Chapter 3

“Why did you do that to her, you damned murderer?!” Alpha Karl’s roar shook the chamber, his crimson eyes blazing, veins bulging at his temples.

“I did not! She’s manipulative and—” Lois’s defense was cut short. His hand clamped her jaw with brutal force, fingers pressing deep into her delicate bone as though he meant to shatter it. Pain lanced through her skull, sharp and merciless. Her body trembled under his monstrous domination.

His gaze bored into her soul, grim and merciless, dredging up memories of the tales he’d been fed since childhood—tales of his mother, slain by a vengeful, wretched woman. That hatred had never left him. It burned still.

And Lois—helpless beneath his hand—was now the embodiment of that curse.

“Does that give you the right to stab her?!” Karl snarled, his breath hot and heavy against her face.

Fear burned like a wildfire in Lois’s ocean-blue eyes, wide and tear-glazed. He saw it—her fragility, her innocence—but he didn’t believe it. He knew women. Deceit wrapped in softness, venom in silken flesh.

She twisted frantically, her frail body colliding against the immovable wall of his chest. She couldn’t breathe. Karl’s other hand slammed her wrists against the bedframe, locking her beneath his crushing weight. His sheer strength cut off the blood in her hands. She writhed, her legs kicking uselessly, her lips gasping for air, vision darkening at the edges.

He just watched her struggle. Watched until she nearly lost consciousness.

Then, the door burst open.

“Your Majesty!” Wolfe’s voice broke through the tension. “Lady Cassandra has regained consciousness. But—” he hesitated, “there’s damage… she may never bear children again.”

Karl released Lois at once, rising from the bed with a storm raging in his expression.

Lois collapsed, clutching her throat, dragging in desperate gulps of air. She staggered to the window, pressing her forehead against the cold pane, her breath ragged and uneven.

When she turned, his gaze was waiting for her—raw, merciless, dripping with loathing.

That curse. The one whispered through generations. It was unfolding before his very eyes, and it wore her face.

“I will take this wench back to Hale,” he growled, voice like iron. “She will live as nothing but my sex slave—rotting in monotony, atoning for her sins until death.”

“No! No, my king!” Lois’s voice cracked as she stumbled forward, her hands trembling. “I am your mate! Can you not scent me? Whatever Sandra has done to you, she has stolen me from you! You are meant to rescue me from this misery, not reject me!”

Her cry was raw, her face swollen and red, battered yet luminous, like a rose broken by the storm but still clinging to beauty.

Karl’s laugh was cold, guttural. “Pains? Nonsense! You lowly wench. Now it all makes sense—you kill your stepsister, then try to trick me into claiming you as mate. You must be insane.”

“Please!” Lois sobbed, dropping to her knees. “I can scent you. I know you are my mate.” She clutched at the hem of his robe, desperate, clinging to hope.

He kicked her away. Brutally.

She hit the ground hard, skull cracking against the stone. Warm blood trickled from her brow as she cried, still crawling, still begging through the haze of pain.

“I see your desperation clearly now,” Karl spat, towering over her. “Liar. Manipulator. Murderer. You will never be my mate. You want to see my face every day? Then so be it—you’ll see it damned in chains, in my palace!”

ꁞ⁠ ⁠ꁞ⁠ ⁠ꁞ⁠ ꁞ

The journey to Hale began at dawn.

Lois was chained and shackled like a common slave, locked inside a cold prison carriage.

Sandra—pretending still to be unconscious—was instead swathed in silks, transported in the king’s personal carriage, laid upon soft bedding with a nurse tending to her every whim.

Hale glittered as they entered—grand estates carved of marble, refined wolves in silks and gold, the hum of a kingdom rich and orderly. Its Alphas and Betas prided themselves on poise and hierarchy.

But Lois saw none of its splendor.

The prison cart rattled into the city, and with it came disgrace. Rotten eggs, spoiled vegetables, and jeers rained down on her. The crowd didn’t know her crime—they didn’t need to. In Hale, shame was entertainment, and Lois was the day’s spectacle.

Tears welled as yolk dripped down her hair, the stench of rot clinging to her skin. Sandra had done this. That venomous sister had poisoned her life beyond recognition. Lois clenched her jaw, vowing silently: Sandra would pay. And one day, Karl would know the truth.

ꁞ⁠ ⁠ꁞ⁠ ⁠ꁞ⁠ ꁞ

Three days later, Lois sat huddled in her palace cell, her body numb with cold.

There was no bed. No blanket. Only stone and silence. Her thin rags clung to her, damp with tears and grime.

Footsteps echoed.

Sandra appeared, draped in fine silks, every inch a queen. Her entourage flanked her, smug and cruel.

“You wench!” one attendant barked. “On your feet! Show respect to your future Luna Queen!”

“I will never bow to a sick, deranged mate-thief!” Lois spat back.

The slap landed instantly, sharp and stinging across her cheek. Lois winced, cradling her face, but her defiance burned undimmed.

Sandra’s smile was venom. “Oh, Lois. Remember what you were at Father’s mansion? Weak. Useless. At least now you’ve found some purpose—amusing me.”

Before Lois could retort, the herald’s voice rang out: “His Majesty, the Alpha!”

Sandra transformed in an instant, slipping into the guise of a gentle dove. She bowed, her voice dripping false sweetness. “My king, I was merely checking on my sister. I worry for her.”

Lois scoffed. “Since when do you care for me, bitch? It’s a privilege that you’re my stepsister. I will never call you sister.”

Karl’s eyes snapped to Lois. She was a storm—wild, furious, dark, and radiant. Even caged and broken, she held herself like a princess draped in rags.

His loathing deepened.

She was a temptress. A dangerous rose with thorns he longed to crush until her defiance melted into pleas. She wasn’t remorseful—far from it. That made punishing her all the more inevitable.

“Sandra, leave,” Karl commanded coldly. “You have no place here with this murderer.”

Sandra bowed, concealing her smirk as she swept out with her entourage.

The chamber grew heavy with silence.

Karl stepped closer, his stride confident, domineering, the predator closing in. His eyes locked with Lois’s, piercing, unrelenting.

“Bring this wench to me,” he ordered.