Chapter 56 Kai
Kai
THE GRIANSTAD EVE BALL
Today is the day, not just for the Grianstad Eve Ball but for our mission.
The girls decided to get ready at Sakura’s place, which made perfect sense; her closet could pass for a boutique.
Since she doesn’t live on campus, her family’s estate–practically woven into the Institute’s border–offers much more space, more privacy and definitely more mirror angles.
I’ve been nursing my drink for ten minutes now, sprawled lazily across Wyll’s couch while my two best friends are getting ready.
Wyll stands in front of the mirror, slipping into his tailored black duster; the fabric hugs him.
just right. He’s applying black eyeliner with a practiced flick, drawing sharp lines around his hazel eyes.
Sinclair is buried in a mess of ties and bows, still undecided on the colour or the shape.
He’s been debating for as long as I’ve been drinking.
Exasperated, I push myself up with a grunt and wander over to the fruit platter we’ve barely touched.
Taking a raspberry, I cross the room to the elf, who eyes me with suspicion.
He doesn’t protest when I pluck the tie from his hand, murmur a glamour, and shift it to the exact cherry blossom pink of a certain someone who’s been haunting his thoughts lately.
Caleb stares at the tie, then at me, unimpressed.
“Really?”
“Really,” I deadpan.
“Fine.” He can fake annoyance all he wants, but if he really hated it, the tie would’ve changed colour three minutes ago.
Wyll grabs his signature black hat from the nearby chair.
He looks like a more polished version of himself, still trouble, he’s simply dressed for a better room.
Caleb and I are in suits, mine tieless, the collar open to mid-chest, a silver chain resting against my skin.
The only splash of colour is a crisp crimson pocket square, folded.
My hair is tied into a half-bun, and a loose strand frames my profile.
Looking like the troublemakers that we are.
By the time we arrive, the sun has long since slipped below the horizon, and the Institute lies wrapped in winter’s hush.
Frost traces the stone paths, crunching softly beneath our boots.
Breath curling in the air as smoke. The night is cold, still, an ink-black sky scattered with stars, each one glittering as ice caught in candlelight.
Grianstad has always been my favourite celebration, except that for a long time, the memories were too tinted.
Stained by everything that came after. But tonight, the void doesn’t feel like a beast waiting to eat me whole.
It just feels like an annoying companion, lingering quietly at my side.
And for the first time in a while, I remember how beautiful Kallahan looks this time of the year.
It was the only time Sammy and I followed our mother everywhere.
Through the markets, into the bakery, weaving between silk and ribbon shops.
Always in quest for the prettiest gratitude card.
We never complained; we didn’t need to, our hands were full of sweets, our hearts full of laughter.
Avilyna makes me remember what that felt like.
The ballroom sits at the heart of the old building.
Usually austere and imposing, only opened for special occasions like tonight.
When the room gets transformed, not by showy spellwork, but with quiet enchantments, woven into the very bones of the place.
Into the lighting, the details, just enough magic to make everything feel deliberate, dreamlike.
Tall windows are draped in evergreen garlands, their needles dusted with snow that never melts, charmed to shimmer as frost under moonlight.
Warm golden sconces line the walls, their flames flickering without smoke, swaying in time with the music as if the fire itself were listening to the orchestra.
The heavy doors stay open, warded to hold back the sharp edge of winter.
Only the crispest breath slips in with each new guest, enough to raise goosebumps.
Waitstaff in crisp white uniforms move as ghosts through the crowd, balancing flutes of honey champagne and trays of savoury or sweet delicacies.
Caleb exhales beside me, adjusting his lapels. “Ready?” His tie still holds that soft cherry-blossom hue.
“Ready.” Wyll brushes frost from his shoulder, and I hum in agreement.
We don’t need to announce ourselves; we never have.
People already know we’re the ones you don’t cross.
The ones with stories behind our names, rumours like shadows that cling too close.
Tonight, we’re just dressed in formal wear.
We walk toward our table, the soft click of our boots falling in time with the deliberate notes of the string quartet.
The air is thick with the scent of pine and aged cologne, layered over the dry, smoky edge of a hearth fire burning somewhere beyond the far wall.
The ballroom hums with polite conversation.
