WonNovels

Chapter 1: The Defective Silence

The wind of the winter solstice was like a rusty saw, tirelessly cutting through the dilapidated wooden shack located on the edge of the border forest.

For Elara, this sound was not harsh; on the contrary, it held a reassuring sense of rhythm. In this home, only the sound of the wind was honest.

She sat in the darkest corner by the fireplace, where a high-backed chair with a broken leg stood. That was her exclusive spot. Although the fire in the hearth was nearly extinguished, leaving only a few glowing embers barely maintaining a sliver of warmth, this was already the best treatment she could receive.

Elara’s fingers deftly shuttled through the coarse wool. She could not see; those gray-blue eyes were like a frozen lake, devoid of focus, yet this did not hinder her from becoming the most productive weaver in the household. In fact, since she was old enough to understand, this had become her sole value for survival—a pair of hands that worked ceaselessly, and a shadow that could not speak or complain.

"Garrett, how much longer?"

It was her stepmother’s mean voice, laced with suppressed anxiety.

"Shut up, woman," her father Garrett’s voice followed closely, filled with irritability and fear. "Don't pace back and forth over there; the sound of your heels is hammering at my head like a mallet."

The wooden needle in Elara’s hand paused for a split second before resuming its rhythm. Her hearing was several times sharper than an ordinary person's. She could hear the tremor mixed within her father’s heavy breathing—it was the fear he was trying to conceal. She could also hear her sister, Isolde, turning over on the soft couch on the other side, the rustling sound produced by the friction of her silk skirt.

Even in this household on the verge of bankruptcy, Isolde still wore silk. Because Isolde possessed a powerful Wolf Soul, she was the family's only hope for a turnaround, a treasure that needed to be meticulously provided for.

And Elara was merely a "defective product." A human waste who was born without a Wolf Soul and was even blind. Just as the tax collector had said last time: "A flawed semi-finished product."

Thud, thud, thud.

Heavy knocking broke the low pressure within the room. It was not a polite inquiry, but a command of power. Every knock felt like it was smashing against the hearts of everyone inside.

The door was rudely pushed open. The cold wind, wrapped in snowflakes, swept into the room, simultaneously bringing with it a suffocating Alpha aura—a mix of leather, steel, and a musk peculiar to wild beasts.

"It seems you are all here."

A deep male voice rang out. It was the royal envoy, a high-ranking Beta executor under King Thane. There was not a trace of warmth in his voice, only official indifference and contempt for the weak.

Elara felt the air in the room freeze instantly. Her father shot up from his chair, his knee banging against the table corner with a dull thud.

"My... My Lord," Garrett’s voice was trembling. Even though Elara couldn't see, she could imagine his servile posture—he must be hunched over, rubbing his hands together, his face piled with an ingratiating smile. "You’ve come earlier than expected. Regarding the tax money, we are still gathering..."

"No need to gather," the Beta interrupted him. Heavy military boots stepped onto the floorboards, emitting a tooth-aching creak as he approached step by step. "The tax collection period is over. Garrett, your name has been listed on the default list. According to the Kingdom's laws, for commoner families unable to pay their debts, their assets will be confiscated."

"No!" The stepmother screamed. "You can't take the house! It's the last thing we have!"

"Assets do not only refer to the house," the Beta sneered. "They also include labor. And... this season's special 'tribute'."

The room fell into a dead silence.

Elara felt her heart skip a beat. She had heard the rumors. King Thane, the cursed tyrant, required a new "Attendant" every year. Rumor had it that none of the girls sent to the castle ever returned alive. They vanished into that massive black fortress like pebbles swallowed by an abyss.

"His Majesty the King requires a new slave," the Beta’s voice echoed in the cramped space, carrying a cruel tone of sentencing. "A young female. As long as you hand over one person, all debts will be written off at once. This is the King's mercy."

Isolde let out a terrified whimper; it was the instinctive reaction of a small animal facing a natural predator. She possessed a Wolf Soul; she instinctively sensed the danger.

"That girl," the Beta’s footsteps stopped in front of Isolde. "She smells nice. She has the scent of a wolf. Taking her might produce a few strong wolf pups for the King."

"No! I beg you!" Garrett lunged forward, blocking Isolde. Elara heard the sound of her father’s knees hitting the floor, so loud, so resolute.

