Chapter 9

Evelyn’s POV

In six months, I had compressed what most heirs took a year—or longer—to master.

I had trained day and night, including strategy sessions, patrols and grueling sparring matches that left my muscles aching. 

But it was worth the effort, because I had transformed. 

I was no longer the quiet omega who hid her strength; I now moved with the lethal grace of a Voss heir, my senses enhanced, my mind sharp as a blade. 

My training also included theoretical aspects, which made me understand better the web between the Lycan Kingdom and the werewolf packs. 

We didn’t “cooperate”—we managed. 

The Voss Empire controlled the entire continent. Werewolf Alphas like Alexander scrambled for alliances because our favor meant unchallenged power: unbreakable weapons, healing arts, and diplomatic shields against rivals. But Father refused to partner equally—any true union would tip the balance, letting one pack dominate and possibly ignite wars. 

That’s why we hardly partner with the other packs. We mostly observed, intervened only when necessary, and kept the continent's fragile peace intact. It was a throne that demanded caution from the one who dared to sit upon it, and soon it would be mine. 

Father had made up his mind about the welcome ceremony, no matter how I protested that it was unnecessary. So here I was, in the lavish dressing chambers of the palace, surrounded by a flurry of makeup artists and stylists. They fussed over my silver gown—flowing silk embroidered with glowing runes—and pinned my hair into a cascade of waves. I thought about wearing a tiara, but decided I wouldn’t need it tonight. Everyone already knew who I was. I caught sight of myself in the mirror: silver-blue eyes sharp, regal posture. A princess reborn. 

Cassian lounged against the wall, scrolling through his phone with that half-smirk. I couldn’t resist. 

“Put that away, brother. Or are you texting your secret admirers while your sister prepares to dazzle the continent?” 

He glanced up, eyes twinkling. “This? All Father’s plan. He’s got me coordinating the guards. Blame him if I’m distracted.” 

I rolled my eyes, letting the stylist adjust my hem. “Fine. But are Ronan and Kai coming? The hall feels empty without their chaos.”

Cassian shook his head, pocketing the phone. “Who knows? Their whereabouts are a mystery, as always. Ronan’s probably charming some foreign delegation into giving us trade favors. Kai’s likely off hunting rogue wolves on the border. You’ve only been back six months and you’re already tired of me?” 

I laughed, swatting at his arm as he dodged. “Tired? Never. But if you don’t stop teasing. I’ll make you my sparring partner tomorrow.”

He grinned, then his gaze landed on the necklace draped over my vanity—a stunning piece of intertwined silver vines with a glowing moon pendant. “That was designed by Liora,” he said. 

Liora Valtresse. My heart squeezed. My closest friend from childhood—the bold, blunt daughter of Duke Harlan Valtresse, whose fashion empire dressed the elite across the continent. We’d been inseparable: late nights sketching gowns in her atelier, sharing secrets under the palace stars. But when I’d insisted on marrying Alexander, she’d fought me tooth and nail. “You’re throwing away your crown for a wolf who’ll chain you,” she’d said. 

I didn’t believe her. I loved Alexander too much to do so. 

We’d parted in anger, and after I left, we lost contact. I always thought she stayed away because she agreed with Father—that I didn’t deserve her friendship after my “foolish” choice. 

And eventually she was right about my marriage, just like my father had been. I honestly wished I’d listened to her.

“Will she be here tonight?” I asked quietly, fingering the necklace. 

Cassian sighed. “I sent her an invitation personally. She declined—she said she had commitments.”

Disappointment twisted in my chest. Liora, with her ice-blonde braids and golden eyes that saw through every lie, had been my anchor. I’d missed her fire, her honesty. “Oh.” 

He stepped closer, squeezing my shoulder. “She’s probably just tied up with her designs. You know how she is—work first. Don’t overthink it.” 

I forced a smile. “Right. After the ceremony, I’ll try to find her. We have too much lost time to fix.” 

Cassian’s phone buzzed again. He checked it, then met my eyes. “Alexander’s here. And he’s brought a ‘Luna’ with him.” 

My smile vanished. I didn’t need to guess the ‘Luna’. Scarlett Hale—his fated mate, the woman he’d chosen over me in every way that mattered. 

Cassian’s gaze sharpened. “You ready to face that?” 

I met his eyes in the mirror, watching the last stylist pin a final silver thread into my hair.

“No,” I said calmly, “because I’m not attending this welcome ceremony for them.”

I turned to face him fully, the midnight gown swishing against the marble floor.

“I’m attending because I am Princess Evelyn Voss, heir to the Lycan throne. This night is about showing the continent who I’ve become—not about dredging up people who belong locked in my past.”

A faint, cool smile curved my lips.

“Alexander Thorne and Scarlett Hale? They’re not worth my time anymore.”

Cassian’s expression shifted to one of pride, the corners of his mouth lifting.

“That’s the future Queen speaking.”

I lifted my chin. “Exactly.”

Let them come.

They would see a princess on her throne—not the quiet omega they once knew.

And I would not spare them a single glance.

The ceremony hall was a sea of glittering gowns and suits—Alphas and Lunas from across the continent, Lycan nobles murmuring in clusters. I socialized at Cassian's side, exchanging polite nods and smiles, but the press of it all grated on me. I hated the games, the false flattery.

"I need to handle something," Cassian murmured suddenly. "Guard rotation. Stay put—I'll be back."

I nodded, but as soon as he vanished into the crowd, I slipped toward a shadowed alcove, craving a moment alone.

And ran straight into a woman. 

It took a while, a long while, for me to recognize her. 

And it was none other than Scarlett.

She stood there in a crimson gown that screamed for attention, her dark hair piled high, lips curved in a smile. But her eyes widened as she took me in.

"You," she breathed.

Her gaze raked over me—the midnight gown that shimmered like starlight, the moon necklace gleaming against my throat, the silver threads woven through my hair that marked me as something far beyond the quiet omega she’d once known.

Her hand trembled.

The crystal wine glass slipped from her fingers and shattered against the marble floor with a sharp crash that silenced the entire hall.

Hundreds of heads turned. Alphas, nobles, warriors—every powerful eye in the werewolf continent locked on us.

Scarlett’s face drained of color, lips parting in stunned horror.

I met her stare, unmoving, letting the silence stretch until it became unbearable.

Then I smiled—slow and cold.

“Careful, Scarlett,” I said. “You wouldn’t want to make a mess in the royal palace on your first—and last—visit.”