Auto Saved Word Count 10949/70

PARIS POV

The hall didn't go silent for me.

I had already heard the truth long before Liam spoke it out loud.

I had known Selene was selling me.

I had known I was walking into a monster's hands.

What I hadn't known was whose blood ran in his veins.

Or that the man I had loved was standing on the wrong side of it.

My uncle.

"Everyone out!"

The sound shook the room. Guards dropped to their knees. Servants ran for the doors. Only a few of us were left, Vincent, Selene, Liam, Mason, Lily and me.

The doors closed hard, the echo ringing in my head. I could barely stand; my hands were shaking.

Vincent stood where he was. He did not speak. His hands were clenched at his sides, and the air around him felt thick, as though his control was the only thing holding the room together.

For the first time since I had met him, something cracked beneath his stillness. His breathing was slow but uneven, and his jaw was set so tight that a muscle jumped along his cheek. His eyes were fixed on nothing at all, as if the truth had struck somewhere too deep for words.

Liam shifted uneasily. "You're seriously not going to say anything?" he asked, his voice low but strained. "About Mason."

The silence stretched again.

Mason's chest rose sharply. His eyes burned, wet and red, and his lips trembled as he stepped forward. "Of course," Mason said bitterly. "Why would he?"

Vincent did not answer him.

Mason laughed, sharp and ugly. "That's it? Nothing? You find out you have a son and you can't even pretend to care?"

The air thickened. Vincent took one step forward.

"Care," he said quietly, "is a privilege."

Mason's breath hitched, tears spilling freely now as his hands curled into fists. "This mad king can't be my father," he said, his voice shaking as the words tore out of him. "He can't be. I won't accept it."

The sound of his grief cut through the hall, raw and unguarded. I felt it settle in my chest like a weight I could not push away.

Vincent finally moved but not toward Mason.

His gaze shifted to me without warning, heavy and unreadable, as though he was searching for something he had already lost. His eyes lingered there longer than necessary, and whatever he saw only tightened his expression further.

Mason noticed.

"So you won't even look at me," Mason said bitterly through tears, his voice rising. "But you can look at her."

Vincent's shoulders stiffened. His breath caught once, shallow and sharp, before he forced it steady again. His hand lifted halfway, then dropped back to his side as if the effort alone had cost him something.

The room waited.

Slowly, Vincent turned his head away from me and faced Liam, his eyes dark with a storm he had not yet allowed himself to release.

Vincent twitched his hand. His eyes glowed red once more, and his chest rose quickly. When he turned to face Selene, I for a moment believed that his rage would shatter the floor. His voice was low but burning as he said, "You destroyed my brother's name."

"You turned his daughter into a toy for your greed. You made her dance for wolves who wanted to devour her."

Nobody saw him coming because he moved so quickly. Selene was lifted off the ground as his hand closed around her neck. She gasped and clawed at his wrist. "Please, please, don't, Vincent."

He held on to her even as her feet kicked in the air. His voice thundered and his eyes grew brighter. "For what you did, you should have rotted long ago!"

"Vincent, stop!" I cried, running forward. "She's not worth it!"

He didn't move. His hand tightened, and Selene choked out a weak sound.

I pushed closer. "Don't kill her! You'll be no better than her if you do! You left your family behind, you left me behind and now you want to wash your hands in her blood? You think that makes you clean? If there is anyone who needs to take revenge on her it's me."

His head snapped toward me. "Watch your tongue," he warned, his voice shaking the air.

Liam moved between us fast. "She's just a kid, Vincent."

But Vincent didn't look away from me. His glare was cold. "As much as you're my niece, it would take me nothing to cut that sharp tongue out if I hear another word from you. Don't test me."

Liam caught his arm and forced him to drop it. "That's enough!"

Selene fell to the floor, coughing hard. She tried to speak, but Vincent raised his hand, cutting her off.

"Strip her of everything," he said to the guards. His voice was calm now, but it was worse than shouting. "Her title, her lands, her name, everything she owns belongs to the crown. She's no Luna, no ruler. From now on, she is nothing."

Selene's eyes widened. "You can't do this to me..."

"I just did," Vincent said.

The guards grabbed her by her arms. She screamed and kicked, but they dragged her toward the door.

Her voice echoed through the hall. "You'll regret this, Vincent! You'll all regret this!"

The doors shut behind her, and silence filled the room again.

Vincent stood in the middle of it, chest rising and falling. His eyes were still bright, his jaw tight. He looked powerful, dangerous, and empty all at once.

I wanted to hate him. But I couldn't look away.

Then he said in a voice that filled the room, "No one leaves until I say so."

The guards stood at attention, waiting for his command. He looked at them and said, "Show everyone to their rooms."

Then his gaze stopped on me. His tone dropped lower. "And you, Paris... you're coming with me. We need to finish what we started."

