Chapter 12 - The Breaking Point

                The East Wing of the Palace felt less like a Royal suite and more like a gilded interrogation chamber.

                Grey marble stretched endlessly underfoot, cold and indifferent, while vaulted ceilings loomed overhead like the ribs of a giant stone beast. And the mirrors, there were far too many of them, multiplied every exhaustion-lined flaw a hundredfold, forcing me to watch my own unraveling from every angle.

                I stood on the dressing dais, my feet aching with a rhythmic throb, while the staff hovered in the shadows like frightened birds waiting for a predator to strike.

                But it wasn’t just the servants.

                Elara sauntered toward the fireplace, where a heavy mahogany drink cabinet stood stocked for the elite. She poured herself a glass of something amber and ruinously expensive, the liquid swirling like molten honey against the crystal.

                Her platinum hair fell in a flawless, shimmering sheet down her back, and her eyes remained sharp enough to cut glass. As the Royal Administrator and Romani’s childhood sweetheart, she clearly felt entitled to regard me as though I were a parasitic organism wriggling in her afternoon tea.

                “So,” she drawled, her voice saturated with a cultivated boredom that didn't quite hide the venom underneath. “You are the little hybrid who bewitched the Prince. I must say, the reality is far more… mundane… than the rumors suggested.”

                From the doorway, Eric, the Royal Secretary and Elara’s brother, let out a sharp, condescending bark of laughter. He leaned against the stone frame, adjusting his spectacles with a practiced flick of his wrist.

                “Oh, she has a certain feral quality, I suppose,” he sneered, his tone thin and nasally.

                His shoes clicked against the marble like a metronome, counting down the seconds of my patience as he crossed the floor.

                “But pedigree? None. I spent ten years drafting the marriage contracts for you and Romani, Elara. A masterpiece of diplomacy that would have unified the Northern and Southern Houses in the Kingdom for a century. And now I’m expected to file paperwork for this union? It feels like an administrative crime against the Crown. And you, dear sister, are assigned to help her shine? Have mercy on us all!”

                Elara glided closer, her perfume, cloying Lily and Jasmine, clogging the air until it felt difficult to swallow. She stopped mere inches from me, inspecting my face as if searching for a stain on a fresh gown.

                “Help is a strong word, Eric,” she murmured, plucking disdainfully at the sleeve of my travel jacket with two fingers. “One cannot help a stray dog win a pageant. One can only hope the dog doesn’t bite the judges before the coronation. Tell me, dear, do you even speak the High Tongue, or do you simply growl and cast little spells when you find yourself frustrated by your own inadequacy?”

                My pulse hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumming that demanded release. And soon.

                “I speak well enough to know when I’m being insulted by someone who mistakes a shiny title for a soul.”

                Eric’s lips curled into a mirthless smile. He moved behind me, flanking me like a vulture circling fresh carrion.

                “Romani is meant for you, Elara. Everyone in the Kingdom knows it. Two sides of the same sovereign coin, raised for the same throne. And now he drags home a hybrid who looks like she crawled out of a back-alley packhouse dumpster. It’s a tragedy for the lineage. It’s a rot in the family tree.”

                “It’s more than a tragedy,” Elara hissed, her eyes finally flashing with the malice she had been trying to suppress.

                She began to circle me slowly, her silk dress whispering against the marble like a snake moving through dry grass.

                “It’s a farce. Do you truly think you’ll last a week here, Ana? The Council will tear you apart before you even reach the altar. The King sees you as a weak link, a biological error. And Romani? He’s a Lycan. His wolf is driven byinstinct right now, a temporary madness. But once the novelty of a fated bond fades, he’ll wake up. He’ll look at you and see exactly what we see: a massive, irreparable mistake.”

                “Enough!” I spat, my fists curling so tightly the skin across my knuckles threatened to split.

                “Is it enough?”

                Elara leaned in, her whisper a concentrated dose of venom near my ear.

                “You’re a mongrel. A half-breed. You reek of witchcraft and peasantry. You’re holding a place meant for a real Lycan woman, meant for me. You’re nothing but a glitch in the Moon Goddess’s design, a cosmic joke. Do us all a favor and scurry back to your little Human Town before you humiliate the Prince further. Before you turn our legacy into a laughingstock.”

                Eric nodded sharply, his eyes cold behind his lenses.

                 “She’s right. You’re a stain on this Kingdom’s history. A pathetic hybrid playing dress-up in a castle that will never truly be yours. You are a guest in a house that hates you.”

                The very air in the chamber seemed to tighten, caught in a static tension.

                My witch blood, usually a dormant, quiet heat, surged into a roaring subterranean fire. I felt the energy crackle at my fingertips, but it wasn't a spell I wanted to cast. I didn't want the mystery of magic, I wanted the raw, undeniable satisfaction of bone hitting skin.

                Elara smirked, her face inches from mine, certain she had finally broken my spirit.

                 “Tell me, does the Prince even look at you with desire, or is it just a lingering sense of pity? I imagine it’s like gazing at a broken toy that one feels too guilty to throw aw,- ”

SLAP!

The sound split the vaulted chamber like a gunshot, echoing off the marble walls and shattering the oppressive silence. My hand had connected with her cheek in a bone-deep strike, fueled by weeks of being hunted and minutes of being belittled.

                It felt better than any spell I’d ever cast. Her head snapped to the side with a sickening jerk, and that expensive glass of hers went flying, hitting the fireplace in a spray of crystal shards and wasted gold.

                A heavy, suffocating silence crashed down on the room.

The woman staggered back, clutching her face as if she couldn't believe her own nerves were reporting pain.

                 A nasty, angry red welt was already burning through her perfect skin. She stared at me with violet eyes so wide I thought she might actually lose her mind right there on the rug.

                Eric just stood there, looking like a total idiot.

                His jaw had dropped, and his glasses were sliding down his nose, hanging off one ear like they’d given up on him. All that Royal Secretary arrogance had evaporated, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated panic. He looked like he’d just watched his precious rulebook get tossed into a woodchipper.

                It was clear the guy hadn't planned for a ‘mongrel’ who could actually swing back.

                “I am the mate of your Prince,” I said low and so steady it surprised even me. The mirrors in the room were actually shaking. “I’m the future Queen of this place. If you ever talk to me like I’m something you stepped in again, I won’t just mark your face. I’ll make sure you’re stripped of that title you worship and dumped in the snow you’re so obsessed with. Let’s see how long those furs keep you warm when the Crown stops paying for them.”

                I stepped off the dais, closing the distance between us until Elara was forced back against the cold stone, trembling with a volatile mixture of rage and genuine, unadulterated fear.

                “You wanted to know if I’m a stray dog?” I whispered, letting the threat hang between us. “The thing about strays is they don't fight for points. They fight to the death. You’ve spent your life behind walls and shadows, Elara. You wouldn’t last five minutes in my world. And guess what? This is my world now.”

                I looked over at Eric, who looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floor.

                “Get out! Both of you. Right now!”

                Eric didn't need to be told twice.

                He scrambled to gather the shaking Elara, who let out a choked, humiliated sob, a sound that was music to my ears. They practically tripped over themselves heading for the door, their footsteps echoing down the hall until the heavy oak slammed shut.

                Only then did I allow myself to breathe.

                My hand was stinging like hell, still a dull, satisfied throb grounded me. I turned to the mirror, catching a glimpse of the woman staring back. My eyes weren't just the amber of a wolf anymore, they were threaded with a fierce, glowing silver witch-light, a visual testament to the two halves of my soul finally standing in total agreement.

                The war had breached the Palace walls.

                It wasn't about survival anymore, it was about dominance.

And I had just fired the first shot.