Chapter 12: Wife-To-Be

|||YASMIN|||

The next morning arrived gray and bitter much like my mood through yet again, another sleepless night.

Frost made delicate patterns on my windows like nature's own mockery of beauty. I dressed with deliberate care, choosing a deep emerald gown that brought out the fire in my dark eyes, braiding my hair in pattern that wouldn't loosen easily.

I needed to be well put together today, I needed to look like I always did.

If I was to be whispered about, let them at least whisper about how regal I looked while my world crumbled.

The walk to my office felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the spacious corridors like a countdown. I kept my chin high, my shoulders back, even as fragments of conversation drifted from behind tapestries and around corners.

"...saw her run from the hall like a whipped dog..."

"...the demoted crown princess, can you imagine..."

"...always so prideful, that human. Look at her now..."

"...nothing without Prince Cassien, just as he said..."

Each word was a needle pricking at my skin, but I didn't flinch. Couldn't flinch. Instead, I let their mockery fuel the fire in my chest, let their pity sharpen my resolve until it cut like a blade.

Powerless human. We'd see about that.

My office—still my office until Cassien married his pregnant mistress—was exactly as I'd left it. Stacks of correspondence waiting for my attention, ledgers filled with my careful handwriting, maps marked with trade routes I'd negotiated. Evidence of four years spent building something beautiful, something lasting.

Something I'd apparently meant nothing to the man I'd built it for.

I settled behind my desk and began to work with methodically. If Hana was to take my place—and the thought made my throat tighten with an uncomfortable emotion—then she would at least inherit organization rather than chaos.

I drafted schedules for the farmers' quarterly meetings, detailed budgets for the orphanage that had been my personal project, instructions for managing the servants' wages and rotations. My hand moved steadily across parchment after parchment, recording everything I'd learned about running a pack, about caring for people who looked to their leaders for guidance and protection.

Despite everything, I loved Elysium. Loved the rolling hills beyond the palace walls, the bustling market squares, the children who would bow shyly when I passed. I'd given this place four years of my life, and I wouldn't let my personal devastation harm innocent people.

A sharp knock at my door made me look up from a particularly complex trade agreement. "Enter."

But it wasn't a servant or an advisor who stepped into my office. It was Hana, her silky hair gleaming in the pale sunlight streaming through my windows, her delicate features arranged in an expression of innocence, eyes wide with both curiosity and uncertainty, much like me when I'd first come to Elysium Pack.

Behind her stood a woman I didn't recognize—tall, haughty, with the kind of sharp features that suggested noble birth and a perpetually sour disposition.

My eyes dropped involuntarily to Hana's rounded belly, visible even beneath her carefully chosen gown, and something twisted painfully in my chest. That child—Cassien's child—was the reason I was being cast aside. The heir I'd failed to give him, now growing in another woman's womb.

I forced my gaze back to Hana's face, keeping my expression neutral. "What are you doing in my office?"

The unknown woman stepped forward, her nose lifted as if she smelled something unpleasant. "It is no longer your office, I'm afraid."

My lips twitched with irritation.

Ice filled my veins, but I didn't spare her so much as a glance. Instead, I kept my attention fixed on Hana, who had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. "You and Cassien aren't married yet," I said, my voice level and cold. "Until you are, this office belongs to me."

Hana's cheeks flushed pink, and she fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress. "I... that is, Prince Cassien sent me here to... to resume my duties as crown princess." Her voice wavered slightly. "I'm here on the Prince's orders."

A scoff escaped my lips before I could stop it. The sound was sharp and bitter in the quiet room. Of course he had. Of course Cassien would send his pregnant mistress to claim my space before the ink was even dry on our divorce papers.

The pain in my chest was deep and immediate, like a dagger twisted between my ribs. But I refused to let it show. Instead, I rose from my chair with fluid grace, moving to the small chest I'd brought in earlier that morning.

I'd known this moment would come.

Without a word, I began placing my personal belongings into the wooden box—my silver letter opener, the small portrait of my family, the pressed flowers from my homeland that I kept between the pages of my favorite book. Each item felt heavier than it should, weighted with memories I wasn't ready to examine.

Hana watched me with wide blue eyes, her hands clasped over her belly. I felt her gaze like a physical touch, searching for cracks in my composure, for tears she could report back to Cassien as proof of my weakness.

She would find none.

I closed the box with a soft click and tucked it under my arm. Only then did I allow myself to look at her directly, taking in her youth, her beauty, the vulnerable curve of her shoulders that probably made men want to protect her.

I paused beside her chair as I headed for the door, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. "Be careful with the people you keep around you," I said quietly, glancing meaningfully at the haughty woman who'd accompanied her. "You're in the palace now. Nobody here is your friend."

Hana's lips parted in surprise, but I was already moving past her, my heels clicking against the stone floor as I made my exit.

The walk to my chambers felt like a funeral march. I deposited the box on my bed, staring at it for a long moment as the full weight of what I'd lost crashed over me like a wave. Four years. Four years of my life, reduced to a handful of trinkets in a wooden box.

But I didn't have time to mourn. The sun was going down, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. I had an appointment to keep.

The palace gardens in winter were a study in elegant death. My breath misted in the cold air as I walked the familiar paths, the hem of my cloak trailing behind me in the snow.

I almost turned back three times. The urge to retreat to my chambers, to hide beneath my covers and pretend none of this was happening, was nearly overwhelming. But each time I wavered, I thought of Cassien's cruel laughter, of the satisfied smirk on Victoria's face, of the way he'd walked away after tearing my heart to pieces.

No. I wouldn't run. Wouldn't hide.

Zeirik was waiting for me by the frozen fountain at the garden, exactly as he'd promised. He had imposing figure against the winter landscape, tall and muscular, filling the space he stood like he owned every inch of it, his long blond hair pulled back with a leather tie, his expensive yet casual attire marking him as nobility without the rigid formality expected of princes.

He carried a charm that's was different from his brother's. An attractiveness that bothered on dangerous, as though he were a toxic flower, colorful but deadly.

He wasn't dressed like a general or a prince. Instead, he wore dark leather breeches and a deep blue tunic that brought out the unusual coloring of his eyes—one green, one blue, both currently fixed on me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken.

My heart was racing.

Why was my heart racing?

Those mismatched eyes tracked my approach with predatory focus, and I felt suddenly like prey walking willingly into a trap. But I forced myself to keep moving, no going back now.

We were alone in the frozen garden, the only witnesses to our meeting the bare trees and sleeping flowers. The silence stretched between us, stealing my breath, burning my skin as though it were alive.

Then Zeirik smiled—a slow, sinful curve of his full lips that sent unexpected heat racing through my veins despite the winter chill.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice carrying that same amused undertone I remembered from the night before. "My wife-to-be."