I was struck hard by the words. My breath caught in my throat and my heart jumped. Just what did he say? His gaze remained fixed on me, and I felt my stomach turn. The silence was broken by Mason's voice.

"What do you mean by that?" His voice trembling, his face flushed, he took a step forward. "What do you mean by "finish what we started?"

PARIS POV

Slowly, Vincent's head turned in Mason's direction. He had lost the calm that had been on his face. The coldness in his eyes caused the hair on my arms to stand on end.

"You should learn when to hold your tongue, Mason," he said in a low voice. The room's atmosphere shifted. Everyone became still. The guards froze, too. Vincent began to approach him. One by one, his shoes sounded louder than the last as they struck the ground.

With a tone like a steel rubbing stone, he declared, "I don't take kindly to being questioned." "It wasn't for nothing that I was called the Mad King."

Mason didn't move back. His face was red, his chest rising fast. "Oh, really?" he shot back. "What's next then? You're going to sleep with your niece? Is that what you meant by..."

Vincent's hand moved so quickly that I didn't notice it until it landed before he could finish. The crack echoed throughout the room. Mason's face and shirt were covered in blood as he flew back and hit the ground.

With a deep moan, he rolled onto his side and gripped his nose. He poured blood between his fingers. I rushed to him after screaming. "Mason!" I reached for him, my knees slamming into the floor.

He had a twisted, swollen nose. "Oh God, Mason, stop moving; you're bleeding."

He hissed in pain, muttering a curse under his breath.

Vincent towered over him, his eyes still hard as he said, "you better know who you're speaking to. I will not let it go easy next time."

He looked at his guards. "Throw him outside the gates."

My head snapped up. "What? No! He's bleeding!"

Before I had a chance to react, Liam charged. "Vincent!" he yelled. "That's your son! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Vincent turned his head, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "You're asking me what's wrong with me?"

Liam paused but didn't relent. "No, not like that," he said slowly. "But can't you see? He's just a boy. He's angry. He just said something stupid, that's all."

Vincent's expression didn't change. "A boy who insults a king?" he said. "Do you actually think that's something I'll just let go?"

"Vincent, stop this," Liam said again. "He's your blood."

Vincent's voice turned sharp. "He may share my blood, but that doesn't make him my equal. He earned what he got."

I couldn't take it anymore. I shouted, tears burning my eyes. "Why are you so heartless? Can't you see he's hurt? Look at him!"

Vincent's gaze shifted to me. His eyes locked on mine now. Then he walked closer, slow, steady steps until he was standing right in front of me.

My heart hammered so loud I thought he could hear it. He bent down until his face was inches from mine. His voice came out low and quiet, but every word was sharp. "I do not care."

The world seemed to stop. My throat felt tight.

He stood straight again. "Now, Paris," he said coldly, "my room. I won't repeat myself."

I looked up at him, this man who had just broken his own son's face without a flicker of regret and my stomach turned. His eyes were empty, his face unreadable.

There was nothing human left in him.

He was alive, but he had no soul.

A dead man wearing a crown.

The order hung between us, but my feet refused to obey. My eyes flicked once more to Mason on the floor, blood soaking into the stone beneath him.

"I'm not leaving him like this," I said, my voice shaking. "He needs help."

Vincent watched me the way one watches something that has already made its last mistake.

I took a step back instead of forward. That was enough.

In one swift movement, Vincent closed the distance between us. His hand wrapped around my arm, strong and unforgiving, and before I could pull away, he bent and lifted me from the ground.

The breath tore from my lungs as my feet left the floor.

"Put me down!" I shouted, striking his shoulder in panic and rage. "Vincent, let go of me!"

He did not slow down. His arm locked around my back, holding me firmly against his chest as he turned toward the doors. I twisted in his grip, my fists pressing uselessly against him, but it was like struggling against stone.

The hall blurred past me.

I heard the scrape of boots as guards stepped aside. I felt eyes on me, watching, judging, understanding exactly what this meant.

Shame burned hotter than fear.

"This isn't right," I said through clenched teeth. "You don't get to do this."

His voice was low and steady near my ear. "You forfeited the right to walk away the moment you defied me."

The doors opened. I went still in his arms, my body tight, my heart pounding hard enough to hurt.

The door shut behind us with a loud thud that made me jump. My heart was still racing from what had just happened. The sound of Mason's nose breaking was still ringing in my head.

Vincent didn't say a word. He walked straight to the table, picked up a bottle of wine, and poured himself a drink like nothing had happened. His movements were too calm.

I stood by the door, shaking. "You didn't have to hit him like that," I said as my voice cracked a little and carrying me out wasn't necessary."

He took a slow sip and turned slightly, his cold eyes landing on me. "And yet, I did," he said simply.

I clenched my hands. "You act like you don't feel anything at all."