For Isolde, her father was willing to kneel.

"My Lord, she is Isolde, she has already awakened her Wolf Soul! She is the most gifted child of this generation!" Garrett begged incoherently. "She will marry an Alpha in the future; she can propagate offspring for the pack! Sending her to that... to the castle, that is a waste! That is a blasphemy against the bloodline!"

Elara listened quietly. The movements of her fingers finally stopped.

"Waste."

In her father's eyes, sending Isolde to die was a waste.

The Beta seemed to be thinking, his leather gloves rubbing against the hilt of his sword, making a slight sound. "Then, what do you intend to use to pay the debt? Your old life?"

"I have another daughter!"

Garrett’s voice suddenly pitched high, carrying an urgent excitement, as if he had grabbed a life-saving straw.

Elara felt several gazes shoot like arrows toward the dark corner.

"Another one?" The Beta turned around, his boots scraping harshly against the floor. "That thing shrinking in the corner?"

"Yes, yes!" Garrett scrambled up from the ground, impatiently pointing the finger that had just protected Isolde at Elara. "That is Elara, my eldest daughter. Although... although she is human, and has no Wolf Soul, she is young and healthy."

The Beta took a few steps closer. That oppression followed, pressing down on Elara’s head like a mountain. A rough, large hand pinched her chin, forcing her to lift her head.

"You are blind?" The Beta’s voice was filled with disgust.

Elara did not dodge. Those gray-blue eyes looked straight ahead but held no focus. "Yes, My Lord." Her voice was very soft, yet unusually steady.

"A cripple." The Beta let go, as if shaking off something dirty. "Garrett, are you insulting the King? Do you think His Majesty would accept a blind person as a slave?"

"No, no, listen to me!" Garrett rushed over, blocking the space between the Beta and Elara, speaking with astonishing speed, as if peddling a commodity about to rot. "This is exactly her advantage, My Lord! You know the rumor... about the King's curse. Everyone who sees the King's true face goes mad, they all scream. The women sent previously were all because they saw things they shouldn't have seen..."

Garrett paused, his voice becoming low and insidious. "But Elara can't see. She is blind. No matter what His Majesty turns into, no matter how terrible the curse is, she can't see it. She won't scream, she won't go mad; she will be the quietest thing in that castle."

The room fell into silence again. Only the wind howled outside the window, as if mocking this absurd scene.

Elara could feel her father's rapid breath spraying on her face. Living in this house for twenty years, she had always thought she was merely ignored. It wasn't until this moment that she understood she was a "reserve." She was kept to be thrown out at this moment as a damaged substitute.

The Beta was silent for a long time.

"Can't see..." he muttered. "This is an interesting angle. Indeed, the King has become increasingly intolerant of screaming lately. Perhaps a blind person can live a little longer."

He turned around, his tone becoming cold and decisive. "Fine. Bring her along. The debt is cleared."

"Thank you, My Lord! Thank you for your mercy!" The stepmother’s voice came, weeping with joy.

No one asked for Elara's opinion. Nor did anyone even pretend to shed a single tear.

"You have five minutes to pack," the Beta said to Elara. "Don't bring too much trash; the castle doesn't lack dead people's clothes."

Elara stood up slowly. She did not go to get those worn-out clothes; those were charity given to her by this family. She bent down and pulled out a stick polished smooth from under the chair—her cane—and that old leather bag stuffed with Braille books.

That was her only property, and the weight of her soul.

She walked to the door. As she passed her father, her steps paused slightly.

"Father," she called out softly.

Garrett’s breath hitched for a moment, but he did not speak. He just took a step back, as if she carried some kind of plague.

"Take good care of Isolde," Elara's voice was terribly calm, without any resentment, only a hollowness after seeing through everything. "After all, she is your only daughter."

With that, she gripped her cane and stepped over the threshold into the darkness. The cold wind instantly swallowed her thin figure, and swallowed her last traces in this home.

Chapter 2: The Citadel of Whispers

The carriage wheels crushed the frozen earth, emitting a dull and monotonous rumble. It was a long journey, extending from the village at the edge of the forest all the way to that place that only existed in horror fairytales.

Elara curled up alone in a corner of the carriage. The interior was as cold as an ice cellar, but she did not shiver. This coldness felt more real to her than that so-called "home."

