Unmasked

The rich, earthy aroma of rain-soaked soil and deep forest wood cut right through the overpowering haze of expensive perfumes and roasted meats filling the ballroom. Valeria’s breath hitched. It was the gardener. The man she had kissed just yesterday in the dirt. Her wolf stirred, pacing aggressively in the back of her mind as the scent grew thick and dominant, demanding her full attention even before her eyes could lock onto the source.

She stood frozen by the velvet-draped wall, her mind spinning into a hectic frenzy. Logic battled against the undeniable evidence of her lycan senses. There was zero possibility a simple groundskeeper held an invitation to a royal masquerade of this magnitude. Her fingers tightened around the slender stem of her champagne flute. The man in the dirty clothes, the one who had smirked at her and let her believe he pruned roses for a living, was a lie. If he was here, walking through those grand doors with that level of confidence, he wasn't tending the gardens.

Valeria gulped the remaining champagne, the bubbles burning her throat, and pressed herself deeper into her quiet corner. She watched the new arrivals. She could only catch glimpses of their broad shoulders and the tops of their masked heads over the sea of guests. Yet, the way the crowd parted, bowing and stepping aside with frantic respect, painted a clear picture. These men held immense power.

"Your Majesty!" a nearby lord greeted, his voice dripping with sycophantic praise. Valeria’s spine locked.

"Are you sure that’s him?" a hushed voice fluttered past her. Two young women in extravagant silk gowns stood mere feet away, hiding their mouths behind feathered fans.

"Yes," the second girl whispered back, her tone frantic with excitement. "I met the Beta yesterday. I am positive that is his scent. It’s the king and his inner circle."

The words hit Valeria like a physical strike. Her stomach dropped. These girls were likely other contenders, navigating the ball just as blind as she was, relying on scent and gossip. The local nobility seemed perfectly at ease, wearing their masks as playful accessories. But for the foreign contenders, it was a test. And Valeria was failing spectacularly.

This was bad. A nightmare, really. If those men were King Draven and his most trusted elite guard, then she had kissed one of them in the dirt. She sucked in a harsh breath, forcing the air into her tight lungs. Why did she blindly accept his act? Because he wore rough clothes and stood in a garden? It was a foolish, reckless assumption. She cursed herself under her breath, the heat of embarrassment flushing her cheeks.

She recalled their exchange in the library. She had openly called him a gardener. He never denied it. He leaned into the lie, playing along smoothly while she paraded around as a simple maid. She had survival as her excuse. What was his? He was on his own territory.

The answer slammed into her, cold and sharp. He knew exactly who she was from the very first second. He was a high-ranking guard, someone tasked with securing the perimeter and vetting the arriving guests. He had played her.

Was he sharing a laugh with his squad right now? Or worse, was he reporting her foolishness directly to King Draven?

The humiliation burned away, leaving behind a raw, blistering fury. It was obvious no one in this frozen wasteland wanted her here. The fake instructions sent to her room, the open hostility, and now this. Was this elaborate charade just another layer of their strategy to break her? Did they plan to use her reckless kiss to blackmail her, to force her to forfeit the Luna Trials out of sheer shame?

Her grip on the crystal flute turned lethal. The long-buried anger she had carefully locked away for years erupted. The delicate glass groaned, then shattered in her bare hand. Shards bit into her palm. Blood welled, bright red against her pale skin, but she didn’t even flinch. The lycan healing kicked in instantly, knitting the cuts closed before a single drop could ruin her dusky blue feathers. She brushed the sparkling debris from her palm. She didn't care about the glass. She needed answers.

She tracked the scent. The gardener and his imposing companions had settled near the string quartet, already surrounded by a flock of desperate, fawning women. Valeria narrowed her eyes through her mask. She watched a brunette in a deep crimson gown slide her manicured hand boldly over his bicep.

That was it.

Valeria abandoned her corner, her heels clicking a steady, predatory rhythm against the marble floor. She marched straight through the crowd, ignoring the confused glances of the nobility. She reached him just as he leaned in to hear the brunette speak.

