wouldn’t have been sneaking glances at the Lycan King like a girl with something to confess.
So I avoided him like the plague, even if it made me feel like something vital was missing.
I walked the palace corridors with my shoulders back, eyes forward, posture so perfect it hurt. I stayed late in the etiquette rooms, memorizing names and titles and family alliances. I spent hours in the archives, poring over legislation I barely understood.
I filled the cracks in my story with protocol and guesswork and hope.
What I didn’t do was look at Damon. When he passed in the halls, I kept my eyes on my books and walked the other way. Or I didn’t breathe until he was
gone.
And I didn’t let myself think about how that made him look at me.
But I felt it. Every time.
It was subtle at first; his gaze lingering a second too long across the gardens, or flicking up from a conversation when I entered a room.
Once, as I stepped out of a lecture hall, I saw him across the corridor, already mid–step, clearly expecting me to meet his eyes. I didn’t. I turned sharply and kept walking.
I could still feel his confusion radiating behind me.
The next day, he stood just inside the perimeter of the etiquette practice room, arms folded, expression flat as he watched me pour tea for an imaginary Alpha. He didn’t speak. He didn’t interrupt. But I knew I was the only one he was watching.
He was trying to figure out what changed.
Damon Sinclair didn’t chase. He didn’t ask. He assessed. And I’d just become the subject of his focus.
The whispers started the second day.
“She must be so embarrassed,” one girl said as I exited the strategy wing, voice pitched high enough for her friends to laugh.
“I would be too,” said another. “He hasn’t even looked at her since the match.”
“She thought she was special. Clearly, she was just a warm–up. I’m sure I’ll draw his attention next.”
I kept walking.
Vanessa hadn’t said much but she made sure to throw that gloating smirk my way anytime we were in the same room together.
Ruby stirred restlessly in the back of my mind, irritated at my avoiding Damon. He’s starting to notice, she murmured once, just before I stepped into a solo etiquette review.
I don’t care, I hissed back, we’re safer this way. No distractions.
Are we?
1/3
Chapter 31
I didn’t answer, I didn’t have time for the truth.
Because the truth was every time I caught the edge of Damon’s expression, I saw him staring directly at me like he’d seen the edge of a lie and wa wondering what it would take to pull the rest of the thread loose.
IFI gave him more, he’d pull. If I gave him nothing, he’d get bored.
I wasn’t sure what the balance was, but I had to find it fast.
I threw myself deeper into my preparations. I memorized court structures until my eyes burned. I practiced my smile in the mirror until it didn’t look like a grimace. I asked Emma to quiz me on minor packs and their historical allies.
Elena Ashford would have known all of this by heart.
I only had a couple of days left to fake it.
The palace library was quiet this early, except for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional creak of an ancient floorboard. My footsteps were muffled by the thick rugs as I made my way through the stacks, fingers trailing lightly over the gilded spines of books whose titles were stating to blend together.
Elena’s world had been ink and law and posture. Mine had been sweat and roots and survival.
I was trying to build a bridge between them, one noble fact at a time.
My satchel thumped gently against my side as I searched for a title I hadn’t read yet: The Council of Nine – Founding Politics and Modern Reform. Sexy stuff. Just the kind of bedtime story that might keep me and my mom alive.
I rounded the corner into the historical law section and nearly collided with two women whispering between the shelves. They jumped back, blinking at me like I’d walked in on something scandalous.
“Oh,” one said quickly. “Sorry. We thought no one came here.”
I raised a brow. “Clearly someone does.”
They flushed and moved aside. I didn’t miss the way their eyes lingered on me, then flicked to each other.
“What’s going on?” I asked, voice calm, practiced.
“Nothing,” said the taller one, too fast. “Just… talking about that protest.”
My spine stiffened. “What protest?”
They glanced around. Lowered their voices.
“Alpha Rodrik,” one whispered. “He showed up at the outer gates with his Pack.”
I blinked, quickly going through my newly made mental checklist of Alphas. Rodrik ran a moderate–sized southern Pack whose only daughter had been eliminated in the combat trials. “Why?”
“His daughter was eliminated last round. He’s demanding she be reinstated.”
“And he brought warriors?” I asked.
She nodded quickly. “The guards are going to ‘escort him‘ to the royal wing. People are saying the King’s going to make an example out of him.”
My mouth went dry. “When?”
“This morning.”
I nodded once, heart pounding. They left after that, eager to get away, and I didn’t blame them.
2/3