As time passed, the surrounding sounds changed. The originally noisy sound of the forest wind disappeared, replaced by a deathly silence. Even the wind seemed afraid to howl loudly here.

"Get down."

The carriage stopped. The Beta’s voice sounded outside, tighter than when they departed.

Elara fumbled her way out of the carriage. The sensation under her feet was no longer dirt, but cold, hard stone slabs. The air was filled with a complex smell—stale stone, damp moss, perennial mist, and... a faint, nauseating scent of rust.

It was blood.

"Don't move around, don't look around—oh, I forgot you can't see," the Beta mocked, giving her a shove. "Follow me. Remember, if you want to live, keep your mouth shut. The walls here have ears, but the King hates noise."

They passed through a heavy gate. The massive hinges groaned dully as they turned, like the throat of a giant beast swallowing prey.

After entering the castle interior, Elara felt an unprecedented oppression. The space here was extremely vast—the echoes told her this—but it was terrifyingly quiet. She could hear the extremely faint footsteps of servants in the distance, that cautious frequency of almost walking on tiptoes, revealing how deep the fear permeating this place was.

Here, fear was the ruler.

"Is this the new one?" A shrill female voice sounded from the side of the corridor, the voice pitched extremely low. "She looks skinny and small, probably can't even birth wolf pups, right?"

"Don't run your mouth, Martha," the Beta warned. "This is the debt payment sent by Beta Garrett. As long as she can survive tonight, that's enough."

"Survive tonight?" The maid named Martha let out a short, cold laugh. "The last one was a strong female werewolf, and didn't she still have a mental breakdown in the middle of the night, and finally..."

The voice stopped abruptly, as if her mouth had been covered by someone.

Elara gripped the cane in her hand, her knuckles turning white. She knew what they were talking about. About the King's curse. Legend had it that every night, King Thane would turn into some unspeakable monster. It wasn't just a werewolf transformation, but a form twisted by black magic.

They passed through long corridors, the air getting colder, extending downwards. This didn't feel like going to a bedroom, but more like walking into a dungeon.

Finally, they stopped in front of a heavy oak door. Even through the door, Elara could feel the violent energy radiating from within. It felt like high-voltage electricity crackling in the air, making her skin prickle.

"Go in." The Beta’s voice also carried a tremor. He opened the door but dared not take a step inside. "Good luck, blind girl."

Elara was shoved violently into the room.

Bang!

The heavy door slammed shut behind her, the sound of the lock clicking clearly audible.

The world was cut off. Only she and the thing in the room remained.

It was big here, very big. Elara’s blind intuition told her this was an empty hall. But the smell here was terrible—not only that stale smell of blood, but also a strong musk peculiar to wild beasts, mixed with the smell of torn fabric and broken wood.

That was the residue of violence.

Huff... huff...

Heavy breathing came from the other end of the room. It didn't sound like human breathing, but more like giant bellows being pulled. Every breath was accompanied by a tremor deep in the throat, causing even the floor to seem to shake slightly.

Elara stood where she was, holding her bag of Braille books tightly to her chest. That was her only shield.

"Who?"

A voice exploded. That voice was hoarse and broken, like vocal cords sanded by sandpaper, or like two huge rocks grinding together. It contained endless pain and imminent rage.

"Get out!"

Along with the roar, a gust of wind blew into her face. Before Elara could react, she felt a massive force smash into the stone pillar beside her. Gravel flew, cutting her cheek.

Something was approaching. Shockingly fast.

It was the sound of claws scratching stone slabs, the snap of tensed muscles. Almost in the blink of an eye, that breath carrying searing heat was already spraying onto her face.

Elara froze instinctively. Although she couldn't see, her skin could feel it—that thing was right in front of her, only a few inches away. It was colossal, the heat radiating from it like a furnace. She could even hear the "click" sound of rows of sharp teeth snapping together.

According to the script, she should scream at this moment. All the women before her had done so. They saw that face—that face twisted beyond recognition by the curse, like a demon from hell—and then screamed, fainted, or went mad.

But in Elara’s world, there was only darkness.

She did not scream.

In extreme fear, her body instead entered a weird state of calm. Since she couldn't see the face of death, death seemed less terrifying.

