Defying the Rogue Alpha
Chapter 146: Pride

Chapter 146: Pride

He motioned to the seat beside his. Ava hesitated for a second, her pride wrestling with her survival instincts. Then, deliberately, she chose the seat farthest from the king, as if proximity alone might infect her with his delusions. Herod merely sat down and reached for his glass of wine, amused at the open rebellion.

The table was a visual feast—platters of roasted chicken, vegetables, fruits. And yet, Ava’s stomach churned at the very sight. Her mouth was dry.

The servants began their dance, starting with the king, as etiquette demanded. Herod’s plate was soon brimming with roast and dripping juices. When one of the servants approached Ava with a tray, she didn’t speak. She merely glared at the king from across the table, her eyes two frozen embers daring to ignite.

Herod looked up mid-bite, eyebrows raised in mock offense. "You seem to have something to say. Your looks could kill."

"I’m thinking about it," she replied dryly.

Herod chuckled, not insulted, but impressed. "Feisty."

"You think you’ve won," Ava muttered.

"I always do," Herod said, lifting a piece of chicken to his mouth with the smug ease of a man who thought himself untouchable.

Ava leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "Not this time, you won’t. You messed with the wrong alpha."

"Ah, yes," Herod replied, sipping his wine. "Alpha Lucas Raventhorn. The unhinged, brutal, merciless lunatic of the East. Until...what was it?...he met a certain little she-wolf, and suddenly started writing love poetry."

Herod leaned in, fingers steepled under his chin. "That’s the funny thing about love, isn’t it? It softens you. Makes monsters grow hearts."

"Lucas has more ferociousness in his tiniest paw than you could ever summon with your entire overgrown, testosterone-laced wolf." She sneered, her lip curling just slightly, enough to make it clear she’d be delighted to insult him further if given the chance.

Herod arched a brow, amused rather than offended. He leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers. "We’ll see," he said smoothly, eyes glittering with calculated calm. "But you seem to think I am the bad guy here, when all I’m trying to do is unite our world by any means necessary. And you, dear Ava, happen to be the key to that."

Ava gave a bitter laugh. "Unite our world? Please."

Herod offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "You dramatize beautifully."

"Let me make this clear: I’m not going to help you. I would rather climb to the top of this ridiculous castle of yours and dive than help you get anything you want."

"Okay," he said nonchalantly. "I cannot force you anyway. It has to be a mutual agreement. You have to accept to be my mate. The little clause in the Moon Goddess’s rules. Acceptance." He shrugged, but the gesture was laced with menace. "Left to me, I’d take what I want from you right now and be done with it."

Ava stilled, her spine snapping straight as her heart leapt in her chest. That sharp fear bloomed low in her gut, coiling, but she didn’t let it show. She narrowed her eyes and locked onto him with a glare that could curdle blood. "Free will, huh?" she muttered. "Kind of puts a glitch in your quest for ultimate power, doesn’t it? You may have armies and dark magic and a castle full of creeps, but you’ll never have my consent. You will never get it."

Herod studied her for a moment longer, and then—infuriatingly—smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was the smile of a man who played chess three moves ahead and knew you just sacrificed your queen. "We’ll see," he said again, softly this time.

Ava’s mind spun. Her thoughts flashed back to Alaric’s words earlier. The way he had smirked, the subtle hints, the threat wrapped in velvet: You’ll do it on your own. What were they planning? What were they going to do to her? Her stomach twisted—not from the food this time, but from the creeping terror of the unknown.

Just then, the grand doors to the dining room creaked open once more with a dramatic flourish. Queen Eliza stepped in, every inch the royal, every movement practiced to perfection. Her gown shimmered with fury. Her crown tilted slightly. She offered a stiff bow.

"Your Majesty. Sorry, I am late," Eliza purred. Without waiting for permission, she glided across the room and took her place beside the king. It wasn’t just a seat—it was a declaration. A warning.

Herod stiffened immediately. His shoulders tensed. She was going to be the glitch in his plans.

Across the table, Ava watched the scene unfold with quiet intensity. Her eyes trailed over Eliza, unable to help the small pang of envy—or perhaps admiration—that flared in her chest. What more does he want? she thought, heart bitter in her throat. The woman looks like the Moon Goddess herself took an extra day off just to sculpt her. Every inch of her radiated effortless elegance.

Ava glanced at Herod, then back at Eliza. Was power truly so much more desirable than love? Had he ever even known love?

She cleared her throat, rising from her chair. "I would like to go back to my room."

Herod was up instantly. "I’ll escort you."

"No!" Ava barked, panic rising. She hated that it came out so desperate, so loud. Every eye in the room turned to her, but she didn’t care.

"I will escort you," Herod repeated firmly. He moved like the matter was already settled, like her protest was just a temporary noise to be swatted away.

Behind him, Eliza’s voice cut through the room. "Herod?"

He turned to her with a fury he barely concealed. The look he gave her was volcanic—brief but explosive.

Eliza met his rage with cool elegance. Her eyes tracked him coldly as he abandoned his seat to move to Ava’s side.

As the doors closed behind them, Eliza sat alone at the now-empty dining table, staring at the remnants of a meal no one cared to finish. Her hand tightened around her wine glass. No one is going to take my place, she thought, her heart a fortress. No one. She smiled thinly and took a sip of her wine. Not without bleeding first.

*****

Still in silver chains, Lucas paced and glared down Councilman Eryx as the man arrived with maids carrying trays of food, none of which looked particularly appetizing.

"How long do you plan on keeping us here?" Dennis demanded from his bed, arms crossed, tone simmering.

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