Valeria slapped her hand down on his shoulder. She didn't hold back. She used her pure, royal lycan strength, squeezing the dense muscle hard enough to bruise a lesser man. It was a clear, unmistakable message of dominance.

"Hey there," she smirked, tilting her chin up. She projected absolute, unshakable control. "I think you owe me a dance."

He whipped his head around. Startled. His eyes widened slightly behind his mask. He clearly hadn't expected the little maid to possess this kind of audacity, let alone raw strength.

"Who do you think you are?!" the brunette in red gasped, her face twisting in outrage.

"The music hasn’t even started," a man in a black mask with a thick blonde beard pointed out, frowning at the interruption.

Valeria ignored them all. She snapped her gaze toward the musicians. Her inner wolf, Bellona, surged to the surface. Her eyes flared with a brilliant, undeniable glow.

"Play something fiery," Valeria commanded. The Alpha tone ripped from her throat, heavy, dark, and commanding. It was a power she rarely used, but the musicians flinched, instinctively raising their instruments to their chins.

A nearby guard shifted. "What the—"

The gardener raised a large hand, cutting off the protest instantly. He looked back at Valeria, his shock shifting into a dark, intriguing amusement.

"It would be my honour," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. He reached up, prying her iron grip from his shoulder, and brought her knuckles to his lips. He pressed a gentle, lingering kiss against her skin. A traitorous shiver cascaded down her spine, pooling in her stomach, but she forced the feeling down. It was a lie. It meant nothing to him, and she would make sure it meant nothing to her.

Draven’s mind was reeling. The little maid from the gardens wasn't staff. She was a guest. A high-ranking royal guest with an Alpha tone that could bend his own musicians to her will. He had let his guard down. Every time they crossed paths, her scent and her fire had overwhelmed his senses, blinding him to the obvious. He had never even bothered to check her wolf.

It was a massive miscalculation.

He stared into her glowing eyes. She was furious. And she had every right to be. He was the King of the North, and she likely believed he was dragging her along for sport. But she hadn't exactly been honest either.

He kept his grip on her hand and led her straight to the center of the ballroom. The crowd parted instantly, giving them a wide berth. The musicians struck the first chord, a heavy, driving rhythm that filled the cavernous space. Draven turned to face her and pulled her roughly against his chest, closing the distance until there was not a sliver of air between them. He relished the sudden, intense physical contact, feeling the heat of her body seep through her gown. He knew they were done after this conversation, but his inner beast demanded to feel her close one last time.

He smirked, realizing her tactical genius. The loud, fiery music was the perfect cover. It was the only way to have a private argument in a room packed with sharp-eared lycans.

"So, I guess that you—" he began, leaning his head down.

A low, vibrating growl tore from her throat, cutting him off. A woman had never growled at him in his entire life.

"I hope you had your fun," Valeria hissed through gritted teeth. Her eyes burned with a fierce challenge behind the intricate mask. He despised that he couldn't see the rest of her beautiful face, but the raw fury in her gaze was mesmerizing.

"Look," Draven countered, his voice a tight rumble over the music. "If I knew who you were, I would have kept as far away from you as possible."

It was the honest truth, but it only seemed to fuel her rage.

Valeria scoffed, a bitter, hollow sound. "Goddess. Are you seriously going to stand there and pretend you didn't know?"

"And you?" he shot back, arching an eyebrow she couldn't see.

"I am the one who is new here! I couldn't possibly know the face of every guard!" she snapped. Her chest heaved against his, and he could hear the frantic, jackhammer pace of her heart. She wasn't lying.

"Exactly, you are new here," he mocked, matching her sharp tone. "How was I supposed to know? I'm sorry, but I don't follow Princess Valeria on social media to memorize what all her little friends look like."

Valeria’s lips parted in pure disgust. He was still playing dumb. Still acting like a mere soldier deflecting blame.

