Chapter 7

Lucy.

The lock clicked into place behind the guards, and the sound echoed in the silence like a prison door slamming shut inside my chest. I stood there, staring at the heavy wooden door as if I could will it to swing back open. But it didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

Tears blurred my vision before I could stop them, hot and angry. I sank to the edge of the bed and let them fall freely. My hands trembled as I pressed them to my face. I hadn’t even been in this palace for two days, and already, I was under arrest. Already, people were trying to ruin me. For goodness sake I just came here to get money and save my mother! Why are all these sick people trying to make life difficult for me?

And he—Alpha Ellison—hadn’t even given me a chance. No room to speak. No time to explain. Just a cold, sharp order, and suddenly I was a prisoner.

Why? Why had he looked at me like that? Like he didn’t know me at all—like I was some threat. The pain hit me harder than it should’ve. I shouldn’t care what he thought, but gods... the way my body had reacted to him when he stepped into the room—the way my heart had flipped and my skin had prickled under his gaze—it meant something. Something I didn’t understand.

And then Ethan… that bastard.

I stood up abruptly, pacing now, rage replacing sorrow like a wildfire devouring a dry forest. He set me up. He had to have. He said the letter was to make the king loss his throne and that was the only reason I tore it—I barely even knew what it was! I was in that room for less than a minute when he walked in like some smug little demon and twisted the whole thing.

He wanted to get rid of me.

Well, he picked the wrong girl to mess with.

I stormed toward the small dresser and opened the top drawer, half-hoping to find something I could smash—but stopped when I caught my reflection in the mirror above it. My eyes were swollen from crying. My hair was a mess. My face looked pale, blotchy. Weak.

I squared my shoulders and met my own gaze. Think, Lucy. Fight smart.

That’s when the door opened again without warning.

My breath caught.

It was the same very old woman that doesn't know she's old.

The Lady Dowager.

She stepped in like she owned the very air I breathed, her long black gown trailing behind her, flanked by two maids who moved with robotic obedience. One carried a silver tray of ornate perfume bottles. The other simply stood with her chin high, staring through me.

The moment Lady Dowager entered, she wrinkled her nose dramatically, waving a hand in front of her face. “What an odor,” she said, reaching for one of the perfume bottles.

She sprayed it into the air as she moved closer, slow and deliberate, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The scent of roses and something powdery bloomed through the room, but it didn’t cover the stink of her presence.

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. I just watched her, waiting for her to finish with her display of madness and state why she's in my room.

Spray. Click. Spray.

She finally turned to me. Her eyes were like two sharp knives, taking me in with a sneer that could have cut through steel.

“Are you done?” I asked, my voice low but even.

Her lips curled upward in something that was supposed to be a smile—but looked more like a wolf baring its teeth.

She raised one finger. And her maids moved.

I barely had time to blink before they were on me—grabbing my arms, shoving me hard down to my knees. Pain shot up my legs from the stone floor. I tried to pull away, but they held fast, steel-like grips hidden behind soft hands.

“What are you doing?!” I gasped.

Lady Dowager stepped closer, and now she was looking down at me.

“The next time you stand to greet me,” she said in a voice cold enough to freeze fire, “will be your last day on this earth.”

My heart thudded against my ribs. I swallowed hard, trying not to let her see the fear that slithered into my chest like a snake.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.

Lady Dowager leaned in slightly, the edge of her perfume clawing at my throat.

“What I want,” she said slowly, “is for you to keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut. Permanently, if necessary.”

I blinked. “About what?”

Her smile returned—mocking, triumphant. “About what you saw. In that room. With me.”

My stomach dropped.

I hadn’t seen anything. Or maybe that's what I told myself because what's my business in her affairs with the Beta?

I tried to mask my surprise, but she saw it. She always saw everything.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” she whispered. “Sneaking into places you don’t belong. Getting attention you don’t deserve.”

“I didn’t sneak—”

She cut me off with a flick of her hand. “Don’t play innocent. You’re just like your mother, only thing is you're still very much alive.”

That stopped me cold.

I froze. “What did you just say?”

The room suddenly felt colder.

She leaned back, a triumphant glint in her eyes.

“Oh, yes,” she purred. “Your mother. The one rotting away in that quaint little hospital room, miles from here. Still in a coma, isn’t she?”

My blood turned to ice.

“How... how do you know about her?” I whispered. “I didn’t—no one here knows—”

She smiled like she’d won a game I didn’t know we were playing.

“I know everything, dear,” she said, turning her back on me as if I were no more threatening than a shadow on the wall.

“Wait—what do you want with her?” I said, rising shakily to my feet. “Don’t touch her. If you do—”

“You’ll what?” she cut in sweetly. “Tell Ellison? Oh, darling… you’re already in chains. You just don’t see them yet.”

She strode toward the door, maids trailing behind her like well-trained dogs. Just before she left, she paused, glancing over her shoulder with a final smirk.

“Consider this your only warning. Next time, I won’t be so... gracious.”

Then she was gone.

I stood there in stunned silence, the scent of her perfume still clawing at my lungs, her words echoing through my mind like poison.

My mother.

How could she know?

How did she know about the coma, the hospital—any of it? I never told a soul. Not even Alpha Ellison.

Fear bubbled up inside me, raw and bitter. I lunged for the nightstand where my phone was stashed under a cloth. My fingers shook as I fumbled to dial the number I knew by heart.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Pick up. Please.”

The line connected.

“Dr. Reese speaking.”

“Doctor—it’s Lucy. Lucy—please, how’s my mother? Is she okay?”

There was a pause, then the warm, reassuring voice of the head nurse came on the line.

“Oh, Lucy. Yes—yes, she’s just fine, sweetie. No changes today. Still stable.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My knees buckled, and I sank down onto the floor, the phone pressed to my cheek.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Please... just—please keep an eye on her. Call me if anything—anything—changes.”

“We always do,” she promised softly.

I hung up slowly, lowering the phone to my lap.