"I am Elara." Her voice was very soft, even trembling a little, but clearly audible at this distance. "I am... the new debt payment."

The monster in front of her paused. It seemed to be waiting for the expected reaction—screaming, begging for mercy, or fleeing. But this tiny human neither covered her eyes nor made any piercing noise.

She just kept those gray eyes open, looking into the void without focus, facing directly at its hideous face.

"What are you looking at?" The monster's voice became low, carrying a dangerous probe. A claw large enough to crush her skull rested on her shoulder, sharp nails piercing her clothes, stinging her skin. "Look at me! Look at your nightmare!"

Elara tilted her head slightly, trying to capture the source of the sound.

"I hear your voice, Your Majesty," she answered honestly. "But I cannot see the nightmare."

The claw stiffened.

"What do you mean?"

"I am blind," Elara said softly. "My father said that because I can't see, I won't be scared crazy. This is my only value."

Silence.

Suffocating silence spread between the human and the beast.

The massive presence slowly retracted its claw, replaced by a more complex scrutiny. It paced around Elara, heavy footsteps circling her. It was sniffing her; that was the apex predator judging if the prey was lying.

The smell of fear? Yes.

The smell of lies? No.

"Blind..." The voice suddenly let out a short, dry laugh, sounding incredibly desolate. "Thane, oh Thane, have you fallen to this extent? Only someone who can't see can endure staying by your side for a minute."

The suffocating killing intent slowly faded.

"Since you can't see," the monster's voice held a trace of exhaustion, "then get into the corner. Don't make a sound. Don't touch anything. If you wake the beast inside me, I might forget you are blind and tear you to pieces directly."

Elara felt as if she had been granted amnesty. She used her cane to gently probe the way, fumbled her way to the furthest corner of the room, and sat down tightly against the cold wall.

She survived.

In this night filled with visual horror, her cursed defect—blindness—had turned out to be the only reason she lived.

Chapter 3: The Only Listener

The night was long for Elara, but for King Thane, the night was hell.

Elara curled up in the corner, daring not to sleep. Her hearing was forced to receive everything happening in the room. That "thing"—the King's beast form—did not sleep peacefully.

It roamed restlessly in the room. Sometimes it was the sound of claws tearing tapestries, sometimes the muffled sound of a huge body hitting the stone wall. Apart from that, there were those suppressed, low growls. It didn't sound like it was to deter enemies, but more like the sound of a person trying to crush their teeth to endure in extreme pain.

He was in pain.

Elara suddenly realized this. That monster who terrified everyone was, at this moment, alone in this huge cage, enduring some kind of pain that tore at the soul.

After an unknown amount of time, the light outside the window seemed to change—although Elara couldn't see light, she could feel a slight rise in air temperature.

Morning came.

From the center of the room came the sound of bone cracking that made one's hair stand on end. It was the sound of joints dislocating and muscles restructuring, accompanied by suppressed screams.

Minutes later, everything returned to calm. Only heavy and exhausted panting remained.

"Water."

A hoarse male voice sounded. It was no longer the strange sound like metal grinding metal from last night, but a human timbre.

Elara hesitated, holding the wall to stand up. She fumbled for the water jug on the table, poured a cup of water, and then followed the direction of the voice, walking over carefully.

"Your Majesty?" She tentatively reached out her hand.

A cold hand snatched the cup. Then came the sound of swallowing.

"You can open your eyes now... Oh, I forgot," Thane's voice carried a trace of self-mockery.

At this moment, Thane was slumped on the floor, leaning against the edge of the bed. The morning sunlight shone on him through the gaps in the curtains. If Elara could see, she would find that the man before her possessed a perfect appearance that even gods would envy—black hair hanging messy on his forehead, deep features carved like marble, but his golden eyes were bloodshot, and the bottom of his eyes was a desolate wasteland.

He was the most beautiful king in the world, and also the ugliest beast. This extreme contrast was the most vicious part of the curse.

Thane looked up at the thin woman in front of him. She wore an ill-fitting gray linen skirt, clutching that worn leather bag tightly in her hand, her gray-blue eyes staring blankly in his direction.

This was the first time, after experiencing such a night, that someone could still stand alive in front of him, instead of turning into a corpse or a lunatic.

"What is your name?" Thane asked.

"Elara, Your Majesty."

