Alpha King's Slave Mate

Chapter 10 – The Challenge

The halls felt colder today.

Maybe it was the wind that slithered through the cracks in the stone. Or maybe it was the whispers that followed her steps like phantom claws ready to strike.

Riven felt them watching.

Not just the guards. Not just the servants. The court.

The wolves in silk and teeth.

Thorne had kissed her in front of them. Claimed her with his mark. Protected her like she was more than just a former slave.

And now?

Now they were circling.

Waiting for the king to look away. Just once.

---

"You should be careful."

Riven turned. The woman in front of her was striking — tall, flame-haired, her golden silk robes flowing like melted sunlight. Confidence oozed from her with every measured step.

"You are...?" Riven asked cautiously.

"Lady Calista. Daughter of the former Eastern Alpha. Court favorite. Warrior-trained. And if it matters... someone who once shared the King's battlefield and tent."

Riven stiffened.

Calista's smirk deepened.

"He doesn't talk about me? How loyal," she purred. "But we all remember how he used to look at me. Before you, anyway."

"I don't need to know what he was," Riven said quietly. "I know who he is now."

"How sweet," Calista said. "But sweet doesn't survive here."

She circled Riven slowly. Like a vulture. Like a challenger.

"You think that mark means everything?" she hissed. "Marks can fade. Favor can shift. You're not a queen. You're just a girl he picked up from the filth."

Riven's hand trembled.

But she kept her voice steady.

"Then why are you so afraid of me?"

Calista's eyes flared. She stepped forward—

—and that was when a growl rumbled from the far end of the corridor.

Low. Dangerous. Familiar.

Thorne.

His eyes were molten gold. His hands clenched at his sides. The moment he stalked into view, the air shifted.

Predator.

Calista stepped back, finally sensing the danger.

"My King," she said sweetly, bowing. "We were just talking—"

"Silence," Thorne snarled.

He didn't look at her. Not once.

His eyes were locked on Riven. Assessing. Protective. Angry.

"You're shaking," he said as he reached her, brushing his thumb across her hand.

"I'm fine."

"She insulted you."

"She's nothing," Riven whispered.

But Thorne turned — slow and lethal — to face Calista.

"You forget your place," he said coldly. "I gave you nothing. You earned nothing. You hold nothing."

Her face reddened.

"Thorne—"

"King." His voice cracked through the air like thunder.

Calista flinched.

"I have one mate," Thorne said. "And if you ever speak to her again without permission, I'll rip out your throat and make your father watch."

No one breathed.

Not even the walls.

Calista turned, spine straight but face pale, and walked away with what pride she could salvage.

Thorne finally looked at Riven again.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She didn't expect that. Not from him.

"You warned me," she replied. "That they wouldn't accept me."

"They don't have to," he said. "They just have to stay alive."

---

Later that night, Riven sat on the floor of the royal chambers, brushing her fingers along the edges of old parchment — a gift Thorne had placed beside her meal. Books. Scrolls. Things once forbidden to her.

He sat nearby, in silence.

But the tension was still there. Taut like a string pulled too tight.

"You're angry," she said softly.

"I'm not," he lied.

"You wanted to kill her."

"I still do."

She looked up. "Why?"

Thorne turned to her, his eyes almost… hurt.

"Because she looked at you like you were disposable," he said. "And I know what that did to you before I ever met you."

Riven didn't speak.

She reached for his hand instead, lacing her fingers through his.

"Do you believe I belong here?" she asked.

"With me? Yes."

"But not with your people."

Thorne didn't answer.

She pulled her hand away slowly, quietly.

And that hurt more than any insult.

---

That night, their silence stretched like ice over water.

He didn't touch her.

She didn't press him.

But the mark on her neck burned — not from pain, but from ache.

Longing.

At midnight, she sat up, shivering from something she couldn't name.

He stirred beside her.

"I want to belong," she whispered. "Not because you claim me. But because I can stand beside you and not be ashamed of where I came from."

"You're not the one who should be ashamed," he murmured.

She looked at him.

"I'll fight for you, Riven. With fangs and fire. But I don't know how to give you a world that wasn't built to hate you."

She reached out, brushing his cheek.

"Then burn it down and build me a new one."

His throat worked, swallowing emotion.

"You make me weak," he whispered.

"You were never weak," she said. "You just forgot how to need someone."

And with that, she leaned forward and kissed him.

Slowly.

This time, not with fear. Not with fire.

But with trust.

When he pulled her close again, when his hand splayed across her back and held her like she might slip away—

She knew she had won something no crown could offer.

Not just his body.

Not just his mark.

But his surrender.