Back in the courtroom:

Adele smiled the moment her father walked away for the second time.

"Lord Varent." she repeated the name slowly, the syllables rolling off her tongue like tiny stones she tossed into a quiet pond. "Forgive me, but... it sounds like a sneeze."

The man blinked at her, confusion flickering in his brown eyes. "Pardon?"

She held both hands gracefully before her, and lifted her chin. Her shoulders squared, and every line of her posture radiated elegance and confidence. "I said your name sounds like a sneeze," she repeated, letting her words hang between them like a challenge.

To her astonishment, Lord Varent smiled. A slow, amused curve spread around his lips. "Are you trying to argue me into staying away from you tonight?" he asked, smoothly.

His voice was the kind that could draw out confessions without a single question. He reached for her hand and pressed it to his lips, lingering. The warmth of him made her knees betray her just a fraction.

"Forgive me, lovely mistress," he murmured, dragging his lips across the back of her hand, then to the inside of her palm. His gaze remained deep, and relentless. "But I am already infatuated by you."

A flicker of irritation crossed her face. She bit the inside of her lip, holding back her usual sharp retort. However, some fires refused to stay contained.

"Well," she said finally, "if that infatuation comes with a warning label, it might cause... headaches or worse, nausea."

He arched a brow, a faint, amused smile tugging at his lips. "Ah... so the mistress speaks freely now. How intriguing."

Adele allowed herself a small smirk. Enough to let him know she wasn’t impressed, but not enough to encourage him. She leaned back just slightly, letting the edge of her challenge settle over him.

"And," she continued, voice soft but deadly, "your hair looks like you lost a duel with a broom. Perhaps that’s why it might sound like a sneeze too if it has a name."

Lord Varent froze, blinking, caught completely off guard. Then, surprisingly, he laughed. A low, rich sound that sent a flicker of irritation and amusement battling inside her.

A commanding voice rolled through her soone at that moment. "Adele."

Her shoulders stiffened. Her father stood behind her. Her stomach tightened, a reflexive shiver running down her spine. She braced for a reprimand, expecting the sharp tongue she often received when he was near, but instead, he simply shook his head, his lips twitching in the faintest smile.

"Ah... spirited as ever," he said, glancing at Lord Varent with a faint shrug. "I will allow this... jest. No offense taken."

Lord Varent returned his piercing gaze to her. "Now, if the lovely lady would permit me, I would love to accompany her to see the garden before the fireworks."

Adele’s fingers twitched as she drew back her hand, reluctant. "I can’t."

"She will," Alpha Blackfen countered, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "And she will do that now."

A shiver ran through her at his words. She inclined her head, acquiescing, and returned her hand to Lord Varent. He smiled, a dangerous, victorious glint in his eyes, as he led her away.

The garden stretched before them as they walked out of the room. The garden appeard to be a hidden sanctuary away from the prying eyes of the court.

Lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, casting golden light across winding paths and flowerbeds.

Lord Varent plucked a delicate blossom from a nearby bush and tucked it behind her ear. She let out a faint sigh, annoyed by the sweetness, yet secretly touched.

A strand of hair fell over her shoulder, and he tucked it back with careful fingers. For a fleeting moment, he seemed almost gentle. Adele lifted a brow but said nothing. The gesture did not soften her resolve.

He led her down a small staircase to a secluded bridge over a narrow stream. The quietness of the place made her uneasy. It was intimate. Too intimate for two single wolves. He gestured for her to sit, as his eyes never left hers.

"Let me worship at your feet," he said, kneeling before her. He lifted her silver-heeled foot in his hands. His eyes were dark with a feeling between reverence and desire.

Adele let out a small, annoyed sound. "Will you stop?"

"I..." he began, but his gaze slid upward, a subtle, unspoken threat, moving along her legs, her waist, and close enough to her chest, to send a warning to her pulse.

Panic flared in her. She glanced around. If he overstepped, she would strike without hesitation.

"Let us take these few minutes we have," he whispered, leaning closer. His lips brushed the tender skin of her neck, "and find ecstasy in each other’s embrace."

"We’re not mates," she hissed, shoving him back. Disgust was clear in her voice.

And then, out of the shadows, Torak appeared. Lord Varent’s back collided with Torak’s chest.

There was no hesitation, or warning as Torak immediately pushed the man over, annoyed. The man fell over the bridge railing, and a splash echoed through the quiet garden.

"No, Torak, no!" Adele lunged forward, but it was too late. She pressed her palm to her forehead, as anxiety tightened her every muscle. "That... that was one of the kingmakers."

Torak’s chest heaved. Once again, his wolf simmered beneath the surface, barely contained.

He stepped forward. His hands gripped her shoulders softly, scanning her body with his eyes that now glowed with an unsettling red. "Did he hurt you? Was I too late?"

"No." She shook her head, stepping past him to the railing. She stared into the water. "You’re not listening to me, Torak. That was—"

"I am listening to you, Adele. He’s a werewolf. He would survive the fall." he cut her off, spinning her to face him. His wolf intensely flashed in his gaze. "Did he touch you inappropriately?"

Adele blinked, caught between the raw intensity of his gaze and her own determination to remain independent. She swallowed. "Your... he didn’t," she whispered, lowering her eyes. She visibly refused to give him any reason to overstep.

She murmured, the words meant to remind him she wasn’t his mate, and that she was her own sovereign.

"I’m fine, Torak," she said firmly, glancing around the empty garden. "I should leave before someone sees us."

Torak’s fists clenched and unclenched, the tension in his body was palpable. He had questions, demands, and a storm of emotions to adress, but instead he bowed precisely, and deliberately to her.

Adele froze, taken aback by his formal act.

"It’s... Mr. MacKenzie, Milady," he corrected softly, formality layering over restraint.

The words felt heavy in her chest, strange, and almost wrong, yet commanding in their own way.

She nodded quickly. "Mr. MacKenzie... it is then," she whispered, hurrying away. Her heartbeat pounded with a mix of relief and confusion in her chest.

Torak’s chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate control as she walked away from him. His wolf waited beneath the surface, patient and contained, as Adele’s figure disappeared into the shadows of the lantern-lit garden path. Her heartbeat echoed in his ears.

All that remained was the echo of her presence, the fleeting memory of her sharp tongue, and the weight of the name he would now guard fiercely.