Chapter 6 GREY EYES

~Helena POV~

One of my wrists was frozen and the other burnt as they were sized, one by fire, the other by ice.

Merlin's grip on my right wrist burned with withheld fury, his hands digging in like shackles. The heat from his skin crawled across mine, turning my stomach.

"Let go," I hissed, twisting.

"You belong to me," he growled low, teeth clenched.

But then-Bernard.

His hand closed around my left wrist. Not rough. Not soft. Just... unyielding. Like he wasn't holding me but anchoring me.

He said nothing. Didn't have to. His presence loomed behind me like a storm, silent, waiting to break.

His eyes locked with Merlin's.

A heavy silence crashed over the room.

Merlin's lips parted, breath catching. He hesitated.

Bernard didn't blink.

"Step back," came the command, quiet, precise.

Merlin's jaw twitched. "You..."

"I said, step back."

And then, I was pulled into Bernard's chest. His arm curled around my waist, heat seeping through the thin fabric of my dress. My breath caught in my throat.

"What is this?" I muttered, my voice shaking.

He didn't answer. His eyes never left Merlin.

Then, loud enough for the entire hall to hear, Bernard spoke. "I'm sure you've all heard of the Trial of the Heir."

Gasps echoed.

Heads turned. Eyes widened.

My stomach dropped.

"No..." I breathed. "He wouldn't..."

"The Trial?" someone whispered.

Silence followed, the kind that sucked the air out of lungs and made hearts miss beats. It wasn't just a word. It was a legacy. Carnage. A battlefield woven into the roots of Lycan soil, where blood bought status and survival was the only proof of worth.

No one moved.

Bernard's hand remained against my arm, not squeezing, not tugging, but fixed. Like a tether. A seal. The warmth of it burned more than comforted, more than restrained. It was ownership. Declaration.

A challenge issued in front of them all.

"You can't just declare the Trial," Merlin spat, stepping forward, shoulders squared. "The Elders must..."

"They already have," Bernard cut in, voice smooth as gliding steel.

A ripple surged through the gathered crowd. Sharp exhales, curses under breath. One muttered, "Insanity."

My pulse launched itself against my throat. The chamber around me shifted, narrowed, as though the walls were drawing breath. My feet were rooted, yet the ground no longer felt steady.

"Are you..." an older voice began, slow, deliberate, laced with disbelief. "...suggesting our pack heiress compete in the Trial of the Heir, Lycan Prince Bernard?"

I couldn't turn to look. My head wouldn't move. Only my chest moved-too fast, too hard.

Bernard's voice came sharp and clean. "Indeed. I'll take her tonight. Say your goodbyes."

Then, colder: "She's under my watch now. No elixirs. No enhancements."

A scoff cut through the air like a blade. "Enhancements?" another Elder barked. "She won't need them. Her decisions have proven enough. She won't survive."

My head snapped toward him, a sharp crack of movement. My breath caught on the edge of a snarl. Every nerve pulsed. Fury flared like stormlight behind my eyes, too hot, too fast. My fingers curled inward to keep from striking.

"We'll see," Bernard answered before I could speak, his tone dipped in something darker. It was not a defense-it was a promise.

Then he added, "Have a chamber prepared. Preferably hers. It'll be of no use once she's with me."

Gasps. Someone cursed again. The words landed in my chest like thrown stones-heavy, bruising, unrelenting.

My knees didn't buckle, but the impulse to fold inward surged through me like nausea. I clutched the edge of my sanity with white-knuckled will. My body stayed upright only because Bernard's grip hadn't faltered.

My room. Gone. My choices. Shredded in front of them all.

The room shifted again, the murmurs growing louder-some arguing, others celebrating. But none of them saw me.

They saw an idea. A pawn. A trial waiting to be won or lost.

I stared straight ahead, into nothing. My ears buzzed, my vision burned. I couldn't feel my hands anymore.

What if I failed?

What if I lost everything in front of them?

Not just dignity. Me. The last fragment of me.

The memories of a wolf I had never touched clawed up the back of my throat. My wolf had never stirred. Never howled beneath my skin. My first transformation was still a myth told in the dark.

Did Bernard know that?

