Page 123 of Their Pretty Little Monster

The King’s smile falters. “Then what do you want?” he demands, the bridge between his eyes creasing.

My response pours out of me immediately, like it’s been dying to burst out. “I’m here to claim my rightful place,” I declare with a surprisingly steady voice. “As your daughter and as an heir to your throne.”

Wolfe steps forward, his posture menacing. “You need to understand that Sage is our fated mate, Bren,” he states firmly. “And that alone grants us rights here, including claims to succession. We’re not here to fight but to assert what’s rightfully ours under the laws you uphold.”

The King’s face tightens, his eyes narrowing into slits. “You’re playing games,” he hisses. “You’re wasting my time.”

The air charges with tension, skating down my arms.

“We request a King’s Oath,” Wolfe adds, and I have no idea what that is. “As King, you know the significance of this request. It grants us safe passage and a fair hearing, then you must acknowledge our request. A privilege you stole from my father all those years ago. Now’s your chance to do the right thing for a change.” His posture curls slightly forward as though it takes every restraint not to lunge at the King.

My father regards us with a steely gaze. “Let’s not be hasty, son. Your claims need verifying before any oaths are sworn. I need to verify her true lineage and if she is indeed your mate.”

Wolfe’s muscles tense beside me. This is something none of us discussed or expected. But of course, my asshole father is delaying things by insisting on proving who I am.

“Then let’s do it,” Killian commands through clenched teeth.

The King’s lips twitch, the growing sign of his irritation. “Bring them to the verification chamber,” he orders the guards. His eyes lock with mine again, piercing and icy. “If you are who you claim to be, come peacefully. Prove your worth, and I shall honor the King’s Oath. My honor demands no less.”

He pulls back, his cold dismissal hanging in the air as he leans heavily on a cane that materializes from the shadows. It’s clear he’s weaker than he wants to let on, his limp noticeable as he retreats.

Suddenly, the guards are upon us, their movements swift. “This way,” one barks, gesturing with a gnarled bug arm toward an arched doorway leading into the kingdom.

The air grows cooler as we enter the passage, the dim light from the torches flickering against the damp stone walls, casting eerie shadows that dance just out of reach. We’ve entered a corridor, and there’s no sight of the kingdom yet.

I’m terrified that we’re walking into a trap, that my father will kill my true mates. With each step, shivers race up my arms.

Killian’s grip on my hand tightens. The shuffle of our footsteps is the only sound that fills the heavy silence. Every step takes us deeper into the bowels of the corridor, away from the light and into the heart of darkness. And the deeper my fear grows.

The corridor leads us into another doorway that opens into a large room with stone walls, lit torches on the wall, high ceilings, and barred windows far above. The air is damp and cold, sending a shiver through me. This isn’t just any room; it’s a damn holding area.

I spin around, all of us inside, but not the King or his guards.

A heavy door clangs shut behind us, and panic clamps around my chest.

“Fuck, please tell me we didn’t just walk into a prison?” My breath catches in my throat as the reality sets in.

But Wolfe leans closer. “It’ll be all right,” he murmurs, his presence comforting. “We’re not trapped here. This is just a formality, a show of strength.”

“It is?”

Killian nods, his jaw set. “They use these rooms for unexpected guests to ascertain if they are safe to permit into their kingdom.”

“We have one on the vessel, too,” Nyko adds. “I’ve been known to find myself in it when I drink too much.” He chuckles while Killian rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, and I’m the one who drags your ass down there when no one else can control you.”

Nyko’s hand finds mine. He winks at me, and I somehow manage to smile. Our guards position themselves near the door as I push down the rising panic.

“We did the right thing coming here, right?” I find myself saying, staring at their serious expressions, not feeling much better.

“We follow through now,” Wolfe notes. “We’ve come too far to back down.”

A knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. The waiting is the hardest part, and I keep replaying in my mind the eagerness of my father to get his hands on me. That part terrifies me.

Then, without warning, the door swings open, and I flinch around.

The room suddenly feels smaller, crowded, as bug-like guards enter on their six spindly legs, ushering in a young woman.

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