LilaThe Great Hall was tense with anticipationThe banners above had been changed overnight—deep red and silver swaths, embroidered with the Lycan crest, hung like ceremonial nooses from the vaulted ceiling. Someone had gone to great lengths to make the space feel celebratory.It only made the air
LilaI slipped from my room before dawn fully broke, hoping for just a few minutes of stillness in the bathhouse before the chaos of the finalist announcement began.Steam hung in the air like a second skin, curling along the vaulted ceiling and clinging to my hair. The scent of lavender and eucalyp
LilaThe wind shifted across the training courtyard, cool and clean, carrying the scent of crushed grass and something sharp beneath it—metal, sweat, tension. I stood beneath the colonnade, half-hidden in shadow, watching Damon move.He wasn’t sparring. Not really. Just going through the motions wit
Lila wasn’t Natalie. She never had been. She was the daughter of a man I despised. A girl who'd grown up clawing her way into a world that didn’t want her.But all I could think about was the sound of her voice in the greenhouse, trembling and brave, asking if what we had was real. It was. Gods help
DamonThe sting of steel against my wrist felt good. Clean. Honest.I pivoted, blade arcing low, slamming into Ronan’s guard hard enough to rattle bone. He grunted, deflected, and shoved back, sweat glistening along his brow.Our boots scraped violently against the stone floor of the private trainin
The audacity of it soured the air. He hadn’t heeded my warning or my orders. And it pissed me off.He rose when he saw me, but the smirk on his face stayed rooted. “Your Majesty,” he drawled, inclining his head in a gesture that was technically respectful, but only just. “I was told you requested th
DamonThe moment Ronan stepped into my study, I knew something had broken.He didn’t bother with ceremony. Just set the folded parchment on my desk and met my eyes with the kind of tension that came before war. “You need to read this.” I opened it in silence.Each line slashed across the page like a
I turned back to the painting, hands curling into fists at my sides. Her face smiled back—calm, composed, untouchable.I wanted to tear it off the wall.Instead, I whispered, “He doesn’t love you, Lila. He loves her.”I pressed my palm against the cool wall next to her likeness, voice low, venomous
ElenaFrom wearing silk gowns to drab rough linens. From banquet tables to discarded trays. From favored daughter to invisible maid.Invisible. Until someone needed to sneer. Or wanted something scrubbed. I was starting to feel like Lila.The borrowed servant dress chafed at my shoulders, rough and