Did he know how empty I really was?

He still hadn't looked at me. Not really. Not since the moment he claimed me with that touch. But I felt him. His steadiness. The dangerous certainty in his body, like the eye of a storm inviting collapse.

I wanted to run. Or scream. Or weep until there was nothing left but bone and salt. Instead, I leaned, barely, into the gravity of him.

It wasn't trust.

It wasn't surrender.

It was a necessity.

Because the moment I broke, they'd devour me.

A voice rose again, sharp and commanding: "Enough. She leaves before midnight."

And just like that, it was done.

My fate was sealed by voices that didn't know my fear. My breath scraped against the inside of my throat, shallow, ragged.

The pressure in my chest tightened like bands of iron. No tears. No visible cracks. Not here. Not in front of them.

But inside, everything trembled.

I let him lead me, no, drag me, through my own front doors, into the quiet of my room. His fingers still circled my wrist when he sat across from me on the couch.

I looked down at his hand. "Is this supposed to be a handcuff?"

He blinked, then gently released me. "Pardon me, Lady Helena. A bad habit."

"Helena is fine. Fangborn too. I lost the 'Lady' title last night."

He studied me for a beat. "I heard."

Of course he had. Power always listens.

I glanced around my room as memories pushed at the walls. His guards began packing boxes, taking my life apart while I sat and watched.

How polite. A respectful kidnapping.

"You could've told them I was the rightful heir. That I was next in line. The Beta shouldn't have taken over."

My voice came out sharp-habit, not pride. But I knew how it sounded.

"They say," he murmured, "you're indecisive. Bashful. I'll learn more about you by evening."

Was that...a warning?

Throughout the day, he called in every person who ever stood beside me-Beta Torin, the elders, my maidens, even the gate guards. One by one, they painted a version of me I barely recognized.

I sat on the couch, shrinking with every word.

The worst part? They spoke as if I weren't there.

And I remembered how all of them used to smile around me-when my parents lived.

Now? They dissected me like I was a political inconvenience.

When the final guard left, Bernard turned to me.

"I hope that's the last testimony I hear."

I bit my lip, forcing my face to stillness.

"Are you crying?" he asked, not unkindly.

"No."

He didn't push. And I was glad. I didn't need another hand offering pity I didn't trust.

Everyone around me wanted me gone. Like my presence had become inconvenient. They weren't just betraying me-they were burying everything my family stood for.

"I know what you're thinking," Bernard said quietly. He stared ahead, not meeting my eyes.

I blinked at him, startled. "What?"

"You think this is all a plot. That everyone's against you."

I didn't answer.

"But you never know," he added. "You might have deserved it."

The words landed like ice on bare skin.

"I've changed," I said stiffly.

His eyebrow lifted. "So soon?"

Why won't he just look at me?

I noticed then-his fingers, resting on his knee, were trembling.

"Your hand..." I reached out.

He pulled back instantly.

"But..." I frowned. "I know you from somewhere."

"Last night, perhaps," he said.

"No. Before that."

He finally turned. His gaze met mine-steady, unreadable.

Those eyes.

I knew them.

~~*~~

TWO YEARS AGO,

"Woohoo! This is great, you guys!" I had shouted, tipsy and carefree, sixteen and reckless inside a club I wasn't supposed to be in.

I was loud, laughing too much, high off the attention.

Then a gentle tap on my shoulder.

I turned sharply, face curled in irritation. "What do you want?"

He was slimmer back then. His smile is easier.

"Hi," he said. "You look beautiful. Would you care to dance?"

I blinked. "Why would I dance with you?"

My friends laughed.

He looked confused-not offended, just...stunned.

"I only wanted to offer company."

His voice was kind. Stupidly kind.

I should've melted.

Instead, in all my spoiled pride, I dumped my half-finished martini on his head.

His smile vanished.

~~*~~

Now, sitting across from him again, that memory slammed into me like a slap.

My throat closed.

"I-I'm..."

I couldn't say it.

Couldn't look him in the eye.

Shameless. That's what I was.

And somehow-he remembered.

Of course he did.

Who forgets humiliation like that?

Especially when the one doing the humiliating is now...hmm... and doesn't even know it.