Chapter 6: Jealousy

The Great Hall was colder than before. Not by temperature, but by presence. The shift in energy was unmistakable. The moment word spread that Aurora—the daughter of an Alpha from a nearly forgotten pack—had lit the Obsidian Heart brighter than any before her, the eyes around her turned sharp. Jealous. Spiteful. Hungry.

It started with whispers. Then the whispers turned to stares. Then the stares became glares so heavy they weighed like chains around her neck.

“You think you’re special?” a voice hissed behind her as she walked to her sleeping quarters.

Aurora turned. A tall, raven-haired girl with blood-red lips stepped closer, arms folded, her gaze gleaming with venom. Behind her stood at least a dozen others—daughters of Alphas and Betas, highborn girls raised with power and pride. “You’re from the Hollow Mist pack. That barely qualifies as a pack anymore. You’re nothing.”

Aurora didn’t flinch. She’d faced worse. She simply stared back with cold, calculating calm. “Then why are you so afraid of me?”

The girl sneered. “No one’s afraid of you. The Heart probably made a mistake. Or maybe you cheated.”

They all laughed, sharp and loud.

That night, Aurora’s food mysteriously disappeared from the banquet table. During the next training drill, someone “accidentally” pushed her into a thornbush. The trainers saw it all, but said nothing. Perhaps it was part of the test—how much cruelty a contender could withstand.

But Aurora had been forged in worse fires than this. Her childhood had been silence, hardship, and endless survival drills from a mother who feared the very fate her daughter now walked into. This was nothing new.

What was new, however, were the three girls who approached her after that night.

The first was Iris. A graceful girl with soft blonde curls and wide blue eyes. Her aura was warm and open, like sunlight through trees.

“I’m sorry they did that to you,” she said quietly, offering a roll from her plate. “You didn’t deserve it. None of us do.”

Aurora hesitated before taking the bread. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough. I saw how you handled that thornbush incident. Like a true warrior.” Iris smiled gently. “My pack believes strength isn’t just brute force. It’s control. And you’ve got more of that than anyone here.”

Beside her stood a second girl with rich brown curls and eyes that shimmered golden in the firelight. “And I like your attitude,” she added. “I’m Allie. Alpha’s daughter from the Highpine Hills. People think I’ll fall in line because I smile a lot, but I’m not about to follow the herd.”

Aurora blinked. She was still adjusting to kindness.

“Bella’s probably watching from a shadow,” Allie added with a smirk. “She’s weird about making an entrance.”

As if on cue, a low chuckle came from behind a column. Out stepped a tall girl with jet-black hair, chopped at odd angles, tattoos curling around her neck like vines. Multiple earrings shimmered along her ears, and her green eyes sparkled with mischief.

Bella.

“I like you,” she said simply, eyes locked on Aurora. “Anyone who makes the Obsidian Heart shine and still looks bored about it is my kind of people.”

The four of them sat that night by the far window, watching the moon hover above the palace towers. And for the first time since arriving, Aurora felt something soften inside her.

Not safety. Not trust.

But the beginning of both.

⸻

The days that followed only intensified. The other girls had unofficially declared war. They sabotaged challenges, spread cruel rumors, and treated the four of them like disease. But it didn’t matter.

Iris, Allie, Bella, and Aurora became a fortress of their own. Iris stitched their torn gowns with quiet patience. Allie shared techniques for calming heart rate before a battle. Bella taught them how to pick locks—just in case—and Aurora, ever stoic, drilled them in hand-to-hand combat with a precision that frightened even the instructors.

On the fourth night, as they trained in the stone courtyard under torchlight, Bella grinned mid-duel and wiped blood from her lip. “You know, if the King doesn’t pick you, Aurora,” she said, “we should start our own rebellion. Take the palace down brick by brick.”

Allie laughed. “Who needs a King when we’ve got our own Queen right here?”

Aurora didn’t smile. But something flickered in her eyes.

Hope.

⸻

Word continued to spread. In hushed tones, across courtyards and through servant halls: The girl from the Hollow Mist Pack is still winning. And she was doing it with grace, not cruelty. With dignity, not fear. The court watched. The guards whispered. Even Theron began reporting more frequently to the King.

But the girls in the hall? Most hated her more by the hour.

During a group strategy session, one bold contender tried to humiliate Aurora by challenging her in front of everyone. “If you think you’re so special,” she snapped, “why don’t you show us what makes you worthy of the King?”

Silence fell.

Aurora stood slowly and crossed the floor toward the girl. Her steps were measured. Graceful. Dangerous.

She leaned in, voice soft but sharp as glass. “What makes me worthy,” she said, “is that I don’t need to be.”

She turned and walked away, the power in her silence louder than any threat.

Iris clapped quietly. Bella whistled.

And Allie just smiled. “They’re going to regret ever crossing you.”

Aurora didn’t answer, but inside her—beneath the iron forged by pain and preparation—was a storm. And it was just beginning.