"Nice try!" she seethed, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "As if King Draven’s most trusted guard wouldn’t be heavily screening every single arrival for those stupid Luna Trials."

Draven swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. His Beta and Gamma had been handling the arrivals, vetting the contenders all night. They definitely knew who she was. The situation was spiraling way out of control. He needed to de-escalate. He needed to let her go.

"Listen, it was a mistake," Draven sighed, his tone dropping into something almost placating. "Let’s just forget about the whole thing and move on from—"

Pain flared sharply in his foot.

Valeria had driven the sharp, metal stiletto heel of her shoe directly into his toes with brutal force.

"Fine!" she spat, her lips pursing in triumph. "Mistake it is. See you never, gardener."

She turned her back, ready to storm off the floor and leave him standing there.

Draven’s reflexes took over. His hand shot out, clamping around her arm. He pulled her back, his grip tightening instantly. His inner wolf roared, refusing to let her walk away.

"Not so fast, little maid," he growled softly, the sound vibrating right against the shell of her ear. "No one stabs me and leaves."

Logically, he knew he deserved the attack. He knew he had to release her. The masquerade was public, and the tension between them was volatile. But his hand wouldn't obey. His beast wouldn't back down.

"The dance is not over yet," he whispered. As he leaned down, his lips accidentally brushed the sensitive skin of her neck, sending a jolt of pure electricity through them both. "Leaving early is rude."

"If you are a masochist, just say so," Valeria sneered, her voice trembling slightly from the sudden contact. She lifted her other foot and brought her heel down hard on his opposite boot.

Draven let out a low groan, but it had nothing to do with the pain. He spent his life training; a heel to the foot meant nothing. It was her wild, untamed audacity that pushed him over the edge. She wanted a fight? He would give her one.

As she lifted her leg to stomp him a third time, Draven moved faster. He dropped his hand to her thigh, gripping the bare, warm flesh exposed by the high slit of her dress. With a sharp tug, he lifted her leg and forcefully wrapped it around his own waist. It was a highly provocative, deeply sexual stance, their bodies locked together in an aggressive display of dominance that belonged behind closed doors, not in the center of a royal ballroom. The friction of her thigh against his hip sent fire straight to his core.

Valeria gasped, her face flushing crimson beneath her mask. "Take your hands off me." Her eyes threw literal daggers at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly against his.

Draven smirked, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of her thigh. "Only when you learn how to behave in a civilized society. And after that, you Sunset lycans call us barbarians?"

"Aren't you?" she fired back, refusing to lower her gaze. "You can't grab a woman like this without her consent."

"It brings me as much pleasure as it brings you," he retorted, his voice thick with lust and anger. He glared down at her, and she glared right back, neither willing to concede a single inch.

The air between them crackled with fierce, sensual tension. They were consumed by the battle, lost in the heat of their bodies and the fury of the deceit.

They didn't notice the fiery music had abruptly stopped.

They didn't realize they were standing dead still in the middle of the dance floor.

They didn't see the hundreds of guests staring at them in pin-drop silence.

A loud, deliberate clearing of a throat shattered the bubble.

"Excuse me."

Katerina stepped right up to them, placing a stiff hand on her brother's arm.

Draven didn't look away from Valeria's eyes. "I am busy," he growled, the Alpha power lacing his tone.

"Draven!" Katerina snapped, her voice rising sharply in the quiet room. "You aren't supposed to dance with the contenders before their official introduction. That is if they even get through it in the first place! And Princess Valeria needs to go and take her place in the lineup because we are about to start."

The words hung in the air, heavy and fatal.

Draven’s thumb froze on her thigh. Valeria’s breath caught in her throat.

The fight drained out of them, replaced by a cold, suffocating shock. They both turned to look at Katerina in pure awe, their minds scrambling to process the words.

Contender. Princess Valeria. Draven.

Slowly, torturously, they turned their heads back, their eyes locking once more. The fierce heat morphed into utter devastation.

"Princess Valeria?" Draven breathed.

"Draven?" Valeria whispered.