Chapter - 7 : The weight of Respect

  Evanora (faith) pov:

  The she-wolf guard approached with a smirk—the same one who’d poked my cheek back in prison. Of course.

  Zagan, traitor that he is, gave her his dazzling smile.

  “We’re just resting before feeding duty. Crocodiles don’t like cranky wait times.”

  She laughed. “Fine, fine. Just don’t slack off.”

  When she left, I swallowed the questions still brimming. No need to hand over secrets on a silver platter—especially with werewolf ears around.

  We moved on to animal care: hunter dogs, desert hounds, and, yes, the dungeon crocodiles. I was oddly in my element. Torture zoo duties were once my specialty.

  Later, I returned to my blessedly solitary room. Zagan, poor soul, shared space with a chatty wolf cub who snored like a bear.

  After a cold rinse and a simple white cotton dress, I sank into the quiet. But peace didn’t last.

  ---

  That evening...

  Zagan joined me in the moonlit garden. Torchlight flickered in bronze sconces, dancing shadows across sandstone.

  Ylfa, the cheerful she-wolf, had invited us to watch a fight match. We were curious enough to accept.

  But before she arrived, a voice stopped us cold.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “What brings you two here tonight?”

  Kaden.

  The Beta stood tall, dressed in dark leather. The moon caught the amber in his eyes. He looked a little too perfect for a casual patrol.

  “We’re waiting for Ylfa,” Zagan replied.

  “Why?”

  “For the fight.” Zagan smiled. “She invited us.”

  Kaden snorted. “You think you’re fighting, Merchant?”

  I quickly interjected. “No—just watching.”

  His gaze shifted to me, cool and sharp.

  “You’re his slave,” he said slowly. “Why speak without permission?”

  The words stung. I said nothing.

  Zagan, to his credit, stepped in. “She’s… spirited.”

  Kaden’s lip curled. “Your leniency makes her mouthy.”

  Without another word, he vanished into the shadows.

  I exhaled, fingers clenched.

  Ylfa soon arrived, all smiles and unaware of the tension. She led us through the twisting corridors to the fight pit. A circular arena carved into the ground, packed with over fifty roaring wolves.

  We slid into the sandy outer ring. Torches roared. Fists flew. Blood sprayed. It was wolf- match, and we were front row.

  ---

  But something shifted.

  Zagan began chatting with a wolf nearby—some friend of his—and I slipped away.

  The cheers faded behind me, but Kaden’s voice echoed louder in my head.

  “Why speak without permission?”

  That wasn’t the Kaden who first questioned me, who once studied my silence like a mystery.

  Was that respect ever real? Or did it vanish the moment he saw the silver collar?

  Back home, I silenced insults with a look—or a blade. I left marks on noble faces that never faded.

  But here?

  Here, I was powerless. And invisible.

  My mother was a Devourix. They say she vanished into dust. My father—he never looked for her. His words echoed:

  “She didn’t like me. I don’t care if she’s alive or dead.”

  He had Veronica. Valentina. And me—until the court turned.

  Now, all I had was memory.

  I turned back toward the arena.

  ---

  Zagan was in the ring.

  Battered. Bloody. Stubborn.

  “What in the seven hells…” I whispered, rushing toward him.

  Two wolves circled him, teeth bared. They hadn’t even shifted—were they saving face?

  I elbowed through the crowd, dodging elbows and torches, until I reached him just in time to catch his shoulder.

  But I forgot something vital.

  I wasn’t strong anymore.

  Zagan crumpled under his own weight.

  Those pale green eyes locked with mine—soft with apology.

  The crowd roared.

  The two wolves, smug and unbothered, laughed in sync. Twins.

  I stumbled trying to lift Zagan.

  Then, help came—a young wolf stepped in, offering his arm silently.

  Together, we dragged Zagan from the pit.

  ---

  Later, in Zagan’s quarters...

  “Women after dark?” the wolf frowned.

  “Forbidden territory.”

  Zagan’s tone was calm. “Caleb. Enough.”

  “But she’s your slave—”

  I cut in. “Zagan expects respect. Can you manage that?”

  Caleb stammered, unsure.

  “Good. Then get him blood. Animal, from the kitchen. Now.”

  He nodded and left.

  I knelt beside Zagan. His wounds were patched. His eyes were open.

  “Time for answers,” I whispered. “Why did you fight?”

  His gaze didn’t waver.

  “It wasn’t the fight,” he said quietly.

  “It was who was watching.”

  ---