Page 195 of Moonlit Fate

I stood beside Valora, my expression schooled into neutrality, while my insides twisted with a silent rage I dared not show. She was a statue of composure next to me, her eyes cool and unreadable, betraying nothing she might be harboring behind that serene façade.

“Atticus and Valora will lead the Crimson Fang into a new era.” Caius raised his glass, prompting a chorus of clinks and cheers from the crowd.

“Congratulations,” someone muttered nearby, giving me a nudge.

I nodded, the word ‘thanks’ tasting like ash on my tongue.

Valora turned slightly, her dress whispering against the marble floor. “We should mingle,” she said simply as if we were discussing the weather, not our forced betrothal.

“Of course,” I replied, matching her detached tone. We drifted apart, each stepping into the dance of pretense and politics that Caius so enjoyed orchestrating.

A hush fell over the grand hall as Caius stepped forward. “Let us bear witness to the strength of the Crimson Fang,” he declared, motioning to the center of the room.

Warriors filed in, their muscles taut and eyes focused. Two at a time, they sparred on the marble floor, each move a dance of aggression and skill. The clang of metal echoed off the walls, the sound punctuated by the occasional grunt of effort.

I leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching the display. It was meant to impress, to showcase the Crimson Fang’s power. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just a show. Caius never did anything without a reason.

“Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” I murmured to no one in particular.

“It’s amazing,” a nearby pack member agreed.

The warriors moved with a ferocity that stirred the crowd, each blow proof of their training. Caius stood at the edge of the makeshift arena, his face impassive but eyes tracking every movement like a hawk.

“What’s he up to?” I said, my gaze flicking from the combatants to my father.

“Who can say?” came a reply from a bystander. “It’s entertainment, isn’t it?”

“Entertainment,” I echoed skeptically.

My father was many things, but an indulgent showman wasn’t one of them. These tests were a message, a display of unity and strength to anyone who might question his authority—or mine by extension. Behind the spectacle, there would be something else, another layer to the evening’s agenda that only Caius knew.

Each pair of fighters bowed and exchanged blows, their movements a whirl of speed and precision. It was impressive, sure, but it felt hollow. There was no heart in it, just cold calculation.

“Your thoughts, Atticus?” Valora pulled me from my musings. She had returned to my side, her expression unreadable.

“Looks like they’re putting on quite the show,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.

“So it appears,” she agreed, watching as another pair took to the floor. “We both know there’s more to it than that.”

“Always is with him,” I replied, nodding toward Caius without taking my eyes off the fighters.

As the last pair finished their bout, applause rippled through the hall. Caius stepped forward, clapping his hands slowly, a satisfied grin spreading across his lips.

“Excellent,” he announced. “A true demonstration of what it means to be Crimson Fang.”

I clenched my teeth, resisting the urge to challenge him then and there. This wasn’t the time or the place. Whatever game Caius was playing, I’d have to play along, for now.

“Let’s see what else he has planned,” I said to Valora, as the crowd’s attention remained fixed on the grandeur of the hall and the power on display within it.

As the applause echoed through the hall, I slipped into the shadows, my gaze sweeping over the warriors. One by one, I reached out, my mind touching theirs. Surface thoughts, dreams, fears. I sifted through them quietly, taking note of loyalties and doubts.

I had to be careful not to get caught.

I brushed against Valora’s mind, expecting barriers, but found resignation instead. It was like she’d folded her spirit into a neat little box and labeled it with Caius’s name. There was something else, a ripple of power that spoke of control, an ability to weave emotions like threads in a tapestry. Intrigued, I stored that knowledge away.

The martial display wrapped up, and Caius walked to the center with that look in his eye that spelled trouble.

“Let us congratulate our champion,” he bellowed, gesturing to the victor. “Unfortunately, there are questions about Theon’s loyalty. Come forward, Atticus.”

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