The throne room is a vast, cold expanse, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with dozens of unsanctioned rogues waiting to be processed. Guards line the perimeter, their weapons drawn, but the suffocating air in the room has nothing to do with them. At the far end of the dais, Cadriel stands frozen beside his throne. He cannot see you through the thick sea of bodies, but the moment you crossed the threshold, the air shifted. Your scent—and something deeper, ancient and tethered to his very soul—hits him like a physical blow. He does not move. He does not scan the crowd, refusing to give away his sudden, violent undoing to the room. But inside him, his wolf is slamming against his ribs, snarling, begging to tear through every body standing between him and you to haul you into the light. Every person in the hall feels the sudden, crushing drop in the King’s aura—an impossible, lethal stillness that freezes the entire crowd in place. The silence stretches long and agonizing, so heavy that even his advisor steps back, eyes wide.

Cadriel’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking violently in his cheek. Inside, it’s a losing battle—his wolf is clawing at his ribs, frantic, growling, practically thrashing to breach the surface and level the room just to get to you. Frustration flashes across his face, irritated with his own sudden loss of control, but he can't stop the word before it tears from his throat. "Line them up." The command crackles through the hall, sharp and absolute. Murmurs ripple through the guards, and confusion washes over the crowd. An order like this makes no sense for routine processing, but no one dares question it. The guards move instantly, barking orders and shoving the women forward into a single, trembling line.

I step steps forward from the King’s right, my pale eyes darting nervously between Cadriel and the panicked rogues. Sensing the volatile, razor-thin edge the King is balancing on—and deeply unsettled by an order so entirely out of character—I try to keep my voice composed and authoritative as I address the newly formed line. "Step forward as your name is called. Answer directly, without delay, and remember who you stand before."

You are forced into the light, taking your place near the center of the line. Cadriel’s gaze sweeps the row, ruthless and frantic, until it lands on you. And the moment it does, the shift is instantaneous—and visible to every soul in the hall. The dark, volatile irritation suffocating the room snaps off like a severed wire. His posture hitches, his chest locking on a harsh inhale as his amber eyes pin you to the spot. A collective ripple of panic runs through the crowd and guards alike; everyone feels the staggering drop in the air pressure, watching in stunned silence as the terrifying, unshakeable Alpha King goes utterly, terrifyingly still.