Chapter 35: The Art of Lying

The interrogation room felt colder than it had that morning, perhaps it was because Cordelia had died only a few walls away or perhaps because everyone who entered now understood exactly what was at stake.

Beatrice sat opposite Malachi, both hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked calm and collected enough, her eyes still fixed on anything in the room, anything but Alpha Malachi.

The man scared the living hell out of her with those unnatural blue eyes of his.

Malachi sat across from her, one leg crossed over the other. They’d been like this for almost four hours, ever since he had brought her in here. The silence had stretched and stretched, finally becoming unbearable.

Beatrice resisted the urge to fidget her fingers under the table.

He simply watched her, noticing especially, the slow rise and fall of her chest. It was very steady — had beat faster for about two times now but still, had this steadiness that was rather frightening.

Most wolves couldn’t hide fear from another Alpha.

A racing heart. A skipped beat.

The faintest change in breathing.

The body always betrayed the mind eventually, yet Beatrice gave nothing away.

"...You’re controlling your breathing." He finally spoke, breaking the silence.

Beatrice smiled politely and looked directly at him this time, although she still couldn’t look into his eyes, "I’ve always been calm under pressure."

"I wasn’t complimenting you."

Her smile faltered for barely a fraction of a second before returning.

Malachi noticed.

"You don’t sound frightened." He added.

"I have nothing to hide."

"No." He nodded once "You merely sound prepared."

"...Prepared?" She sighed softly, "Well, I could say that since it was already made known to everyone that an investigation would take hold. And as I expected, I would be called in for questioning,"

"And you rehearsed."

Her fingers tightened together beneath the table slightly, "I’ve simply had time to think."

"I don’t believe you."

Her heartbeat was still steady, "Then I’ll prove myself innocent in all this, Alpha,"

His icy blue eyes watched her as closely as possible, studying and measuring each breath she took. Outside the room, Rowan stood beside the door with two guards, making sure no one entered.

"You said," Malachi began quietly, "that you caught Della trying to escape."

"Yes."

"You confronted her."

"I did."

"She attacked you."

"She did."

"You fought."

"Yes,"

Malachi nodded once, "And then?"

"The guards arrived.

Another nod.

"You repeated that story several times. Anything new?"

"Nothing new, Alpha. What I’ve said is the truth." She offered a sad smile.

Malachi leaned back slightly, "...Truth rarely needs repeating."

Her heartbeat almost skipped, and she smiled anyway, "I don’t understand."

"I know."

Silence again, and her fingers fidgeted again. She hated the silence so much, because it gave Malachi every opportunity to study her.

Cassian had asked questions that night, but Malachi mostly...waited. Almost like he knew that the longer time passed by, the more likely her facade was going to fall.

But then again, for now, she still had the confidence that he wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth or not. Plus, it’s not like he has suddenly come to like Della and knows that she’s innocent.

"You also said," He continued eventually, "that you loved your sister."

"I do."

"You still do?"

"Of course." Her answer came without hesitation.

Malachi watched her for several seconds, then a gleam crossed his eyes, "...Interesting."

"Why?" Beatrice blinked.

"You call her your sister, and you say you love her!"

"I call her what she is."

"And yet, during the Sovereign Moon Ceremony..." He paused, "You looked at her the same way everyone else did. Like she was a slave, a rotblood, not someone to be loved,"

"I was frightened." Beatrice defended herself.

"Were you?"

"Yes."

"You weren’t frightened when she was a child, before the night you got married,"

Beatrice’s stomach tightened, but she forced her heart to remain slightly cool, "...People change."

"They do." His voice never rose a bit, then he continued, "Remember your statements that night?"

Beatrice swallowed soundlessly.

"Your first statement." He opened one of the reports lying beside him, "You said you were preparing for the ceremony with the maids."

"Yes."

"You noticed Della."

"Yes."

"You confronted her."

"Yes."

Beatrice hissed internally. The man was purposely repeating the same question not because he was looking for new information, but because he was waiting for an answer to change.

"You later told Supreme Cassian there were maids nearby who witnessed everything."

"There were."

"Names." The single word landed heavily, and Beatrice froze.

"...Excuse me?"

"The maids." He closed the report, "What are their names?"

"...There were several."

"Their names."

"I..." She searched desperately, "There were so many servants preparing everything that evening..."

"So you don’t know."

"I know some of them."

"Which ones?"

"..."

Nothing.

Malachi watched her for a moment. Up till now, her heartbeat had yet to skip. It was either she was being thoroughly honest with him, or this woman right here...was disastrously good at lying.

She finally laughed awkwardly, "I’ve never been very good with names."