"Elara," Thane repeated, his gaze falling on the bag in her arms. "What is that? If that is a dagger, you'd better do it now."

"Not a dagger, Your Majesty," Elara hugged the bag nervously. "It's books."

"Books?" Thane raised an eyebrow. "A blind person, carrying books?"

"It's Braille books, Your Majesty," Elara explained, a trace of humble self-esteem in her voice. "I... I like reading. This is the only way I understand the world."

Thane fell silent. He looked at those fingers that had become rough from touching paper for a long time. In this werewolf world that revered martial power and bloodlines, a human, a disabled person, actually relied on reading to understand the world.

This absurd contrast made him feel a trace of long-lost curiosity.

"Since you can read," Thane stood up slowly, the Alpha oppression returning to him, "then prove your value."

He walked up to Elara and looked down at her.

"The rule here is absolute silence. Any noise will stimulate the curse inside me. But..." he paused, seeming to recall the madness of last night, "that dead silence is sometimes more maddening than noise."

"Tonight," Thane commanded, "when that thing... when I transform again, I don't want to hear screaming, nor do I want to hear begging for mercy. You sit there and read."

"Read?" Elara was stunned.

"Yes. Read those damn stories of yours aloud," Thane’s voice held a hint of threat, and also a hint of pleading. "As long as your voice doesn't stop, maybe I can... maintain a shred of reason."

"What if it doesn't work?" Elara asked in a whisper.

"Then you pray that I tear you apart a little faster, so it won't be too painful."

After Thane finished speaking, he turned and walked into the bathroom.

Throughout that long day, Elara stayed in that room. No one brought food, and no one came to ask. She was like a forgotten ghost.

Until night fell again.

That familiar, suffocating oppression erupted from the King again. With the first painful low roar, Thane’s human form began to collapse.

Elara sat trembling in the chair, opening that worn Braille book. Her fingers trembled on the raised dots, barely able to feel the words.

Roar—!

A huge roar exploded in her ear, and the table was overturned.

Elara shrank into a ball in fright, but she remembered Thane’s words—"As long as the voice doesn't stop."

She forced herself to open her mouth, her voice dry and trembling:

"Long ago... in a kingdom without stars... there was a traveler who forgot his name..."

The beast in the room seemed to pause. That voice was too weak, too small, almost inaudible amidst its roars. But the frequency was strange; it carried no aggression, no fear, just simple narration.

Elara closed her eyes, fingers moving fast, her voice getting louder and steadier:

"He asked the wind, who am I? The wind said, you are a passerby. He asked the sea, who am I? The sea said, you are a reflection..."

Deep in the castle filled with tyrannical and bloody aura, in the lair occupied by the monster, the girl’s gentle reading voice was like a trickling stream, flowing over the ground full of mess.

And in the shadows of the room, those golden-red beast eyes burning with madness, in this voice, for the first time, extremely slowly, extremely incredibly, stopped being restless. It lay prone not far from her, its huge ears rotating slightly, capturing every syllable.

It was listening.

This was not just a story; this was a rope, pulling that soul drowning on the edge of madness, bit by bit, back to the human world.

Chapter 4: Thorns and the Greenhouse

Time was a vague concept in the Shadow Castle. For Elara living in darkness, the difference between day and night lay merely in the man's form, and the intensity of the oppression in the air.

A month passed.

After that terrible night, a silent contract was established between the King and his blind slave. During the day, Elara was allowed to stay in the corner of the study, organizing the mountainous piles of scrolls—although she couldn't see the text, she could categorize them by touching the material of the scrolls and the shape of the wax seals. And at night, her only task was to read.

Sitting on the high-backed chair that belonged exclusively to her, facing the giant beast panting in the darkness, reading aloud stories about faraway places, about love, about redemption.

Thane never said thank you, nor did he ever show obvious tenderness. He remained cold, his words carrying thorns, as if any display of warmth would weaken his kingship. But he no longer roared at her, and even during the most painful moments of transformation, he would deliberately stay away from her corner to avoid accidental injury from his out-of-control claws.

On this day, the afternoon sun rarely penetrated the perennial mist.

"Get up."

Thane was reviewing official documents, the quill making a rustling sound on the parchment. He suddenly stopped writing and commanded in a low voice.

