C5

Lyra Ashfang POV

"You literally just barked to the entire district that Prince Cassius Nightbane is a subhuman mutant who can't even breed his female," I growl, my split lip burning as I stare at Selene Frostveil’s rapidly paling face. "You explicitly claimed my skinny four-foot-five body is carrying a putrid, infectious plague that will rot the elite lineages of Ebonhaven. Let us see how the vampire executioners interpret your little speech."

"You have absolutely no proof of what was spoken, you lying werewolf trash!" Selene screams, her voice cracking as she instinctively covers her throat.

"Is that right?" I let out a dark, mocking purr, pulling a small silver recording crystal straight out from the layers of my heavy crimson gown.

I press the side of the stone, and our exact voices instantly echo through the high arched ceilings of the boutique. The raw, unfiltered recording plays back every single piece of her treasonous filth clearly. The arrogant, smug expressions on all three of their faces shatter like cheap glass, their features twisting into absolute, naked panic.

Selene takes a frantic step forward, her chest heaving underneath her luxury furs. "You give that back right now, you little bitch, or I will ensure your bones are scattered across the wasteland!"

"Take another step and see if I don't broadcast this straight to the Crimson Royal Council before the blood moon sets," I snap, holding the crystal tight against my palm.

Selene’s breathing turns ragged, her fangs retracting as she realizes the sheer weight of the catastrophe staring her down. No matter how much favor her minor vampire lineage enjoys within the Crimson Noble Quarter, the moment her words threaten the family's survival, her own elders will bind her in silver chains and offer her head to House Nightbane just to save their own territory.

Freya Ashfang’s golden eyes flare with pure hatred as she glares at my slim frame. I am no longer the broken, subhuman Psi wolf she used to kick around the servant quarters of the Ashfang Moon Keep. The pathetic little orphan who used to starve in the shadows is gone, replaced by a ruthless creature who knows exactly how to weaponize her new royal title.

If this recording reaches the Crimson Citadel, it won't just destroy Selene; it will unleash a bloody purge that will tear both our families to pieces.

Freya forces a tight, plastic smile onto her lips, trying to smooth over the suffocating tension. "Oh, little cousin, you are taking this entirely too far. Selene was merely playing a little game with you. We are all family here, so let us just drop this foolishness and forget it ever happened."

She is a truly disgusting parasite.

When Selene was mocking my mother and slapping my face, Freya stood by and purred with pleasure. Now that her own position is in jeopardy, she suddenly remembers we share the same werewolf bloodline.

"My inner wolf doesn't find your little vampire games amusing at all, Freya," I spit out, my voice dripping with pure ice.

"It was just a few harmless words, Lyra! Why the fuck do you have to be so sensitive?" Freya's tone instantly sharpens into a bitter growl, her eyes flashing a silent warning for me to shut my mouth while she is still offering me a way out. "Do you truly need to drag this drama through the entire royal court of Ebonhaven before your pathetic ego is satisfied?"

"Fine, let us treat it exactly like a game," I whisper.

Before either of them can blink, my hand flashes out with pure Psi-enhanced speed. I grab the thick collar of Selene’s luxury coat, yanking her heavy vampire body down until her face is inches from my own.

Selene lets out a sharp, terrified screech, her hands clawing desperately at my iron grip. "Get your filthy paws off me! What the fuck do you think you are doing, you mutant?"

"From this exact moment onward, if I ever hear your foul mouth utter another single insult regarding my husband's physical state, I will personally rip your tongue out through your throat," I snarl directly into her face, my dark skin flushing with hot adrenaline. "I will shatter your jaw until you are choking on your own fangs."

"Just you fucking wait!" Selene whimpers, her voice trembling violently despite her fierce words. She is completely weak inside, a spoiled noble lady who has never faced a wolf willing to draw blood.

I release her collar, sending her staggering backward against the racks. The two of them immediately turn on their heels, desperate to escape the suffocating aura of the boutique.

"Did I give you permission to leave my presence, you garbage?" I call out, my voice stopping them dead near the stone threshold.

"What else could you possibly want from us, Lyra?" Freya snaps, her golden eyes burning with pure fury. She has already swallowed her pride and given me an immense amount of face today, yet my skinny ass is still refusing to let them walk away.

I completely ignore my cousin’s murderous expression. I stride forward, my small body moving with lethal purpose, and deliver a brutal, bone-shattering slap directly across Selene’s pristine face.

The force of the blow cracks against her jaw, sending her flying into the stone pillar. Selene groans in agony, her hand instantly flying to her face, only to find that the expensive magical cartilage of her reconstructed nose has been completely smashed sideways by my palm. She looks down at the thick blood covering her fingers and turns so pale she looks ready to faint. "You psycho... I will hunt you to the ends of the territory for this!"

I point a bloody finger straight at her face. "You will address me as Princess Nightbane from this day forward. And you will never use that pathetic, disrespectful tone in my presence again."

Selene frantically rushes out of the boutique, sobbing hysterically as she runs toward the high-tier healers to save her face, the other socialite lady scurrying right behind her like a frightened rodent. Surprisingly, Freya doesn't follow them. She stands firmly on the blood-stained rug, her golden eyes boring into my slim frame with pure, unadulterated malice.

"Do you have something else you want to whisper to me, older sister?" I ask, entirely unbothered as I wipe my hands on a silk cloth, preparing to return to the Moon Healers' Sanctuary to sit by my mother's side.

"I haven't seen your pathetic face in a few days, Lyra, and you have suddenly developed a very large mouth," Freya spits, her voice dropping into a dangerous, low vibration. "But let me give you a reality check, little bitch. Do not get too comfortable wearing the title of the second prince's wife. These minor noble ladies might fear the Nightbane shadow, but I know exactly what you are—a skinny, useless freak who got lucky. I am not afraid of you or your broken master."

She is completely blinded by her own ambition. Freya is still slated to bind herself to the eldest heir, Prince Draven Nightbane, meaning she fully expects to become the supreme Queen of the entire Nightbane Crimson Dominion in the future.

"Are you truly not afraid, or are you just suffocating on your own regret because you realized this position should have been yours?" I mock, a cruel smile stretching across my split lips. "Do you regret running away from his bed now, Freya?"

"Don't you dare speak to me about regret, you shameless slut!" Freya screeches, her face twisting into a mask of pure rage.

The deepest, most humiliating secret of her life is that she was legally bound to that crippled prince first. She spent months scheming, crying, and begging Alpha Garrick to find a replacement so she wouldn't have to spend her life tied to a paralyzed monster. Now that I am pointing directly at that soft spot, her pride is completely shredded.

"You don't need to lose sleep over my shamelessness, cousin," I say, tossing the bloody silk cloth right at her feet. "But given that you haven't even crossed the threshold of Prince Draven's quarters yet, I suggest you preserve whatever little dignity you have left before you open your mouth again."

I have absolutely zero desire to spend another second wasting my breath on her petty jealousy. I grab my bundles of basic resources and stride past her into the cold air of Ebonhaven, leaving her burning with silent fury in the middle of the shop.

The moment the heavy iron doors of the boutique swing shut behind my slim body, a dark shadow detaches itself from the stone corridor. A royal blood scout slips into the dim alleyway, his red eyes gleaming in the dark as he pulls out a communication crystal and dials a private royal frequency.