Chapter 22

Lois finally finished packing—quality brushes, thick papers, rare pigments—all carefully tucked into her wooden kit. She made sure her painting tray was neat, each tool arranged with obsessive care. Today wasn’t a day to make mistakes.

But when she glanced up at the wall clock hanging in the store, her chest tightened. 1:30 PM. The event started at 2.

“Shit…” she muttered, grabbing her box in haste. Her heart raced as she rushed toward the door—only to twist the handle and find it stiff, unmoving.

Her brows furrowed in shock. Locked.

No… no, this couldn’t be. The store was never locked until the day’s end. Why would anyone lock it now, without checking? She tried again, twisting hard, rattling it. Nothing.

“Hello! I’m still in here! Open the door!” Lois yelled, her voice echoing through the workshop. She pounded her fists against the wood. “Can someone hear me? Please!”

Silence.

Then, faint movement. She leaned toward the keyhole—only to see Sara and her pack of mean girls standing outside, grinning viciously.

Her chest burned. “You can’t be serious,” Lois snapped, rage knitting her brows tight. “I have work to attend to and I’m already late. This is not the time to play your childish games!”

Sara tilted her head mockingly. “Are you telling us that? Because we know. And you aren’t seeing the light of day until tomorrow.”

Her cruel laughter rang out as she strutted to the dressing lockers. Lois’s stomach sank as Sara held something up, tauntingly waving it—her dress.

“See this?” Sara sing-songed, the others cackling.

Lois’s eyes widened, horror setting in. No… she wouldn’t…

But she did.

“I’ll make my own design,” Sara sneered. With that, scissors tore through the fabric, slicing, hacking, until Lois’s beautiful dress was nothing but shreds.

Lois pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, her chest heaving as tears blurred her sight. No… not now. Not this chance.

This event meant everything. It was her one shot at promotion, at doubling her pay, at giving her sextuplets the better life they deserved. Every coin she earned now barely covered bills and food—yet she still found ways to stretch it, to ensure her children never truly lacked.

And now? Now Sara had stolen her chance.

Her knuckles whitened as her box slipped to the floor. “I will never forget this,” she hissed, her voice shaking with fury. “I swear—I’ll make your lives a living hell.”

The girls gasped in mock offense, before bursting into laughter.

“Huh? The cat finally returned your tongue?” one mocked.

Sara leaned closer to the door, lips curling in a venomous smile. “You must be angry because your grand plan to seduce the Alpha King of Hale just got ruined. Poor, desperate wench. You’ll never be a concubine, no matter how hard you dream.”

Lois blinked, stunned. “What… what did you just say? Who are you talking about?”

Sara smirked. “Oh, don’t act clueless. The Alpha King of Hale is the one you’re painting today. What’s wrong? Shocked? Embarrassed? You thought nobody would notice your pitiful little scheme? Hah!”

Their laughter trailed off as they picked up their boxes and walked away, leaving Lois frozen.

Her heart thundered painfully. Alpha Karl.

Her mate.

The man who hated her, who loathed her so deeply it scorched her soul.

Six years wasn’t enough time for him to forget her face. Fifty wouldn’t be enough either. Just knowing he was here—in Bienville, for the coronation—made her skin crawl. The two kingdoms had been allies for five hundred years. Of course he would attend.

And now fate had dragged her straight into his path.

“Hey! Stop running, Coen! Cahir!” Jacinta’s sharp voice echoed through the palace corridors as she chased the two little troublemakers darting ahead of her.

The palace infirmary had reassigned her here, and with Conall, Coen, and Cahir finishing their lessons early, it fell to her to watch them until she closed her shift.

The archery grounds were close by, safe, open—perfect for the boys to burn off their restless energy.

She halted, hands on her hips, calling after them. “Prince Coen—especially you! Do not leave the archery grounds. I’ll only be two hours. Practice your archery, your sword drills, and revise today’s texts. When I return, anyone who answers correctly gets the fattest grilled fish.”

At once, the boys whooped in delight, jogging toward the range with bright eyes.

Meanwhile, elsewhere on the same grounds, Alpha Karl stood with Wolfe and his entourage.

“Your Majesty, it’s time,” Wolfe murmured. “We need to head to the event.”

Karl didn’t move. His eyes stayed fixed on the target. “If not for your constant pestering, I wouldn’t even be here. Leave me be. I’ll attend when I’m finished.” His voice was a low growl.

He loosed the arrow.

“Bullseye!” the guard at the far end shouted.

The instant the cheer went up, Wolfe stiffened. His nostrils flared, a floral scent threading through the air, winding around him, pulling at something buried deep inside. His pupils dilated. His wolf stirred.

No. Impossible.

Could it be? After ten years of searching and giving up hope… his mate?

The thought alone made his chest quake, but the scent grew stronger, closer. Mate, his wolf whispered, insistent.

Then—

“Wow!! I’ve never seen such a big archery before!”

A small, excited voice rang out. Alpha Karl and Wolfe turned sharply to see three boys running toward the stage—Conall, then Coen, then Cahir.

The guards moved to stop them, but Karl lifted a hand. Halt.

The boys rushed forward, grabbing bows and arrows with glee. But Karl’s eyes… Karl’s eyes were locked.

The resemblance was staggering. White hair. The same nose. Identical features. His breath caught. No… it can’t be…

His entourage shifted uneasily, murmurs rising.

At that moment, Jacinta arrived, her nostrils flaring at the same earthy scent Wolfe had already caught. Her eyes snapped up—and met his.

Wolfe froze. Jacinta froze.

Their lips parted, the word tearing out of them at once, raw and instinctive:

“Mate.”