Elara immediately put down the duster in her hand and fumbled for her cane: "Your Majesty? Do you need tea?"

"No need." Thane stood up, the chair making a dull friction sound on the floor. "Come with me. I'm taking you somewhere."

This was the first time he had actively taken her out of that study filled with oppressive atmosphere. Elara was a little apprehensive, but she obediently followed the string of steady footsteps.

They passed through several long corridors, and the smell in the air began to change. The stale smell of dust and cold lime gradually faded, replaced by a scent of moist earth, mixed with a rich and somewhat intoxicating sweet fragrance.

"We're here." Thane stopped.

Accompanied by the creaking of an iron door being pushed open, a warm and humid airflow rushed into her face, as if stepping from deep winter into midsummer in one stride.

"Where is this?" Elara asked in surprise. She felt the sensation under her feet change, no longer hard marble, but soft soil and fine gravel.

"My greenhouse." Thane's voice held an imperceptible relaxation. "Or perhaps the only place alive in this dead castle."

He grabbed Elara's wrist—the movement wasn't gentle, but it avoided the places previously scratched—and led her forward.

"Watch your step, there are vines everywhere."

Elara walked carefully. Her hearing captured subtle sounds: the drip of water falling on leaves, the buzz of insect wings, and the extremely slight crackle of plants stretching their branches and leaves. This was a world full of vitality.

"Reach out," Thane commanded.

Elara reached out her hand. Thane guided her fingers to touch a flower. The petals were as soft as silk, layered, carrying the coolness of dew.

"What flower is this?" Elara asked softly, her fingertips carefully tracing the shape of the flower. "It smells... like honey and red wine."

"Black Rose." Thane looked at the deep purple flower blooming under Elara's pale fingertips. "A variant that only grows in the lands of the polar night. They are highly toxic, but the fragrance can relieve pain."

He paused, his tone becoming somewhat gloomy. "Just like everything in this castle. Beautiful things are poisonous."

Elara's hand shrank back, but was held down by Thane.

"Don't be afraid. As long as you don't break it, it won't hurt you. The thorns are below." He guided her hand to slide down, touching the flower stem covered in sharp thorns. "Feel them? This is its defense."

"To protect the beauty above?"

"No," Thane sneered. "To warn those idiots not to get too close. If anyone tries to pick it, they will bleed."

Elara was silent for a moment. Her gray-blue eyes, though blind, turned accurately towards Thane.

"Are you talking about this flower, or about yourself, Your Majesty?"

The air froze for a second. Thane looked at her. This blind little thing could always say words that startled him the most in the most innocent tone.

"You are bold, Elara." Thane let go and turned aside. "In this castle, only you dare to speak to me like this."

"Because I cannot see your thorns, Your Majesty," Elara said softly. "I can only smell the fragrance."

Thane's heart skipped a beat.

This sentence was like a feather, gently brushing across his soul that had long been riddled with holes.

"I cannot see your thorns, I can only smell the fragrance."

How absurd. The whole world treated him as a demon, as a monster that must be eradicated, yet this "defective" blind girl he forcibly abducted smelled the fragrance on him.

"Do you really want to know what I look like?" Thane asked suddenly, a self-destructive impulse in his voice.

Elara nodded, then shook her head. "I want to know, but I don't want to see with my eyes. Because eyes lie. People see beautiful things and think they are good, see terrible things and think they are bad."

She reached out her hand, searching in the void.

"Can I look with my hands?"

Thane froze. Reason told him he should refuse, should push her away, or mock her like he treated those women before. But he didn't move. He stood there like a statue under a binding spell, allowing that trembling little hand to fumble and touch his chest.

Through the silk shirt, Elara felt the hard-as-iron muscles underneath, and the heart beating unusually violently.

The hand moved up, touching his Adam's apple, his resolute chin, his slightly stubbled cheek, his high nose bridge, and his deep-set eye sockets.

Her fingers were cold and light, like a blind butterfly resting on the face of a sleeping lion.

Thane held his breath. This touch was strange to him, and dangerous. It carried no aggression, no fear, only pure curiosity and a tenderness that made him shudder.

"Your brows are always furrowed." Elara's fingertips smoothed his brow. "There is a scar here." Her finger stopped on a thin mark on his left cheek.

"That was left when I lost control during a transformation before." Thane's voice was hoarse. "Is it very ugly?"

