Contract With The Alpha King
Chapter 102

Chapter 102

Fiona Straightened in her seat, her sharp gaze locking onto the cloaked figure. "I thought I was here to meet the Rogue King," she said, her voice surprisingly calm. If this person wanted to harm her, then she would have been dead by now. "Not a witch." The man leaned back, his bony hands steepling under the cloak. The flickering light from the candles illuminated the faint outline of a smile on his otherwise shadowed face. "And how do you know that the Rogue King is not a witch?" he asked. Fiona didn't respond immediately. She held his gaze, her expression amreadible. Obvingly, the Rogue King is called the Rogue King because he is a werewolf and werewolves cannot become witches. She thought the question was silly.

The man chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the circular room. "Interesting Silent, but observant." He rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate. "Come. There is more you need to see."

Fiona hesitated, her instincts warning her to tread carefully. That curiosity won over caution, and she stood, following the cloaked man. He waved his hand, and the surrounding air shimmered. The circular room dissolved like sand blown in the wind, replaced by an expansive hallway. The stone walls were smooth, almost polished, and lined with glowing orbs that floated just above eye level. The floor gleamed as if freshly cleaned, and the faint scent of incense lingered in the a

Fiona's frown deepened as she stepped forward. "Was this an illusion?" she asked, glancing around.

The man didn't turn to face her. "Perception," he said simply. "A tool of magic, not a trick. Everything you've seen so far has been as real as you. believe it to be."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she followed him down the hallway. The soft hum of energy emanating from the glowing orbs made her uneasy and she couldn't help but wonder if the entire cavern had been some elaborate creation of magic.

After several turns, they reached a door at the end of the hall. It was intricately carved, its surface depicting scenes of wolves howling at the moon,

in dark forests, and a throne surrounded by shadows. The man waved his hand again, and the door creaked open, revealing a room

battles within.

Fiona stepped inside cautiously. The room was unexpectedly simple, its centerpiece a large, canopied bed draped in dark, heavy fabric. The walls were lined with shelves filled with jars, vials, and books, their titles obscured by dust. A small table with two chairs sat near the far wall, a decanter of dark liquid and two glasses placed neatly atop it

The man gestured for her to step fully into the room before closing the door behind her. "Now," he began, turning to face her. "Let's speak plainly. I brought you here for an exchange."

Fiona raised an eyebrow. "An exchange?"

The man inclined his head. "Yes. The Rogue King is unwell. I need you to heal him"

"And what exactly would I get in return?"

The man's posture shifted slightly, though his face remained obscured. "Anything. As long as it is within the bounds of magic. I can grant it. One favor. Whatever your heart desires-so long as it does not break the laws of the universe.

Fiona's skepticism only deepened. "You expect me to believe that?"

He chuckled again, moving toward the small table and pouring a glass of the dark liquid. "Believe what you wish, Rosenthal. But magic has rules. just as nature dors. My offer is real."

"So you can give me anything but not heal him? Aren't you a witch Aren't you capable of healing him too?" Fiona asked. At this point, all she felt about this witch was curiosity. For some reason, she knew he wouldn't harm her, but she was still skeptical about the man's motives.

The cloaked man didn't answer Fiona's question. Instead, he turned and moved deeper into the room, his steps slow. A delicate tea set materialized on the table before him, the porcelain cups and teapot glinting faintly in the candlelight. Without a word, he lowered himself into one of the chairs, gesturing for Fiona to join him.

Fiona hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. The room was an odd mix of opulence and mystery. The canopy bed dominated one side, draped in heavy, dark velvet that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. Gallen embroidery edged the fabric, depicting swirling designs of wolves and moons. The shelves that lined the walls were cluttered with books, artifacts, and strange trinkets, their purpose unknown. It was a

fit for a royal-but one tainted with an air of the arcane,

She moved cautiously, taking the seat opposite laim. The chair was unexpectedly comfortable, its cushion plush and supportive. The tea set was pristine, steam curling lazily from the spout of the teapot as though it had been prepared moments ago, Still, she couldn't help but wonder if any of

this was reil

The man poured tea into both cups with steady hands, the liquid a deep amber. "Why do you think the Rosenthal blood is special?" he asked,

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Chapter 102

setting the pot down and folding his hands in his lap.

Fiona leaned back slightly, her arms crossing over her chest. "Because we can heal," she said evenly, her gaze locked on him.

The man let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. "Wrong," he said. "A witch can heal just as easily. What sets a Rosenthal apart is not simply their ability to mend,"

Fiona frowned, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "Then what makes us special?"

The man's hands gestured faintly, the candlelight catching the movement. "The Rosenthal bloodline is a double-edged sword," he said. "You can heal, yes. But you can also harm. You wield power in extremes. A touch from a Rosenthal can restore life. or extinguish it." - Fiona's lips parted slightly in surprise. She quickly masked it, her expression hardening. "Isn't that something that a witch can do, too! Kill with just a touch?"

The man inclined his head slightly. "Precisely. And there in lies the difference. Witches can poison, harm, or kill, yes. But they can also undo their own magic. A Rosenthal's curse-or blessing-is unique. One of your own blood can only heal a wound inflicted by a Rosenthal."

The air seemed heavier after his words, as though the room itself had tensed. Fiona's fingers twitched against the arm of the chair. "You're saying- only a Rosenthal can fix what a Rosenthal does.

The man nodded slowly. "That is why you are here. There are things in this world that even witches cannot undo. The Rogue King is one such case

Fiona's stomach turned. She studied him carefully, trying to gauge the truth in his explanation. Then she asked. "Are you implying that the one who harmed the Rogue King is a Rosenthal?"