Contract With The Alpha King by Brey Mitchylle

Chapter 102

Fiona Straightened in her seat, her sharp gaze locking onto the cloaked figure. "I thought I was here to meet the Rogue King," she said, her voice surprisingly calm. If this person wanted to harm her, then she would have been dead by now. "Not a witch." The man leaned back, his bony hands steepling under the cloak. The flickering light from the candles illuminated the faint outline of a smile on his otherwise shadowed face. "And how do you know that the Rogue King is not a witch?" he asked. Fiona didn't respond immediately. She held his gaze, her expression amreadible. Obvingly, the Rogue King is called the Rogue King because he is a werewolf and werewolves cannot become witches. She thought the question was silly.

The man chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the circular room. "Interesting Silent, but observant." He rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate. "Come. There is more you need to see."

Fiona hesitated, her instincts warning her to tread carefully. That curiosity won over caution, and she stood, following the cloaked man. He waved his hand, and the surrounding air shimmered. The circular room dissolved like sand blown in the wind, replaced by an expansive hallway. The stone walls were smooth, almost polished, and lined with glowing orbs that floated just above eye level. The floor gleamed as if freshly cleaned, and the faint scent of incense lingered in the a

Fiona's frown deepened as she stepped forward. "Was this an illusion?" she asked, glancing around.

The man didn't turn to face her. "Perception," he said simply. "A tool of magic, not a trick. Everything you've seen so far has been as real as you. believe it to be."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she followed him down the hallway. The soft hum of energy emanating from the glowing orbs made her uneasy and she couldn't help but wonder if the entire cavern had been some elaborate creation of magic.

After several turns, they reached a door at the end of the hall. It was intricately carved, its surface depicting scenes of wolves howling at the moon,

in dark forests, and a throne surrounded by shadows. The man waved his hand again, and the door creaked open, revealing a room

battles within.

its centerpiece a large, canopied bed draped in dark, heavy fabric. The walls were lined with shelves filled with jars, vials, and books, their titles obscured by dust. A small table with two

her. "Now," he began, turning to face her. "Let's speak plainly. I brought you

raised an eyebrow. "An

King is unwell.

exactly would

magic. I can grant it. One favor. Whatever your heart desires-so long as

"You expect

table and pouring a glass of the dark liquid. "Believe what you wish, Rosenthal.

him? Aren't you a witch Aren't you capable of healing him too?" Fiona asked. At this point, all she felt about this witch was

steps slow. A delicate tea set materialized on the table before him, the porcelain cups and

narrowing as she studied him. The room was an odd mix of opulence and mystery. The canopy bed dominated one side, draped in heavy, dark velvet that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. Gallen embroidery edged the fabric, depicting swirling designs of wolves and moons. The shelves that lined the walls were cluttered with books, artifacts, and strange trinkets, their

for a royal-but one tainted with an air of

steam curling lazily from the spout of the teapot as

this was reil

both cups with steady hands, the liquid a deep amber. "Why do you think the Rosenthal

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Chapter 102

the pot down and folding his hands in