"No." Elara shook her head, her palm resting on the side of his face. "This is a scar, not ugliness. A scar means you survived, means you conquered the pain."

Thane felt his eyes burn. That sour sensation made him panic.

He abruptly grabbed Elara's hand and pulled it off his face. The force was a bit strong, causing Elara to exclaim.

"Enough." Thane turned around, his back to her, his chest heaving violently. "Go back. Today's airing is over."

He strode out of the greenhouse, leaving Elara behind. He didn't dare stay any longer. He was afraid that if he let that hand touch him any longer, the beast inside him wouldn't be able to help waking up, not to kill, but to submit in the palm of her hand.

Chapter 5: The Weight of a Name

As winter left and spring came, the ice and snow around the castle began to melt, but the curse inside Thane became increasingly manic.

It seemed that because his feelings for Elara had changed—although he vehemently denied that it was affection—the desire to get close and protect conflicted violently with the destructive desire of the curse itself.

Before, the beast only wanted to tear apart all living things. Now, the beast craved the blind girl's scent, turning every transformation into a tug-of-war of the soul.

Late one night.

The reading stopped abruptly.

"Your Majesty?" Elara put down the book in her hand. Just a moment ago, she heard an extremely painful groan, followed by the sound of a heavy object falling to the ground.

Unlike the roar full of anger in the past, the voice this time was full of weakness.

"Don't come over..." the low, semi-bestial voice warned in the darkness. "Stay away from me..."

Elara did not obey. She heard the tremor in that voice. She fumbled for her cane and walked carefully in that direction.

"Are you hurt?"

"I told you to get away!"

A huge claw swept fiercely, the wind it brought knocking over the candlestick on the table. Although there was no fire, the loud sound of metal hitting the ground seemed particularly shocking in the silent night.

Elara was frightened into taking a step back, but tripped over the rug and fell heavily to the floor. She scraped her knee and sucked in a breath of cold air in pain.

The massive black shadow instantly froze.

A rapid, even somewhat panicked friction sound came—it was the sound of claws retracting and a body dragging on the floor.

"Elara?" The voice was no longer a roar, but full of extreme panic.

A huge hand covered in stiff fur cautiously touched her shoulder. This time, the sharp nails were completely retracted, leaving only rough pads.

"You're bleeding." The monster's voice was filled with self-blame, as if it were a heinous crime it had committed.

Elara shook her head in the darkness and reached out to grab that huge palm.

"Just a bump, I'm fine. But you... your voice tonight sounds very painful."

"That was to not hurt you." The monster growled low, letting her hold its paw. "This damn curse... it wants blood. But I don't want it to taste your blood."

Thane rested his head on Elara's knee, like an extremely exhausted large dog. His eyes burning with fire were dim at this moment.

"Elara, why don't you leave?" he asked, his voice muffled. "As long as you leave here, you are free. You don't have to face a monster that might go mad at any time every night."

Elara's fingers inserted into the thick mane on his neck, gently combing it. This action strangely soothed the restless curse.

"Because except for here, no one needs me," Elara whispered. "At home, I am a burden. Here... you need my voice, don't you?"

"Need." Thane admitted it; for him, this was simply exposing his softest underbelly. "I need your voice, like a drowning man needs air."

He lifted his head, that hideous beast face moving close to Elara's ear.

"Call my name."

"Your Majesty?"

"No. Call my name." He demanded stubbornly. "Don't call me Your Majesty, that's for those outside who fear me to call. Here, in front of you, who am I?"

Elara's heart beat faster. She felt the hot air spraying on her neck, carrying a dangerous and charming temptation.

"Thane." She called softly.

This name spoken from her mouth carried a special rhythm, like a spell.

Thane let out a satisfied sigh. He rubbed his huge head against her palm, completely giving up the struggle, allowing himself to sink into her scent.

At that moment, Thane realized he was done for.

He had fallen in love with this sacrifice.

And this would become his greatest weakness, and also the deadliest handle in the hands of his enemies.

Chapter 6: The Uninvited Guest

Peaceful days are always as short as an illusion.

Just a week later, the morning that shattered everything arrived.

The castle gate was pushed open with a bang without any announcement. Elara, holding a stack of newly arrived Braille books and walking through the hall, was shaken by this sudden loud noise and almost dropped them.

