Chapter 5- The Trial of Blades
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They dressed her in black.
Black leather reinforced with steel, molded to her form like it had been forged for her alone. Her arms were bare, exposing the scars from years of training—the jagged bite mark on her forearm from a rogue wolf, the thin s***h over her bicep from her first duel. Her hair was braided back tightly, her face unpainted, her neck bare.
No collar. No mark.
Not yet.
Kaelin stood in the shadowed chamber beneath the arena, surrounded by warriors murmuring prayers or pacing in silence. Above them, the crowd chanted for blood.
Trial day.
Captain Selene stood beside her, arms crossed. “Don’t hesitate. Don’t hold back. They will aim to kill you.”
“I’m counting on it,” Kaelin said flatly.
Selene smirked. “Try not to die. I’ve grown fond of you.”
The gates began to rise.
The roar of the crowd poured in like a crashing wave—howls, chants, stomping feet that shook the earth. Kaelin inhaled deeply, letting the sound fuel her. Her wolf stirred beneath her skin, awake and waiting.
Let them come, she thought. Let them try.
She stepped into the arena.
---
The Royal Arena was carved into the mountainside like a crater of war. Snow clung to the stone walls, but the blood on the sand was still warm from the last match. Thousands of wolves watched from the terraces—alphas, betas, nobles, warriors, even commoners who had made the pilgrimage to see the trials.
Above them all, on a high throne draped in red and silver, sat Alpha King Theron.
His golden eyes locked on hers the moment she entered the arena.
Heat bloomed in her chest.
Not the bond.
Not desire.
Fury.
Because he had put her here.
And now she would show him exactly what she was made of.
The announcer's voice boomed through the arena. “Trial One: The Circle of Blades!”
Kaelin was shoved forward into the marked ring at the center. Her opponent entered from the opposite side—a massive beta male, seven feet tall, arms like tree trunks, wielding twin axes.
A crowd favorite, apparently, judging by the cheers.
He grinned at her. “Don’t worry, omega. I’ll make it quick.”
Kaelin smiled sweetly. “Please don’t.”
---
The horn blew.
The beta charged.
She waited until the last second—then dropped low, sliding beneath his first swing. Sand sprayed around her. She popped up behind him and drove her boot into the back of his knee. He stumbled, cursed, swung back.
She ducked again.
Spun.
Slashed.
Blood bloomed across his shoulder from her dagger.
He roared, angrier now. More reckless.
She wanted him like that.
He came at her again with both axes raised.
She let him get close—too close—and then twisted into his guard, jamming the hilt of her blade into his ribs. He grunted. She followed it with an elbow to the throat, fast and brutal.
He staggered.
She struck again.
And again.
Until he was on the ground, coughing blood into the sand.
The arena was dead silent.
Kaelin stood over him, dagger at his throat.
She didn’t kill him.
But she could have.
And they all saw it.
---
When she left the arena, her hands were still shaking—not from fear, but from power. It ran through her like wildfire. The crowd’s silence had turned into stunned applause, then thunderous cheering. They’d come expecting a s*******r.
They’d gotten one.
Just not the one they’d expected.
Theron met her in the corridor, his face unreadable.
She brushed past him.
“Kaelin,” he said quietly.
She turned on him, eyes blazing. “You wanted me in the ring? You wanted me to prove I belonged? Well, watch me climb over every body you throw in my path.”
He stepped closer. “You were incredible.”
She hated how soft his voice was. How his scent stirred things in her she wasn’t ready to name.
She clenched her fists. “I’m not your Luna.”
“No,” he said, voice low. “You’re something far more dangerous.”
She didn’t know whether to spit in his face or kiss him.
So she walked away instead.
---
That night, the palace held a feast for the trial victors.
Kaelin didn’t want to attend—but Selene insisted.
“It’s not about food,” the captain said, pulling her through the corridors. “It’s about presence. You made a scene. Now you have to own it.”
The Great Hall was a sea of silk and wine. Nobles in gold and crimson lounged on velvet cushions. Alpha lords toasted her with dripping sarcasm. Omegas whispered behind fans. The music was haunting and sweet, like something meant to put you to sleep before a dagger kissed your throat.
Kaelin moved through it like a ghost.
She didn’t belong here.
Until he entered.
Theron.
All conversation stopped as the King walked in, draped in black and silver, his crown a sharp band of obsidian and iron. He didn’t look at anyone but her.
He crossed the room.
And offered her his hand.
“I’m not dancing with you,” she said.
“It’s not a dance,” he said. “It’s a challenge.”
She raised a brow.
“Everyone’s watching,” he whispered. “Let them know you’re not afraid.”
She took his hand.
And together, they stepped into the center of the hall—alpha and omega, predator and fire—and danced like war.
Not with sweetness.
With teeth.
Every eye followed them. Every whisper carried her name.
When the music ended, he leaned close and murmured against her ear, “The court is starting to believe.”
She didn’t let him see her tremble.
“I don’t need their belief,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “You only need their fear.”
And with that, he walked away—leaving her standing in the middle of a battlefield wrapped in gold.
Alone.
Alive.
And one step closer to the throne.
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- Writer
