Aurora woke to soft candlelight and the rustle of fabric.
A dress lay across her bed.
Not just any dress—deep crimson, cut short, its neckline low and curved along the waist like it was made for temptation, not modesty.
She stared at it, her stomach knotting.
Then the door opened.
A woman entered—tall, refined, with streaks of silver in her braid. She didn't smile.
"Put it on," she said simply.
Aurora hesitated. "Where am I going?"
The woman didn't answer right away. She began adjusting the dress once Aurora had slipped it on, her fingers quick as she laced the back.
"To the grand hall. You're not the only girl tonight."
Aurora turned sharply. "What do you mean?"
The woman gave a short nod. "Seven girls were chosen. One for each Alpha prince. You're the seventh."
Aurora froze.
"The youngest?" she asked.
"The most dangerous," the woman replied. "Zev."
Aurora's pulse stuttered.
"Don't test him," the woman warned. "Don't talk unless asked. Bow low. Be calm. Be… appealing. That's your role tonight."
Aurora nodded, the weight of the moment pressing down.
She followed the woman down a long corridor lit by torches. The palace never slept—it just watched in silence.
They reached the hall.
Six other girls stood in similar crimson dresses, each one tense, eyes lowered. No one spoke.
Then a guard appeared and called, "Alpha Zev will see her now."
Aurora stepped forward.
Her feet felt too loud on the stone as she followed him. The dark door loomed ahead—Zev's chambers. Her breath caught as it opened.
He was already inside, seated near the fireplace.
A black shirt clung to his frame, open at the collar. Shadows played along the sharp lines of his face, the firelight casting him in warm gold and deep shadow.
He didn't rise. Didn't speak.
He only watched her.
She bowed deeply, her head nearly to the floor.
Zev finally spoke. "You're not the worst thing I've seen tonight."
She rose, slowly.
He pointed to a low cushioned stool. "Sit."
Aurora obeyed, perching gently, spine straight.
"This is your final test," he said. "No dancing. No foolish flattery. Just this."
He slid a small, black book toward her. "Read. And don't bore me."
She opened the book. The parchment was worn, the ink faded. Her fingers shook slightly.
She found her place and began.
Her voice was soft at first—barely above a whisper.
Zev watched her. Unblinking.
"Too quiet," he said. "Louder."
She cleared her throat and tried again. Each word was heavy, each line filled with old passion and carefully woven tension. The story wasn't vulgar—but it simmered with something dangerous.
She hesitated.
"You're faltering," Zev murmured.
"I'm… not used to this sort of thing."
He tilted his head. "Then learn. I don't need someone timid. I need someone useful."
Aurora tried again, forcing her voice steady. The lines spoke of desire, of longing, of power held in words—not touches.
When she paused again, cheeks warm, Zev stood and walked toward her.
Slow. Calm.
He didn't reach for her. Just leaned slightly, closing the book with one hand.
"You read better than I expected," he said, eyes flicking over her.
A pause.
Then he stepped back.
"You may sleep by the fire tonight."
She blinked. "Not in the corner?"
"No." He poured himself a drink, voice cool. "That's reserved for those who disobey."
Aurora rose, hands still clenched. She stepped quietly to the side, near the warmth, and knelt down.
Just as she settled, Zev spoke again.
"Next time, don't only dress to impress," he said, not looking at her. "Learn what makes a man listen to you… without taking off a single thing."
She didn't answer.
Only nodded.
And curled beneath her thin blanket, whispering into the silence:
"I will."