He set the glass down. "Feeling is weakness."

I took a step forward even though my knees felt weak. "No. It's what makes you human."

He looked at me for a long moment, and I could see something flicker in his eyes. Then he said, "Then maybe I stopped being human a long time ago."

My breath caught. He started to move quietly, circling me like a predator. I could feel him behind me before I even turned. Every step he took made the air heavier.

When he stopped, his voice was right by my ear. "Are you afraid, Paris?"

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "Of you? No." I took a shaky breath. "Of what you might make me feel? Maybe."

For a second, he froze. His eyes softened just a little, but it was gone as fast as it came. He turned away, grabbed his glass again, and said, "Sit."

I crossed my arms. "No."

He raised an eyebrow, his tone calm but dangerous. "You really want to test me tonight?"

"You already proved your strength," I said.

He took a step toward me, and I could feel the heat coming off his body. "You think that was strength?" he said slowly. "That was mercy."

I laughed bitterly. "You call that mercy?"

He leaned down until our faces were only inches apart. His eyes were dark. "You wouldn't survive my cruelty."

The words made my skin prickle. I hated that my body reacted to him, that I couldn't look away. I wanted to hate him completely, but something in his voice pulled at me.

He suddenly turned away and walked to the closet. Without saying a word, he pulled something out and threw it toward me. I caught it clumsily. It was a robe, smooth and soft in my hands.

"You look like you've been dragged through hell," he said. "Clean up."

I stared at him, my chest tight. "Why? So you can control that too?"

"No. Because I hate untidy things."

"You're untidy on the inside," I muttered under my breath.

That made him pause. His lips twitched, almost a smile but not quite. "Careful, Paris. You're starting to sound like me."

I glared at him, but I could feel my face getting warm. I hated that he noticed.

He leaned back against the table, eyes locked on me. "If you're going to stand up to me," he said slowly, "do it properly. Keep your head high. Weakness doesn't suit you."

For a moment, he looked away, and I saw his hand shake slightly as he lifted the glass again. He tried to hide it, but I saw. That tiny tremble didn't fit the man everyone feared.

I held the robe tighter in my hands. I didn't know if I wanted to throw it at him or wear it.

He looked back at me. "Go. Clean up. I'm not repeating myself again."

I stared at him one last time before walking past him. The scent of alcohol clung to the air. He didn't move, but I could feel his eyes on my back until I disappeared into the bath chamber. 

Auto Saved Word Count 15679/70

VINCENT'S POV

The halls were too quiet. Everyone had gone to their rooms, but I couldn't sleep. My head was a storm, and the only thing that made sense right now was the half-empty bottle in my hand.

I stopped in front of Liam's door and knocked once. He opened it, looking tired but calm. "You're still awake?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I said and walked in without waiting.

His room was simple. He gave me a look that said he knew I didn't come to talk about the weather. I dropped into a chair and pushed the bottle toward him.

"Drink?"

He took it, sighed, and poured us both a glass.

We sat there for a while, not saying much. Just the sound of the fire and the faint clink of glass.

"How's the pack?" I asked finally.

"Stable," Liam said. "We're still rebuilding. Some don't trust her rule yet, but they follow. Out of fear, maybe."

I nodded. "Fear works."

He frowned. "It shouldn't always have to."

I ignored that and took another sip. The drink burned, but I liked the burn. It reminded me I was still alive.

We talked about the borders, the trade routes, the younger wolves, all the little things that didn't matter. I almost felt human again.

Then he said, softly, "I saw Mason. His face looks bad."

"He'll live," I said flatly.

"Why did you hit your son?."

"He opened his mouth when he shouldn't have."

Liam sighed. "He's just a boy."

"Then he should learn when to shut up."

We went quiet again. I could feel his eyes on me. I knew what he wanted to ask, but I didn't want to answer.

After a long pause, he finally said, "You know, you look more like your brother when you're angry."

I looked up. "Don't."

He smiled faintly. "I mean it. The same eyes. The same way of hiding what you really feel."

I poured another drink. "My brother hid too much. That's why he's dead."

Liam didn't argue. He just leaned back and watched me. Then, almost too quietly, he said, "You ever think about him? About what he left behind?"

My jaw tightened. "Every damn day."

There was something in Liam's face then, something he wanted to say but didn't. His eyes kept darting away, and his jaw moved like he was chewing on words he couldn't swallow.

"What is it?" I asked, setting the bottle of drink down between us.

He looked at me for a long moment, then sighed. "Just take it easy on Paris, Vincent. She's been through a lot."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

He rubbed his hand over his neck, avoiding my eyes. "You're not even the first king she's danced for."

My chest tightened. "What did you just say?"

Liam looked uneasy, but he nodded. "Before she came here, she used to dance for other kings. It was part of a deal... something about Selene's debts. She never talks about it."

