Chapter 7: The King’s Wife

Naya woke stiff and sore, the ache in her body a physical reminder of everything the night before had cost her. She lay still for a moment, letting the memories settle back into place. The necklace. The accusation. Ronan’s hand closing around her throat.

And then, just as vividly, Kael kneeling beside her. Ronan taking the cloth from his brother’s hands without explanation.

She still didn’t understand that part.

A maid entered before she could think it through further. "My lady, you need to prepare. Quickly."

"For what?"

"His Majesty attends a public pack gathering today. You’re expected to accompany him."

Naya sat up slowly. "As what? His wife who steals from the dead?"

The maid didn’t answer that. "The pack must see the King’s wife beside him," she said simply.

Naya understood immediately. This had nothing to do with affection. It was appearances, nothing more. Still, she had no choice but to rise and let herself be dressed.

She expected the servants to choose something practical. Instead, she was shown a gown already selected, elegant but modest, the neckline and sleeves cut in a way that would cover every mark her punishment had left behind.

"His Majesty chose this himself," the maid explained.

Naya stared at the dress longer than necessary. Ronan knew exactly what he’d done to her. He knew precisely where to hide the evidence of it.

For one foolish second, she wondered if this was some form of protection.

Then she corrected herself. A king couldn’t parade an obviously injured wife in front of his subjects without inviting questions he had no interest in answering. This wasn’t kindness. It was damage control.

She dressed anyway, because there was nothing else to do. When she finally looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t see a broken woman staring back. She saw the King’s wife, however unwillingly.

She straightened her shoulders. If she had to stand beside him today, she would do it with her head high.

Ronan was waiting downstairs when she came down. His eyes swept over her once, confirming she wore exactly what he’d chosen, then moved away without comment.

"Stay beside me," he said.

"I know how to walk," Naya replied.

His gaze cut back to her, cold. "This isn’t about walking."

He didn’t elaborate further before they left for the gathering.

The moment they stepped into the open square, the crowd’s noise dropped into a low, curious murmur. Every eye turned toward them. This was the first time the pack had seen her standing openly at Ronan’s side as his wife, rather than whispered about behind closed doors.

Some watched with plain curiosity. Others still saw exactly what they’d decided to see the moment she arrived — Elara’s replacement, nothing more.

Naya kept her chin lifted anyway.

Ronan’s hand settled at her waist, firm and deliberate. She stiffened at the contact, caught off guard. It was the first time he’d touched her in public without intending to humiliate her.

He didn’t look at her while he did it. He simply presented her to the crowd like something already decided.

A pack member approached and offered his congratulations to Ronan, then, almost as an afterthought, to Naya as well.

"She’s my wife," Ronan said, short and flat.

The words shouldn’t have meant anything. He’d made his indifference toward her painfully clear more than once. And yet something about the way he said it, simple and absolute, sounded almost like a claim.

Kael found them not long after, his presence a visible contrast to his brother’s rigid coldness.

"How are you feeling?" he asked Naya, genuine concern in his voice.

"Fine," she said.

Kael gave her a knowing look that told her he didn’t believe a word of it. "Royal gatherings are terrifying even when nobody’s trying to poison anyone," he said lightly. "You’re doing better than I did at my first one. I fainted."

Naya laughed before she could stop herself. It was small, quiet, but real, the first genuine laugh she’d allowed herself since arriving at this estate.

Kael’s smile widened at the sound.

Ronan noticed. His expression shifted, barely, something unreadable passing behind his eyes.

Kael kept talking, easy and unbothered, and Naya found herself relaxing slightly in his company. Then she felt Ronan’s hand tighten at her waist, just enough to notice.

She glanced at him, confused. He said nothing, simply drew her a fraction closer to his side.

Kael caught the movement too. His mouth twitched with poorly hidden amusement, but he wisely said nothing. Ronan’s face remained perfectly composed, as though his hand hadn’t moved at all.

The gathering continued, and Naya thought perhaps the worst of it was behind her. Then a man stepped forward, his expression carrying none of the careful respect the moment demanded.

"Surprising," he said, loud enough for those nearby to hear, "that His Majesty would present a replacement bride so publicly, so soon after Seraphine."

The crowd around them quieted, waiting.

Naya felt the familiar sting of the insult. But this time, she didn’t lower her eyes.

"Perhaps you should simply be grateful," the man continued, "that you were allowed to wear the crown’s colors at all."

"Do you believe," Naya said, her voice calm and clear, "that being chosen as someone’s replacement means I owe silence to every insult thrown my way?"

The man blinked, clearly not expecting a response.

"I didn’t ask to become the King’s wife," she continued. "But now that I am, I won’t embarrass him by behaving like someone without dignity."

He opened his mouth to respond. Naya didn’t give him the chance.

"Whatever my sister did is between her and the King. If you wish to condemn Elara, that’s your right. But I won’t carry the weight of a crime I didn’t commit."

Silence settled over the small crowd. The man’s face reddened, and he offered no further reply before stepping back into the gathering.

Naya didn’t look at Ronan for approval. She didn’t need it.

He watched her from a short distance, making no move to intervene, because none had been necessary. For the first time since this marriage began, he saw plainly that Naya could fight her own battles without being rescued.

She held her head high as she walked away from the exchange, and something in Ronan’s expression, brief and unfamiliar, seemed almost like respect.

They returned to the palace once the gathering ended. The moment the doors closed behind them, Naya finally turned to face him.

"If you hate me so much," she said, "why do you keep acting as though I’m yours?"

Ronan went still.

"You said our marriage was only on paper," she reminded him.

He looked at her for a long moment before answering. "Because you are."

Naya frowned. "That’s not an answer."

He stepped closer, and she resisted the urge to retreat.

"Paper," he said quietly, "doesn’t change what belongs to me."

Naya stared at him, unsure whether to feel anger, confusion, or something far more unsettling. Before she could find the words to respond, Ronan turned and walked away, leaving the weight of his own contradiction hanging in the silence behind him.