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.

jars, vials, and books, their titles obscured by dust. A small table with two chairs sat near the far wall, a decanter of dark liquid and

closing the door behind her. "Now," he

raised an eyebrow. "An

his head. "Yes. The Rogue King is unwell. I need you to heal

would

is within the bounds of magic. I can grant it. One favor. Whatever your heart desires-so long as it does not break

deepened. "You expect me

the dark liquid. "Believe

of healing him too?" Fiona asked. At this point, all she felt about this witch was curiosity. For some reason, she knew he wouldn't

set materialized on the table before him, the porcelain cups and teapot glinting faintly in the candlelight. Without

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

royal-but one tainted with an

cautiously, taking the seat opposite laim. The chair was unexpectedly comfortable, its cushion plush and supportive. The tea set was pristine, steam curling lazily

this was reil

with steady hands, the liquid a

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Chapter 102

and folding his hands in