The words hit me hard. My grip tightened around the glass until I thought it might crack. I tried to stay calm, but heat rushed through me. "She danced for other kings?"

"Vincent..."

"No," I interrupted, speaking quietly. "Explain what you mean to me." He let out another, lighter sigh. "Every detail is unknown to me. I simply know that she had no other option. She was trying to live.

I slowly leaned and gazed at the wall behind him. I had trouble breathing for a moment, and my chest felt heavy. Something burned in my throat when I felt Paris in another man's hands, smiling, swaying, and acting. The anger remained even after I swallowed it.

My hand was trembling a little as I poured more drink. "Liam, do you think I don't understand pain?" I whispered. "You don't think I know what it's like to lose control?"

He now had a worried expression. "I didn't mean that, Vincent. I'm merely saying... She is not like other girls. You need to be careful with her. I watched the drink ripple as I gazed into the glass. I looked like a stranger in my own reflection.

My brother's death, the throne, the endless noise, none of it had made me feel this weak. But hearing about her... it did. And I had no idea why. I let out a low, broken laugh. Liam's eyes widened.

"Vincent?" With my chest still burning, I glanced up at him. "Liam, you know what's funny?" "What?" "This evening, when she entered my room... I almost kissed her.

Liam's eyes went wide. "Vincent..."

"You're now claiming that she once performed for other kings. I shook my head and laughed rough. "Perhaps I am genuinely prone to madness." With a worried expression on his face, Liam leaned forward. "Don't beat yourself up, Vincent.

You've been through enough. You're tired, angry, just let it go for tonight."

I looked at him, my hands curling into fists on my knees. "No, Liam. Someone's been playing games with me, and I don't like games."

"Who?" he asked carefully.

I stood up, the chair scraping the floor. "Selene." The name came out like poison. "She has been using Paris." I clenched my jaw. "When I'm done with her, she'll wish she was never born."

Liam rose halfway, his hand lifting as if to stop me. "Vincent, don't..."

I cut him off with a small wave of my hand. "Not tonight. I'll deal with it later." My voice dropped lower, calm but dangerous. "I just need to think."

Suddenly, it seemed as though the walls were closing in on the room. There were many things in the air that neither of us wanted to discuss. I turned to the door and picked up the bottle of drink. "Liam, we'll talk later. Take a rest.

I didn't wait to hear what he had to say. I closed the door behind me and went outside. My hands continued to shake. I couldn't tell if it came from pain, rage, or both. All I knew was that something had broken inside of me, and I wasn't sure if I could fix it.

I was surprised to see her when I opened my room's door.

At that moment, Paris came out from the bathroom with steam still trailing behind her. Tiny drops trickled down her skin, and her hair was damp, clinging to her neck. The robe I had given her was tied loosely around her waist.

Just by standing there, she gave the impression that she had no idea what she was doing to me. I briefly lost my ability to breathe. I stood there looking foolishly, my hand still on the doorknob. I could hear my heart beating like a drum inside my chest, the sound of the water dripping, and her slow footsteps on the floor.

She saw me staring and looked up. With a sharp tone, she asked, "What?"

I looked away too quickly after clearing my throat. "Nothing." I sounded lower than normal.

"You're finished."

"Obviously," she rolled her eyes. Even though I didn't mean to, I glanced again when she brushed her hair to the side. Trying to think of something else, I turned to the table and poured myself a drink. I whispered, "You shouldn't walk around that way."

"Like what?" she shot back.

"Like..." I stopped. Damn it, I didn't even know how to finish. "Never mind."

She crossed her arms. "Say it."

I set the cup down harder than I meant to. "Forget it, Paris."

Her lips pressed tight, and for a second, she looked ready to argue. But instead, she asked, "Why didn't you ever come back?"

The question hit me like a slap. My fingers tensed on the glass. "This isn't the time."

"When is the time then?" she shouted. Her voice shook, not from fear but from anger. "He was your brother, Vincent! My father! You let me stand in front of you not even knowing who you were!"

I looked at her, and I swear something inside me twisted. "You don't understand what happened," I said, keeping my tone low.

"Then make me understand!" she yelled again. "Or can't you because you're too ashamed?"

I felt the heat rising in me. "Enough, Paris."

"No!" she shouted, stepping closer. "You think you can just hide behind your power and your stupid calm voice and make everything go away"

"Paris," I said again, this time softer.

She stopped, breathing hard, tears welling up in her eyes. I hated that. I hated seeing her cry. The anger in me just... faded.

"Please," I said quietly. "Not tonight. We've both had enough. You've had enough. Finding out this way" I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. "It's too much for one night."

She shook her head. "I don't want to stay here."

I looked at her, straight in the eyes. "You will." My tone left no room for argument. "You'll stay here. With me."