MasukRosalie’s POVThe rhythmic, teeth-jarring vibration of the wheels against the uneven floorboards lasted for what felt like hours. Inside the suffocating confines of the transport box, time lost all meaning. Every tilt of the container, every sharp jolt that sent my knees slamming harder into my chest, felt like a deliberate twist of a knife. The paralytic chemical they had used was slowly wearing off, leaving behind a heavy, throbbing ache in my limbs and a terrifying, heightened awareness of my own helplessness.The box came to a sudden, violent halt. The sudden loss of momentum jerked my neck forward, my forehead cracking against the low wooden ceiling. A low groan slipped past my lips, the sound echoing hollowly within the cramped space.Above me, the heavy metallic thud of iron latches being unfastened cut through the silence. A sliver of blinding, agonizing light sliced through the darkness as the heavy lid was violently thrown back.I choked, my eyes watering instantly as I
Rosalie’s POVThe heavy, double-timbered doors of the Grand Ballroom slammed shut behind us, cutting off the suffocating swell of the orchestra and the low, toxic hum of the high-society whispers.“Step out, Cynthia. Keep your pace even,” Gemma muttered, her shoulder brushing mine as we navigated the wider, vaulted transition corridor. Her sharp eyes skipped over the marble pillars, scanning the intersecting hallways with a cold, protective vigilance. “The King threw you directly into the spotlight, which means every corrupt lord on that council is currently calculating how much it will cost to buy a silent blade. We are heading straight back to our quarters.”I kept my jaw locked, my fingers subconsciously smoothing down the midnight-blue silk of my skirt. The heat of Dominic’s hand still felt like a physical brand against the small of my back, a ghostly imprint burning through the heavy fabric. He had cornered me, exposed my deeply humiliating lack of aristocratic training, and t
Rosalie’s POVI kept my back resolutely turned to the glittering center of the room, listening to the clink of crystal and the manic, triumphant giggles of the other tributes. They were sharing details of how his hand had felt on their waists, how his deep voice had rumbled through their chests as they spun. I focused entirely on a microscopic chip in the gold rim of my empty dessert plate, treating it like the most frustrating puzzle in the world.*He’s letting you go,* I repeated to myself, forcing the thought to take root. *He’s giving up his crazy obsession. This is exactly what you engineered.*The heavy, suffocating scent of ozone and crushed winter mint hit my senses an instant before the temperature around the table dropped.The low, frantic chatter of the ballroom didn’t fade—it was violently snuffed out. The laughter died in the throats of the high-born daughters nearby. A collective, terrified hush rippled outward from my table, followed by the rustle of heavy silk as p
Rosalie’s POVThe tribute quarters had been transformed into an unbearable, high-decibel war room of silk, aerosol perfumes, and sharp-edged desperation. Word had spread through the palace corridors like a contagion by midday: tonight was the Midwinter Gala, and for the first time since the Selection had commenced, the Alpha King would be personally selecting tributes to join him on the ballroom floor.The other girls were practically vibrating with a frantic, feral energy. I watched Vanessa’s old inner circle whispering in furious huddles, trading jars of rare, crushed-pearl shimmer and debating which cut of neckline would best draw Dominic’s golden gaze. To them, tonight was a coronation in disguise. They were pampered, high-born daughters of regional Alphas, bred to glide across polished marble, to smile on cue, and to capture a monarch’s favor with a well-timed tilt of a jeweled throat.I, however, felt entirely out of body.“Stop moving, Cynthia. If I pin this silk incorrectl
Rosalie’s POVThe first forty-eight hours after the Grand Chancellor’s arrest were a masterclass in psychological warfare. Dominic didn’t say a word to me. In fact, he acted as if I had ceased to exist entirely.Whenever our paths crossed during the morning assemblies or the formal palace processions, his amber eyes slid right past me, cold and unbothered, as if I were nothing more than a ghost haunting his corridors. He offered no reassurances, no warnings, and absolutely no protection. The message was loud and clear to the entire court: *The King has washed his hands of her.*And the High Council wasted no time testing the depth of my isolation.The subtle, lethal shifts started on the third night. It wasn’t an open attack—Dominic’s standing decree against physical violence within the selection still technically held weight, and none of the corrupt lords wanted to risk execution unless they were absolutely certain they wouldn’t get caught. Instead, they tried to bleed me through
Rosalie’s POV “Guards,” Dominic’s voice cut through the mounting chaos like a broadsword, instantly freezing the frantic murmurs of the room. He didn’t lift his eyes from the blue-and-silver folder in his hands. “Arrest the Grand Chancellor. Detain him in the high-security wing immediately on grounds of manipulating imperial assets and compromising classified state intelligence for further questioning and interrogation.”“Your Majesty! This is madness! She is a fraud, a liar!” the Chancellor shrieked, his face twisting into a mask of pure panic as four heavily armed royal guards slammed him against the mahogany table. The heavy metal of handcuffs clicked around his wrists with a cold, definitive snap. His frantic, echoing protests were cut off mid-scream as he was brutally dragged out of the strategy chamber.The remaining tributes stood frozen, their eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and sheer terror. They were pampered, shallow girls who had never seen the violent gears of t







