Chapter 3

~Nina~

The eastern guesthouse had always been the place where the Shadowveil Pack sent people they wanted close enough to work, but far enough away to forget.

I stood in the center of the cramped room, taking in the drafty walls, the narrow cot, and the single window that rattled violently against the night air. No private balcony. No sea view. No velvet curtains.

Three years of waking before dawn, healing their wounded warriors, managing their entire supply line, and serving as Graham’s Luna. Three years of swallowing insults from high-ranking wolves who looked down on an "omega."

And this was my reward. A damp shack beside the servant quarters.

I set my travel bag on the rickety table, a cold, breathless laugh escaping my lips. I didn't cry. I had wasted my last tear upstairs.

The door burst open without a warning knock.

Clara slipped inside, her face flushed red with unadulterated fury. She slammed the bolt shut, her body shaking so hard her hands trembled.

"That absolute arrogant bastard!" Clara spat, her voice a harsh, low hiss. She paced the tiny floor like a caged panther. "A cottage?! He put the daughter of the Rogue King in a broken-down shack while that manipulative leech sleeps in your bed?!"

"Clara, keep your voice down," I warned softly.

"I will not keep my voice down!" Clara snapped, rounding on me, her eyes flashing with pure rage. "Your Highness, I have sat by for three years watching you play the meek, dutiful omega for a man who isn't fit to wipe your boots! I watched you trade luxury, and royal prestige for a life where you have to boil water on a stove! And now he calls you barren and dumps you here?!"

She reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a sleek, modern Rogue satellite phone that we had kept hidden for emergencies.

"I'm calling father," Clara said, her thumb hovering over the encrypted line. "One word to the Rogue King and his modern armor divisions will level this stone age pack house before sunrise. Let's see Graham talk about 'heirs' when our martial units flatten his territory."

"Clara. Put the phone away." My voice was quiet, but it carried a sharp edge of command that made her freeze.

Clara swallowed hard, her jaw tight. "Princess... why are you protecting him?"

"I am not protecting him," I said, stepping closer and gently lowering her arm. "If my father attacks now, Graham will claim he was the victim of a rogue invasion. He will hide behind pack laws and die thinking he was a hero."

I looked at my reflection in the dusty mirror on the wall.

"I didn't hide my identity for three years just to give him an honorable war. When Graham falls, I want him to know it was the 'weak omega' he discarded who destroyed him."

Clara stared at me, the white-hot rage in her eyes slowly hardening into sinister satisfaction. "So... we don't call the King yet?"

"Not yet," I murmured. "Let him celebrate his victory a little longer."

Heavy, deliberate footsteps thundered down the wooden hallway outside.

Clara immediately stashed the satellite phone out of sight, stepping back with a cold glare fixed on the door.

A heavy fist struck the wooden frame, the force shaking the entire door.

"Nina! Open this door!"

Graham's voice boomed through the thin wood, laced with thick Alpha command—a heavy, suffocating wave of compulsion designed to force lesser wolves onto their knees in submission.

I didn't flinch. Royal rogue blood ran too deep for a provincial pack Alpha's parlor tricks to work on me.

I unbolted the door and pulled it open slowly.

Graham stood in the doorway, his stormy grey eyes dark with impatience, waiting to find me weeping or cowering under his aura. But his expression hardened when he saw me standing tall, completely unaffected by his command.

Standing just behind his broad shoulder, clinging to his arm, was Chloe.

She was wrapped in my deep crimson silk robe—the very robe I had laid across my bed that morning. Her damp red hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her hand rested smugly on her flat stomach.

The disrespect was absolute. It was a deliberate, petty taunt.

"The victory feast is starting in ten minutes," Graham barked, his jaw tight as he tried to reassert control. "As Luna, you are expected to take your seat at the head table. I won’t have the elders whispering that my mate is sulking in the dark while the pack celebrates our victory."

"Sulking?" I raised an eyebrow, my tone smooth and entirely devoid of emotion.

Chloe leaned into Graham's side, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. "We just want to make sure you're feeling up to it, Nina. It must be so humiliating for you, watching the pack cheer for an heir you couldn't provide."

She stroked the silk of my robe, her eyes glinting with sweet venom. "If you're too embarrassed to face the pack, don't worry. I can gladly sit beside Graham at the head table to keep him company."

She was waiting for me to scream. Graham was waiting for me to beg for my dignity.

Instead, I looked Chloe up and down, letting my eyes linger on my stolen robe before flicking up to her face with absolute disdain.

"Why would I stay hidden, Chloe?" I asked, a faint, chilling smile touching my lips. "A victory feast is meant for the pack. I wouldn't dream of missing the chance to watch my husband showcase his choices to the elders."

I shifted my gaze to Graham. His brow furrowed, a sudden flicker of unease breaking through his arrogant facade. He didn't recognize the cold, calculating woman standing before him.

"Give me five minutes," I told him, my voice dangerously steady. "I'll be right down."

Graham hesitated, opening his mouth as if to say something more, but the icy composure in my eyes stopped him cold. Without a word, he turned and led Chloe back down the hall.

As their footsteps faded, Clara stepped up beside me, a dark smirk playing on her lips. "You're going to tear them apart tonight, aren't you?"

"No," I whispered, turning toward my trunk. "Tonight, I'm going to give them exactly what they asked for."