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To the ruthless Alpha Ashen Vladimir III, loyalty is everything,and disobedience is death. So when a sharp-tongued male slave named Nicholas is sent to serve in his brutal court as a server boy Ashen doesn't expect defiance... or attraction. But "Nicholas" is no ordinary slave. She is Nicolette Silver, the last daughter of a disgraced noble(human) bloodline, hiding behind a disguise, driven by vengeance, and willing to risk everything to save her sister from the werewolves' clutches. Infiltrating the court as a man, she thought she could manipulate the cold-hearted king, earn his trust, and uncover the truth behind her family's downfall. What she didn't plan for was Ashen himself,fierce, magnetic, and cursed by a prophecy that binds his fate to someone he should never want. Tension crackles, secrets ignite, and desire threatens to shatter the lies she's built. Because when the truth is revealed, it won't just break the fragile bond forming between slave and king,it might destroy them both.
Chapter 1 THE PRICE OF BLOOD
Nicolette's point of view
The first time I tasted the scent of death, it came with roses. My mother always kept fresh ones in the hallway, their soft petals pressed against the windowsill, basking in sunlight. I used to think they smelled like comfort. Safety.
That night, they smelled like burning.
"Get in the cellar. Now."
My mother shoved Nicolina and me through the wooden hatch in the pantry floor. Her hands were shaking,she never shook. Not even when father returned home bloodied from his patrols. Not even when the howling got too close to the borders. But that night... she trembled.
I gripped Nicolina's hand as the hatch slammed shut above us. My younger sister whimpered beside me, clutching my cloak. I could feel the air go still, then the walls began to shudder. The pounding of boots above us grew louder,an army tearing through our home.
Glass shattered. Furniture overturned. Screams. And then-
Gunfire.
My heart stopped. Nicolina let out a choked sob, and I pressed my hand to her mouth, whispering, "Shh... they can't hear us. You have to be quiet."
But it was too late.
A low growl echoed through the boards above. The scent of ash and fur and blood seeped into the cellar like poison. I knew what it meant. Lycans.
Then I heard her scream.
"Mama!" Nicolina cried, pushing upward, trying to lift the hatch. I held her down, fighting her tears with my own.
My mother's scream was short. My father's yell followed, raw and desperate. Another shot. Silence.
And then... boots. On the hatch.
The wood creaked.
I froze.
A hand reached down, wrenched it open, and the light blinded me. They grabbed Nicolina first.
"Let her go!" I screamed, lunging forward, but the butt of a rifle slammed into my head, and everything went dark.
When I woke, she was gone. And I was alone.
The years since blurred together like blood in water. I wandered the outskirts of the Borderlands, hiding beneath different names, different faces. But one thing never changed:
Revenge.
I had made a promise in that cellar. And I intended to keep it.
---
The caravan rattled down the forest path, heading toward the Northern gates. The sky was gray with the promise of snow, and the scent of fur lingered in the air. Wolves. Always watching. Always listening.
I crouched behind a ridge, fingers clenched around the dagger strapped to my thigh. The caravan was transporting a fresh batch of tributes,humans offered to the Lycan court in exchange for peace treaties, land, or simply favor. No one asked them if they wanted to go. No one cared.
I saw her then-Nicolina.
She sat near the rear, head bowed, her blonde hair matted with sweat and dirt. Even from this distance, I could see the fear in her shoulders. The guards barked orders, laughing, one of them kicking her when she didn't move fast enough.
Something inside me snapped.
I didn't have a plan. Only rage.
I stepped out onto the path, cloak billowing, hood pulled low. The guards spotted me instantly.
"Halt!" one of them barked, raising his rifle.
"I'm not here to fight," I said, raising my hands. "I'm here to trade."
They exchanged looks, then burst out laughing.
"Trade?" one scoffed. "What the hell do you think this is? A market?"
"Take me instead," I said, louder this time. "Let the girl go. I'll go in her place."
They looked me up and down. I saw it in their eyes-the curiosity, the hesitation. And then the doubt.
"She's my sister," I added, voice low. "She won't survive their court. I will."
"She?" one of them repeated, narrowing his gaze. "Wait a damn minute..."
I yanked the hood back. My long hair spilled out around my shoulders.
"Oh," one grinned. "She's pretty."
Another guard walked up, cocked his head. "You want to take her place?" he asked. "You know what they do to tributes like you?"
"I know," I said. "I'm counting on it."
He paused, then shrugged. "Fine. But you're not going as her."
A knife appeared in his hand so fast I didn't have time to flinch. In one swift motion, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and hacked it off, the strands falling to the ground like dead leaves.
"You're one of the boys now," he smirked.
They bound my chest tightly with rough bandages, bruising my ribs. Gave me trousers and a worn jacket. No name, no identity.
Except the one they gave me.
"Nicholas."
It tasted wrong on my tongue. But if it got Nicolina out, I'd wear it like armor.
I found her that night, huddled near the fire, arms around her knees. Her eyes widened when she saw me.
"Lettie?" she breathed. "No, no-what are you doing here?"
"Shh," I whispered, kneeling beside her. "Listen to me. I told them I was you. I'm going in your place."
Her face twisted with panic. "No. No, you can't. They'll kill you."
"I'll be fine," I lied. "You have to go. Now. Tonight. When the guards change, slip away. Run south. Find the woman at the red mill near Dagen's pass. She owes me."
She shook her head, tears streaking her cheeks. "Don't do this. Please, Lettie."
"This is how I protect you now," I said softly. "It's always been you and me. I can't lose you."
"But I'll lose you."
I held her hand tight. "Then promise me one thing," I whispered. "Live. Live for both of us."
The next morning, she was gone.
And I was still there, cloaked in cold and false names.
The caravan moved north, the landscape growing crueler with every mile. Trees thinned. Snow kissed the ground. We were close. I could smell it.
The Lycan palace.
The air grew sharper as we approached the gates,twin spires of obsidian stone, guarded by wolves in human skin. Their eyes glowed gold beneath their hoods. Soldiers of the Crown.
One of them stepped forward, sniffed the air, then froze.
He turned his gaze directly on me.
Nostrils flared. Brows furrowed.
I swallowed hard, keeping my chin up. My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
He leaned in, sniffed again,slowly, deliberately.
His eyes narrowed.
Something flickered there. Not recognition. Something worse.
Suspicion.
"Open the gates," another guard barked behind him, impatient. "Let the tributes through."
But he didn't move.
He was still staring at me.
Like he could smell the truth beneath the blood and dirt and binding.
Like he knew.
The gate behind him creaked open.
And still... he didn't move.
Then he leaned in, so close I could feel his breath against my cheek, and whispered:
"You smell... wrong."
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