Chapter 11: Rage

|||YASMIN|||

The heavy oak door of my chambers slammed shut behind me with a finality that echoed through my bones. My hands shook as I pressed my back against the cool wood, but not from tears—those had dried up somewhere between Cassien's cruel words and Zeirik's unexpected embrace. No, this trembling came from something far more dangerous.

Rage.

Pure, molten fury coursed through my veins like liquid fire, making my fingertips tingle and my jaw clench so hard I tasted copper. My chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths as I stared at the tapestries adorning my walls, the delicate porcelain figurines on my dresser, the silk curtains Helga had added in just to make me feel better. Now they felt like decorations in a tomb.

I pressed my palms flat against the door and pushed myself forward, my legs unsteady beneath my torn dress. The fabric clung to the dried blood on my stomach, a reminder of Cassien's claws, of his violence, of everything I'd foolishly ignored for four years.

My heart felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, yet it burned with such intensity I feared it might consume me from the inside out. But I welcomed that burn. It was better than the hollow ache of betrayal, better than the crushing weight of realizing I'd given my entire existence to a man who saw me as nothing more than a stepping stone.

I felt everything as it came, some how oy overpowered the pain that pumped from my back and stomach, it numbed and melded into my rage, into my growing hatred.

A soft knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts. "Your Highness?" Helga's voice came through the door, tentative and worried.

I straightened my spine with a slight wince, smoothed down my ruined dress, and forced my face into a mask of composure. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and my personal maid stepped inside, her cherubic face creased with concern. Helga had served me since I'd first arrived in Elysium, had braided my hair on my wedding day, had held my hand through countless sleepless nights when Cassien's duties kept him away. She was more than a servant—she was the closest thing I had to family in this foreign land.

Letting her see me in this state made me feel even worse. I wasn't sure if she was disappointed in me, if she would be...

"My lady," she breathed, her brown eyes taking in my disheveled appearance, the dried blood staining my dress, the wild look I couldn't quite hide.

It made me feel self conscious, though I didn't make any move to hide my disheveled state.

She was the only one I knew wouldn't judge me for not being put together all the time. I never had to be perfect around Helga, never had to be a princess, just me.

"I tried to follow you after the Prince made his... announcement. But the guards wouldn't let me pass."

His announcement.

Such a polite way to describe public humiliation.

Despite myself, my cheeks began to heat up just from reliving the moment in my head. The stares, the snickers, the lack of empathy or even understanding in Cassien's eyes, as though I was nothing but a pawn in his quest to have the throne.

I could be tossed aside so easily.

"I'm fine, Helga." The lie rolled off my tongue with practiced ease. I even managed a small smile, the kind I'd perfected over decades of court functions and diplomatic dinners. "Just tired."

But even as I spoke the words, my mind wandered to Zeirik's mismatched eyes, to the way he'd held me so carefully after Cassien had nearly torn me apart. How easily he'd agreed to my desperate proposal, as if marrying his brother's discarded wife was nothing more than an amusing game.

"Meet me in the garden tomorrow at sunset," he'd said, his voice low and amused. "We have much to discuss, Princess."

And perhaps it is, in fact, an amusing game to him. From what I had gathered, the man wanted nothing to do with the throne.

But then again...why did he agree so easily?

Why did he agree to marry me?

Had I been too rash? The question gnawed at me like a persistent itch I couldn't scratch. But then I remembered Cassien's sneer, his cruel laughter, the way he'd called me a 'barren whore' without a flicker of remorse, and my resolve hardened like steel.

No. I hadn't been rash enough.

I knew the game of politics, knew how to weave words and favors into golden threads that could elevate or destroy. I'd done it for Cassien, had used my intelligence and charm to win over the pack's elders, to secure alliances, to make him shine like the prince he'd always wanted to be.

I could do it for Zeirik too. Better, even. And in doing so, I would watch Cassien lose everything he'd thrown me away to protect.

The thought brought a surge of dark satisfaction that warmed the cold places in my chest.

Helga bustled by my side, getting the things she needed to clean and cover up my wounds.

But it ran deeper than what she saw, so much deeper.

"Helga," I said, moving to my vanity and beginning to remove the pins from my tangled hair. "I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, my lady."

"Go to the pack's priest. Tell him I require a letter of marriage dissolvement."

The bandage tray clattered to the floor as Helga's hands flew to her mouth. "My lady! Between... between whom?"

"Between Cassien and myself." The words came out steady, even as my stomach clenched. "We are no longer mates. I've rejected him, and I'd rather die than become his concubine."

Helga's face went white as fresh snow. She opened her mouth, closed it, then sank into the nearest chair as if her legs had given out. "Princess... are you certain? Once such a letter is written..."

"I'm certain." I met her eyes in the mirror, and whatever she saw there made her nod slowly.

"As you wish, my lady. I'll... I'll go at first light."