Glasses clink, laughter is practiced, voices are low and smooth.
People drift from group to group in a slow current of silk, velvet and carefully chosen words.
Everyone’s waiting for the speeches to start and for the final guests to arrive.
But beneath the polished charm, something colder lingers, especially near the nobility.
Eyes flit, watchful and calculating, and backs never fully turn.
A silent game unfolds beneath the surface.
This isn’t just a celebration. It’s a board, and the pieces are in motion.
I’m halfway out of my chair, trying to move quietly, which is never easy when you’re built like me.
But a hand stops me, closing hesitantly around my forearm, looking down.
Heather’s black hair is pinned back on one side with a silver barrette, the rest falling in soft waves that catch the light as she shifts nervously.
There’s something vulnerable in her eyes, something that makes me feel bad about how I treated her…
So I pause and give her the courtesy of listening to what she has to say.
“I know you’re not interested,” she says quickly, her voice low.
“I’m not that naive. But could you do me a favour?
Just… say hi to my dad this one time. For old times’ sake.
” Heather bites her manicured thumb as she waits for my answer.
We did grow up together. In a way, we were promised, since we were pups.
And if there’s one thing I understand better than most, it’s the weight of a father’s expectations. Especially genitors like ours, alphas.
“Fine,” I mutter under my breath.
Heather doesn’t hesitate. Her fingers curl around my forearm, pulling me through the crowd, toward my execution. Her father stands near the far end of the room, drink in hand, surrounded by men who look just like him. Sharp suits, sharper eyes, wolves dressed as nobles.
“Ah. Kai.” Lord Vanderbilt’s voice is polished marble, practiced. He offers me his hand, not out of respect but for show, a gesture meant for the room.
I shake it anyway. “Heather said you might stop by. Welcome back to Kallahan.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you. You’ve grown into your bloodline. Your father must be... Proud.” The pause is deliberate.
I force a tight smile. “We don’t talk much.”
Lord Vanderbilt’s eyes gleam with satisfaction, as if he’s just spotted a crack in the foundation.
“Pity. I always respected the General’s firm hand.
Sometimes it is necessary, especially when raising children with a lycan’s temper.
” Heather stiffens beside me, shoulders tight.
She doesn’t say a word; she doesn’t need to.
“Is that how you raised your daughter into submission? Oh no, I remember now, it was with threats.” I add evenly. “A different kind of cage.” For a moment, everything stills. One of the nobles coughs lightly into his glass. Another pretends to study the paintings on the wall.
Then a soft, condescending chuckle escapes Elveron’s alpha. “Exactly my point. Look at that temper, just like your father’s.”
I stiffen; the message clear, but before I can reply, I feel him.
The General’s presence hits like a pressure front.
He doesn’t walk into a room; he commands it, taking advantage of his alpha status.
Glancing over my shoulder, there he stands near the archway, owning the space.
His suit is a sharp navy blue, adorned with military tokens turned ornaments.
His short blond hair is streaked with grey, but his eyes remain untouched by time.
The kind that held my spine straight for years.
Heather takes a small step back, instinctively putting space.
Lord Vanderbilt clears his throat. “Looks like the old pack’s back in one room.”
“And that’s my cue,” I mutter, jaw tight enough to crack.
The air slowly loosens its grip around my chest as we walk away from the men who shaped us.
One with a sharp tongue, the other with fists, but I barely make it three steps before the world narrows to a single point.
And before the red fabric, before the silk catches the light, before the room shifts toward her, I know it’s Vi.
She appears in the crowd just before the herald calls her name, and I'm not ready. The image I’d had of her from the boutique doesn’t even compare.
She doesn’t look dressed for the ball. Avilyna looks like the ball was made for her.
Scarlet clings to her figure as fire given life, and when her eyes land on me, Kvirr.
That look makes me forget the cold, the noise, the past.
If I died tonight, I’d die knowing exactly what an angel looked like. And my wish might come true, because the anger in her gaze could drop me dead where I stand. My little terror, ready to terrorize me until the end of time.
“I’m so sorry, Kai,” Heather whispers beside me, voice barely audible. I’ve forgotten all about her.
Shit!
I am so dead.