Chapter 3 – The Beast Who Sleeps at Her Door
Riven awoke to silence.
Not the dreadful silence of chains and damp stone — this silence was warm. Heavy. The kind that came with thick fur blankets and a roaring fire that had long since dwindled to glowing embers.
She blinked slowly, adjusting to the early gray light pouring through the tall arched window.
It took her a full minute to remember where she was.
Not a cage.
Not a dark pit with straw and cold bowls of slop.
She was in his chamber.
In his castle.
In a bed too soft for someone like her.
And she hadn't been touched. Not once.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the sheets. They were clean. Scented faintly with lavender. Nothing about this made sense. Kindness was a weapon, she knew that. There was always a price.
Still… she wasn't cold.
And for the first time in years, she hadn't woken from screams.
A soft knock came from the door.
She didn't move.
"Riven," came Thorne's voice, low and deliberate. "I'm opening the door. If you wish, you can stop me."
She said nothing — but didn't stop him.
The door creaked open.
Thorne stepped inside wearing a plain black tunic and soft trousers, no crown, no armor. His presence was gentler in the morning light. Less like a king. More like something… real.
He carried no weapons. No chains. Just a folded bundle of clothes in his hands.
"I had these made for you," he said. "They should fit."
She eyed the bundle. Dark wool. Leather laces. Simple, but sturdy — meant for freedom of movement. Not display.
Not the silks and sheer things women were usually dressed in when given to powerful men.
She hesitated. "Do you always bring clothes to the women you take?"
His eyes flashed.
"I don't take women," he said, voice sharp. "And I've never given clothes to anyone before you."
Silence.
She believed him. She didn't know why, but she did.
"Thank you," she murmured.
He nodded once, placed the bundle at the end of the bed, and turned toward the door.
But then—he paused.
"There's something else," he said, still not facing her. "Last night… I slept outside your door."
Her heart skipped.
"You what?"
"I didn't trust myself not to pace the entire castle," he said, with a low, almost embarrassed huff. "So I shifted. My wolf curled by your door."
Riven sat straighter, the covers clutched to her chest. "Why would you do that?"
Thorne looked over his shoulder. His expression was unreadable. "Because you've lived too long surrounded by monsters. I want you to know there's one at your door now who would kill for you… but never harm you."
Her breath caught.
He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. But it wasn't. Not to her.
Not when everyone she'd trusted had once left her to rot.
---
The sun had fully risen when she finally dressed and stepped out of the chamber.
Her steps were slow, cautious. But not fearful. The guards posted at the stairwell stiffened at the sight of her, clearly shocked. They bowed their heads awkwardly, not to mock — but out of confusion.
No one in Blackmoor bowed to anyone but the King.
And he had already bowed to her.
Whispers followed her as she walked.
"That's her, isn't it?"
"She's just a slave…"
"No. She's something else. The King—he chose her."
Riven's pulse quickened. She hated being watched. Hated feeling exposed.
But then—
A shadow moved beside her.
Thorne.
She hadn't heard him coming. But suddenly he was walking at her side, tall and silent.
The others fell quiet instantly.
"Are they always like that?" she asked under her breath.
"Yes," he muttered. "They fear what they don't understand."
She gave him a sidelong glance. "And you don't?"
His answer was simple. "I only fear losing what I've just found."
---
He brought her to the edge of the yard — an open stone square where his soldiers were already running drills. Steel clanged. Boots slammed against dirt. The air was thick with energy.
"Why am I here?" she asked.
"Because I need to know something," he said. "About you."
He motioned to the side, where two practice blades lay on a bench.
"You fought back when they captured you, didn't you?"
Riven's shoulders stiffened. "Not well enough."
"I want to see how you move. Not for sport. For protection."
Her lips tightened. "You want me to fight for your entertainment?"
"No," he said calmly. "I want to know how to protect you if danger comes. And I want you to know how to protect yourself if I'm not there."
That silenced her.
Thorne picked up one of the wooden blades and held it out, hilt-first.
She stared at it. Then at him.
When she didn't take it, he didn't press.
Instead, he dropped his sword to the ground — and stepped back with both hands raised.
"No weapons," he said. "No dominance. Just show me who you are."
Her eyes narrowed. Something inside her rose up.
She lunged.
And for a heartbeat, the old Riven surfaced.
She moved like a wild thing — fast, brutal, unrefined. But there was skill in her. Old instinct. Training buried under trauma.
Thorne didn't counter. He dodged. Moved fluidly. His strength wasn't in overpowering her — it was in letting her move without fear.
When her foot slipped on the gravel, she stumbled. He caught her — gently. One hand to her elbow. No squeeze. No claim.
Just balance.
Riven looked up at him, breathless.
"I'm not weak," she whispered.
"I know."
"I'm not yours."
"Say it as often as you need," he said softly. "I'll wait until you choose otherwise."
---
Later, after a quiet dinner she barely touched, she wandered alone to the castle's rooftop. The wind was cold but clean. The moon hung low and wide, a silver eye watching all.
She heard him before she saw him.
"I knew you'd come up here," Thorne said quietly.
Riven didn't jump. She simply leaned her forearms on the railing and stared out into the dark pine forests beyond.
"Do you always stalk your mate?" she asked, tone light but guarded.
"I listen for your heartbeat," he admitted. "It steadies mine."
Her throat tightened.
That wasn't fair.
That wasn't fair.
"I don't know how to trust this," she said finally.
He stepped beside her. Close, but not touching. His scent wrapped around her like warmth.
"You don't have to trust it," Thorne murmured. "Not today. Not tomorrow. Just breathe it in. Let it stay."
She turned to him. "You really meant it? You'd love me even if I never gave it back?"
He looked at her with something raw. Gentle. Fierce.
"I already do."
Her breath hitched.
And for the first time…
She didn't look away.