Chapter 31 Tarek
TAREK
The ballroom transforms into a theater of cruelty, and I stand as its unwilling star.
They parade me through the assembled nobles like a prize bull, my golden cage wheeled on ornate platforms so every guest can gawk at the beast they’ll soon hunt.
The chains binding me allow just enough movement to showcase my size, my scars, the raw power trapped within this prison of twisted metal.
“Magnificent specimen,” Lord Valeth declares, circling my cage with predatory interest. “I see why young Zarren was so eager to capture it.”
“Look at the size of those claws,” Lady Morvaine breathes, her silver eyes gleaming with fascination. “Imagine the damage they could do.”
The dark elf ladies cluster closer, their gazes raking over my form with undisguised hunger. They whisper behind jeweled fans, their eyes lingering on my torso, on the evident proof of my manhood barely concealed by the tattered remnants of my clothing.
“Such… impressive proportions,” one giggles, loud enough for her husband to hear. “I wonder if all manticores are so… generously endowed?”
Her lord’s face darkens with jealousy and rage, his hand twitching toward his sword hilt. “Mind your tongue, wife.”
But she continues to stare, as do the others, their appreciation for my physical form evident in their heated gazes and breathless comments. The husbands grow restless, their masculine pride wounded by their wives’ fascination with the caged beast.
“Perhaps we should begin the hunt early,” one lord growls, his silver eyes flashing with murderous intent. “Put this animal out of its misery.”
“Patience,” Lord Renlir chuckles from his position near the marriage altar. “All good entertainment requires proper timing.”
They mock me as they circle, hurling barbs about my captivity, my wounds, the futility of my situation. Each comment aims to break my spirit, to reduce me from warrior to beaten animal. But I’ve been broken before, and I survive.
Rage simmers in my blood like molten steel, but I hold it back through sheer force of will. Let them think me defeated. Let them believe their chains and cages tame the beast within. Their arrogance will be their downfall.
When they wheel my cage to its place of honor—directly facing the marriage altar—I gain my first clear view of the ceremony about to unfold. And there she is.
Annelise glides down the aisle like a vision in ivory silk, her golden hair crowned with white roses, her face serene as a saint’s. Her beauty outshines even the cruel dark elf ladies, breathtaking in its radiance.
But I know her too well to be fooled by the performance.
I see the steel beneath the silk, the predator lurking behind the bridal veil.
Our eyes meet across the crowded ballroom, and in that single glance, an entire conversation passes between us.
She gives the slightest nod—almost imperceptible, but I catch it. Our agreed-upon signal. She’s ready.
I watch as she takes her place beside Zarren at the altar, my lip curling with disgust. The elven lord preens like a peacock, his hand possessive on her waist as he displays his prize to the crowd. He looks like what he is—a pathetic insect begging to be crushed beneath my claws.
“Dearly beloved,” the officiant begins, his voice echoing through the vaulted chamber. “We gather today to witness the union of two houses…”
The words wash over me, meaningless. My focus locks on Annelise, on the way she stands perfectly still while chaos brews beneath her calm exterior. I sense the violence building inside her, like a predator scenting blood on the wind.
The ceremony proceeds with all the pomp of a noble wedding.
Vows are exchanged—lies cloaked in silk and silver.
Rings are presented, chains disguised as symbols of love.
Through it all, she plays her part flawlessly: the blushing bride, the dutiful ward, the perfect ornament for a monster’s collection.
But I see the truth in the set of her shoulders, in the way her fingers curl slightly as if gripping invisible weapons. She is coiled like a spring, ready to unleash destruction on those who have wronged her.
When Zarren lifts her veil to seal their union with a kiss, her eyes close—not with passion, but with barely contained revulsion. Her body stiffens the moment his lips touch hers, rigid with disgust. The crowd cheers, as if witnessing something beautiful instead of the violation it truly is.
“And now,” Zarren announces, his voice rising over the applause, “let the wedding feast begin! And tomorrow night, my friends, we shall have our hunt!”
More cheers, more cruel laughter. The nobles file toward the banquet hall, drunk on wine and the promise of blood sport. I remain still in my cage, every muscle coiled and ready. My mate has been claimed by another man, marked with his scent and touch. The insult cannot stand.
Soon, I will show them what it means to cage a manticore, to steal what belongs to me, to think their golden bars and silver chains can hold back the storm they’ve unleashed.
Zarren catches my gaze from across the room and smirks, his arm tightening possessively around Annelise’s waist. He thinks he’s won, that he’s claimed the ultimate prize. The fool has no idea he’s signed his own death warrant.
I bare my teeth in what might pass for a smile, and his smirk falters. Some primal part of his brain recognizes the promise in my expression.
Tomorrow night, the hunt begins. But I won’t be the prey.