Chapter 14: Amelia

I stared at the stranger in the mirror. Her copper hair gleamed in loose waves down her back, dotted with tiny crystal pins that caught the light like trapped stars. Her skin, scrubbed pink and perfumed, glowed beneath the careful application of cosmetics that enhanced rather than concealed. The emerald gown I wore hugged curves I hadn't known I possessed after days of prison starvation, the fabric whispering against my skin with each breath. A queen's transformation, and all it had cost was my freedom.

"Stop fidgeting," Elder Nora instructed, adjusting the neckline of my gown to better display the livid mark Lukas had left on my throat. "The King will be displeased if you appear uncomfortable with his claim."

I fought the urge to cover the mark with my hand. Four hours ago, I'd been a prisoner awaiting execution. Now I stood in a guest chamber that dripped with luxury—crystal chandeliers, silk tapestries, a bed large enough for five—transformed into the perfect mate for a monster. 

The servants who had prepared me hadn't spoken a single word, merely executing Elder Nora's commands with silent efficiency. They'd scrubbed the prison filth from my skin until it was raw, brushed the tangles from my hair until it shone, applied creams and powders to my face until I looked like a porcelain doll.

Not once had anyone asked what I wanted.

"Will there be many people?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded. The last crowd I'd faced had watched impassively as Lukas tore apart the rogues who'd captured me, their faces alight with bloodlust and fascination.

"Everyone who matters," Elder Nora replied, her ancient hands surprisingly gentle as she fastened a delicate silver necklace around my throat, positioned carefully to frame but not hide the bite mark. "Pack leaders from across the territories. Council members. Warriors. All will be hoping for a glimpse of the woman who captured the Alpha King's interest after decades of indifference."

Captured his interest. As if I'd had any agency in the matter. As if fate hadn't played the cruelest joke imaginable, binding me first to a wolf who rejected me, then to a king who viewed consent as an inconvenience.

‘He is still better than the Silver Lake dogs,’ Athena muttered in my mind, her presence stronger with each passing hour as the wolfsbane faded from my system. ‘At least he values our strength.’

I didn't bother responding. Athena had made her position clear—she accepted Lukas and Ares as our mates, welcomed the claiming as our due. The division between us had never felt wider.

"It's time," Elder Nora announced, checking an ornate clock on the mantel. "Remember your position. You are to be the King's mate, the future Queen of all werewolves. Conduct yourself accordingly."

I followed her from the chamber, my movements hampered by delicate slippers that pinched my toes and a gown that, while beautiful, restricted my stride to small, ladylike steps. We traversed marble corridors lined with ancient portraits of stern-faced wolves, their eyes seeming to follow our progress with judgment. Guards posted at regular intervals snapped to attention as we passed, their gazes flickering to the mark on my neck before dropping respectfully.

The sound of the ball reached us before we arrived—music, laughter, the steady hum of conversation. My heartbeat accelerated, each step bringing me closer to a world I'd never belonged in even when I'd been the adopted daughter of an Alpha, let alone now as the claimed mate of their King.

"Shoulders back," Elder Nora murmured as we approached a set of massive double doors. "Chin up. You're not a servant anymore."

But I was—just serving a different master now.

The doors opened, revealing a ballroom that stole what little breath I had left. Hundreds of candles floated in glass orbs near the vaulted ceiling, casting golden light over a space larger than the entire Silver Lake pack house. Wolves in their finery twirled across a polished marble floor, while others gathered in clusters around the perimeter, glasses sparkling in their hands as they observed and gossiped. A quartet played in one corner, the music elegant and subdued enough to allow conversation.

No one noticed our entrance. Elder Nora guided me along the edge of the room toward a less crowded bar area, her grip on my elbow both supportive and restraining.

"The King will be announced when he arrives," she explained, signaling to a server who immediately brought two flutes of pale golden liquid. "Until then, remain here. Do not wander. Do not engage unless approached first."