A strong, nauseating smell of perfume—expensive rose essential oil mixed with some highly aggressive Alpha pheromones—instantly filled the entire space, overpowering the original cold moldy smell of the castle.

"Is this where Thane hides himself?"

A sharp, arrogant female voice full of power sounded. It was a voice accustomed to giving orders.

"Princess Isolde!" The castle steward's terrified voice came. "You... why did you come without notice..."

"I am the future Queen; do I need notice to return to my own home?"

Elara froze in place. Isolde? That neighboring princess with the strongest Wolf Soul? The one legend said Thane was about to marry?

"Clean up this dump." Isolde's voice, accompanied by the crisp sound of high heels hitting the ground, approached step by step. "The smell of a stray dog here is unbearable."

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped.

Elara felt a sharp gaze scrape across her face like a knife, scanning from her eyes all the way to the books clutched in her hands.

"What is this?" Isolde's voice was filled with undisguised disgust. "A human? In this castle where only werewolves can survive?"

Elara gripped her cane, lowered her head, and tried to reduce her presence.

"Answering Your Highness, this is... this is the maid left by His Majesty," the steward stammered in explanation. "Her name is Elara."

"Maid?" Isolde let out a piercing sneer and walked up to Elara. That powerful Alpha oppression pressed down like a mountain, making Elara, an ordinary human, feel weak in the knees and difficult to breathe.

"Lift your head." Isolde commanded.

Elara had to lift her head.

"Ha!" Isolde seemed to see some big joke. "A blind girl? Thane actually kept a blind girl by his side? No wonder this castle smells dead. So he has become so inferior that he can only find superiority from this kind of cripple?"

"She is not a cripple."

A voice cold as ice shards came from the staircase on the second floor.

Elara's heart trembled violently. It was Thane. But not the Thane who would rest his head on her knees at night, but the ruthless King of the day.

Thane stood in the shadows wearing a black velvet robe, looking down at the scene in the hall. His expression held no waves, only storms churning in those golden eyes.

Isolde turned around, her face immediately putting on a charming but provocative smile.

"Thane, darling." She called intimately on purpose. "Long time no see. It seems your taste has indeed become... unique."

"What are you doing here?" Thane ignored her teasing, walking down the stairs step by step. With every step, the oppression on his body grew stronger, forcibly forcing Isolde to take half a step back.

"The Council's decision." Isolde shrugged. "Your curse is getting more out of control, Thane. The lords of the East and North are stirring. You need a strong ally, a Queen who can bear you a strong heir."

She looked provocatively at Elara in the corner: "Instead of a blind pet who can't even take care of herself."

Thane walked up to Elara. He didn't look at Isolde, but stared at Elara's pale face. He saw her trembling. In this space full of werewolves, she was so fragile, as fragile as a withered leaf that could be crushed at any time.

If he showed he cared about her, Isolde would definitely treat her as a target.

If he wanted to protect her, he had to show that he cared less than anyone else.

"Pet?" Thane sneered, turning to look at Isolde, a chilling banter in his eyes. "Isolde, you think too highly of her. She's just a pastime who can read a bit. Since it's a pastime, I'll naturally throw it away when I'm bored."

Elara suddenly looked up, her godless eyes filled with shock and hurt.

Pastime.

So those snuggles at night, those conversations in the greenhouse, the calling of that name, were all just "pastime."

Isolde smiled with satisfaction. She walked to Thane's side, intimately held his arm, and demonstratively released stronger Alpha pheromones.

"That's good. I don't want anything eyesore in my castle." Isolde looked at Elara as if looking at a bag of trash. "Since it's a pastime, let her get far away. The maid I brought needs to stay in the best room."

Thane did not shake off Isolde's hand. His body was stiff as a rock, but he forced himself to issue that command.

"Steward." Thane's voice was indifferent without a trace of emotion. "Take Princess Isolde to the master bedroom. As for this one..."

He paused for a second, his gaze lingering on Elara's face for the last time.

"Send her to the utility room in logistics. Don't let her appear in front of Isolde, lest she affects the mood."

With that, Thane turned around, carrying that strong rose perfume smell that didn't belong to Elara, and left the hall without looking back.

Elara stood where she was, holding that cane tightly in her hand.

Around her were