"You expect me to believe that women helping dress you, whom you worked together with, for the Sovereign Moon Ceremony..." He leaned forward, "...were strangers to you. That you couldn’t even remember one name,"

"They rotate duties often, don’t they?" Her throat felt dry.

"They don’t."

Beatrice immediately realised her mistake, because Malachi knew exactly how palace servants operated.

Of course he did.

"My mistake," She said quietly, "With so many people coming and going that day, I assumed they were rotating. It was a stressful night"

"It was." His eyes never left hers, "So stressful..." He spoke almost thoughtfully, "...that you remembered Della’s every movement."

"..."

"But forgot every witness."

Beatrice lowered her gaze, and her toes curled inside her shoes, "I wasn’t paying attention to them."

"No." His voice remained calm, "You were paying attention to Della."

"Yes."

"You watched her."

"I saw her sneaking around."

"You followed her."

"...Yes."

"You found her."

"Yes."

"You confronted her."

"Yes."

"You lost."

"...yes,"

He was doing it again!!

"You lost to a wolfless servant."

"..."

"You are an Alpha’s wife, and an Alpha’s daughter. You have a wolf too. How could you have lost?"

Beatrice forced out a weak laugh, "I grew up with Della. I loved her more than anyone. What she did to me that night...," Beatrice finally let her heart skip, biting her lips like she was angry so it’d look like that was the case, "I didn’t see it coming. I... underestimated her strength, and how much she had come to hate me for whatever she thinks I’ve done to her,"

"You did."

Beatrice hated how short his replies were, like he wasn’t buying into her pain or actually and simply went straight to the point. He truly was... dangerous.

"You also said your clothes were torn."

"They were."

"By Della."

"Yes."

"With what?"

She froze again, "... Pardon?"

"What tore your clothes?"

"Her..." She hesitated, "...hands."

Malachi remained expressionless, "Human hands."

"..."

"Not claws."

"..."

"Human hands."

"..."

"She tore expensive ceremonial silk..." His gaze sharpened ever so slightly, "...with bare fingers."

Beatrice suddenly realised she’d walked into another trap, "It happened during the struggle." She defended, "She wouldn’t let go of me no matter how much I pulled, and...I didn’t want to hurt her,"

"I see." He nodded slowly.

She hated that answer, because she couldn’t tell whether he believed her or whether he’d just told himself it was probably another lie.

Malachi then stood up, and the movement startled her. He walked around the table without hurry before stopping beside the narrow window with his back facing her, "...Do you know what bothers me most?"

She said nothing.

"I don’t know whether you’re lying."

Hope flickered inside her.

"But..." His next words crushed it, "...I know you’re hiding something."

Silence swallowed the room.

"I don’t know if you’re protecting yourself." Another pause, "Or protecting someone else."

Beatrice’s pulse exploded.

Don’t react.

Don’t react.

Don’t—

"I’ve already questioned everyone else." His voice remained quiet, "The Servant who spoke up for her, the guards who dragged her away from you, and... Cordelia," He turned his head just enough for her to see one blue eye, "And Cordelia is dead."

Her breathing nearly stopped.

"I had nothing to do with that."

"I didn’t say you did." He turned back to look out the small window, "But what I do know...is that everyone said something. The guards, Cordelia, you...that doesn’t align,"

Don’t react

Don’t react!

"You, Lady Beatrice..." He walked back and stood behind her, "...interest me particularly very much."

A single bead of sweat gathered at her temple. She barely noticed it at first, till it slid slowly down the side of her face, tickling her skin before disappearing beneath her jaw.

Her heartbeat remained steady.

She made sure of it.

Every breath she drew was slow, measured, and deliberate. Alpha Malachi was listening to every beat inside her chest, and if there was one thing she couldn’t afford, it was panic.

But even the best performances had limits.

He wasn’t asking the questions she’d prepared for. He was repeating them, and worst of all? She had underestimated what it felt like to be sitting alone, with him, locked in a room.

It seemed that every answer she gave only seemed to birth three more questions, each one digging a little deeper, forcing her to remember details she’d never thought she’d need and now, the smile she’d worn since the interrogation began was becoming harder to hold.

Her fingers curled much more tightly beneath the table where he couldn’t see them.

*Please...* She reached desperately through the mate bond, searching for Leopold’s presence.

The distance between them was enormous. Their connection had weakened to little more than a faint thread, but she clung to it anyway, *Please, love. Whatever you’re doing... hurry. I’m beginning to slip,*

She sent the thought again, pouring every ounce of desperation into it, praying—hoping—that somehow, he might feel it. Because if this interrogation continued much longer, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep every lie separated from the truth anymore.