She pressed the delicate glass into my hand. The champagne fizzed against my lips when I took a tentative sip, the taste unfamiliar after years of water and occasionally watered wine as a servant. Before I could ask another question, Nora's attention shifted to someone across the room—a tall, distinguished wolf with silver temples who inclined his head in her direction.

"I must attend to Council business," she said, already turning away. "Remember what I said."

And then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd, leaving me alone at the edge of a room filled with wolves who would have happily watched me die hours earlier. I clutched the champagne flute like a shield, keeping my eyes downcast as I'd learned to do as a servant. Old habits died hard.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the little freak from Silver Lake."

My blood froze in my veins. I knew that voice—its perfect pitch, its cutting edge, its undercurrent of cruelty. Victoria Bloomsbury. Alexander's chosen mate. The woman who had watched my rejection with triumphant glee.

I raised my eyes to find her standing before me, resplendent in a gown of ice-blue silk that matched her cold eyes. Her blonde hair was arranged in an elaborate updo adorned with sapphires that glinted like shards of frozen sky. Beautiful. Perfect.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded, her gaze raking over me with undisguised contempt. "Did you steal an invitation? Or just slip in with the servants? God knows you look the part, despite that dress. You can put a collar on a mutt, but it's still just a mutt."

I set my glass down carefully, suddenly aware of several nearby wolves turning to observe the confrontation. "I was invited," I said quietly, not wanting to draw more attention.

Victoria laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "No one invites freaks to the mating ball. This is for eligible wolves. For real wolves." She leaned closer, her perfect features contorted with malice. "Not for dogs who need eighteen years to find their wolves."

"I should go," I murmured, trying to step around her.

Her hand shot out, fingers tangling in my carefully styled hair, yanking my head to the side to expose my neck. Pain lanced through my scalp as she held me there, her nails digging into my skin.

"What. Is. This?" she hissed, staring at Lukas's mark on my throat. "You pathetic, desperate little bitch. You think a fake mating mark will make you belong here?"

"It's not fake," I gasped, trying to pull away without creating more of a scene. The wolves around us watched with avid curiosity, but none moved to intervene.

Victoria's laugh was sharp and cruel. "Everyone knows what the King's mark looks like, you stupid mutt. This poor imitation won't fool anyone." Her grip tightened, tears springing to my eyes. "Come with me. We need to have a private conversation about your delusions."

She dragged me by my hair, my attempts to break free hampered by the restrictive gown and my own weakened state. No one stepped forward to help. They simply parted to let us pass, their expressions ranging from amusement to indifference to outright satisfaction. To them, I was still the prisoner from the throne room, the rogue who somehow escaped execution.

Cold night air hit me as Victoria shoved me through a set of glass doors onto a deserted balcony. The doors swung shut behind us, muffling the sounds of the ball. Before I could regain my balance, her hand connected with my face in a slap that snapped my head to the side.

"You think you can come here and pretend to be something you're not?" Another slap, this one hard enough to split my lip. "You're nothing. Less than nothing."

I staggered backward, tasting blood. "Victoria, stop—"

Her fist caught me in the stomach, driving the air from my lungs. I doubled over, gasping, only to have her grab another handful of my hair and yank so hard that several crystal pins tore free, taking strands with them.

"Alexander is MINE," she snarled, shoving me to the stone floor of the balcony. "Silver Lake is MINE. And you will never belong anywhere."

My head cracked against the balustrade as I fell. Pain exploded behind my eyes, the world tilting sideways. I tried to push myself up, but my arms gave way beneath me. Victoria's foot connected with my ribs, once, twice, driving what little air remained from my lungs.

‘Fight back!’ Athena howled in my mind, her rage a tangible thing. ‘FIGHT!’

But my body refused to obey, still weak from captivity, from wolfsbane, from the claiming that had drained what little strength I'd recovered. Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision as Victoria's nails raked across Lukas's mark on my neck, drawing fresh blood.

The last thing I heard before consciousness slipped away was Athena's furious promise: ‘When we wake, she dies for this.’