Chapter 55 Alliances of the scorned.
Meanwhile, things weren't so peaceful in Pandora's chamber.
"My lady, please! Calm down!"
Kira ducked, covering her head as a crystal carafe shattered against the stone hearth, sending shards flying like diamond hail. Pandora didn't hear her. She was a whirlwind of silk and fury, her chest heaving as she tore the heavy velvet hangings from the bed.
"Calm down? Calm down?" Pandora’s voice cracked, vibrating with a humiliating tremor. She rounded on Kira, her emerald eyes bloodshot. "I was paraded in front of the entire Lycan Realm like a broken toy! Do you have any idea what they could be saying in the galleries? In the kitchens? They saw a high-born Alpha Princess groveling in the dirt before a girl who doesn't even have a scent!"
She seized a small mahogany chair and launched it. It hit the wall with a sickening thud, leaving a jagged dent in the plaster before splintering on the floor.
Kira shrieked, pressing her back against the door. "My lady!"
Pandora stopped. She stood in the center of the wreckage, her red hair wild and tangled, and let out a sharp, jagged laugh. "My lady. You still call me that. But am I? Or am I just the girl who lost to a stray?"
She crossed the room, her movements jerky and predatory. She grabbed Kira by the shoulders, her grip bruising through the fabric of the maid's uniform. A sick, desperate smile twisted Pandora’s lips. "If you’re really mine, Kira, if you’re loyal to me and not just the gold I tip you, then help me. Help me get my revenge on Elara."
Kira blinked, her breath hitching in her throat. Fear, cold and sharp, flooded her chest. Revenge? How could she possibly go against Elara now? Before the duel, Elara was just a guest with a low self esteem. Now, she was a woman who had summoned ice from the floorboards and stood toe-to-toe with a Southern Alpha. Kira knew her own limits; she was a maid, not a suicide.
Pandora watched the hesitation flicker across Kira’s face. The disgust in the Princess’s eyes was instantaneous. She shoved Kira away with enough force to send her stumbling into a side table.
"Of course," Pandora spat, turning her back. "You’re useless. Ronan gave Elara the best guards and the most loyal maids, and I’m left with one dumb, weak thing who trembles at a name."
Pandora paced toward the tall vanity mirror. She stopped, her breath catching as she stared at her reflection. The swelling in her cheek had gone down, but a faint, yellowish bruise remained. Her knuckles were still sore, a dull throb reminding her of the moment her fire had been snuffed out by Elara’s silver aura.
She touched her face, her fingers trembling. "My father needs to hurry," she muttered to the glass. "He definitely won't let this stand. He won't let his blood be mocked by a peasant."
Kira stayed silent, smoothing her apron with shaking hands. There was nothing she could say that wouldn't result in another flying object.
For a long moment, Pandora stared at her bruised face, the gears of her mind turning. She hadn't left the room since the duel, unable to face the stifled titters she knew were waiting in the hallways. But she hadn't been idle. She had been replaying every second of the fight—and every second of the conversation before it.
She turned back to Kira, her expression suddenly sharp, the hysteria replaced by a focused, venomous clarity. "Tell me again about her origins. Is she actually from the North? Specifically Northwood?"
Kira swallowed hard, trying to recall the whispers. "Yes... the rumors are everywhere, my lady. Some say she escaped Northwood because she was being abused by the Alpha. Others say the King personally bought her from a slave market near the border. We don't really know what to believe... she has no records."
Pandora hummed, twirling a copper lock of hair around her finger. A devilish smirk began to spread across her face. She remembered the look on Elara’s face back in the corridor... the way the mere mention of Draven’s name had drained the color from her lips. It wasn't just fear; it was trauma. It was the look of a rabbit who knew the fox was in the garden.
"It doesn't matter how she got here," Pandora whispered, her eyes alight with a cruel fire. "What matters is that she belongs to someone else. If she’s from Northwood, she’s Draven’s problem. And I would be more than happy to help him take his property back."
She turned to Kira, her voice commandingly cold. "I want to have a chat with the Northwood Delegation. Right now."
Kira’s eyes widened. "A chat, my lady? The Arch-Alpha is... he is dangerous. The King has forbidden the servants from speaking to the Northern guests about Lady Elara."
Pandora grinned, stepping closer until her face was inches from Kira’s. "I didn't say I wanted to talk to the King. I want to talk to his 'guests.' A friendly, cooperative chat between two parties who have both lost something to a little silver-eyed thief. Go. Find any of them."
\---
The afternoon sun hit the stream that wound through the palace gardens, turning the water into a ribbon of moving gold. Cierce walked along the bank, her silk skirts brushing against the damp grass. Her assigned maid followed three paces behind, head bowed, carrying a parasol that Cierce had long since stopped using.
Cierce’s mind was a storm. Every time Draven closed his eyes, she saw him thinking of the girl. Every time he spoke, he was asking about the masked fighter. The Northwood Luna title felt like a hollow shell if the man wearing the crown was chasing a shadow.
She halted in her tracks as a figure emerged from the willow trees.
It was Kira. The girl looked disheveled, her eyes darting nervously toward the palace guards patrolling the high balcony. She stopped a few feet away and dropped into a quick, shallow curtsy.
"My Lady Cierce," Kira whispered, her voice tight.
Cierce arched an eyebrow, her expression one of bored superiority. "You’re the one serving the Southern Princess, aren't you? The one who lost so spectacularly this morning?"
Kira winced but didn't look away. "My lady, Lady Pandora would like to have a word with you. Privately."
Cierce’s interest sharpened instantly. She knew Pandora had every reason to hate the girl Ronan was protecting. She followed the maid to a secluded stone gazebo hidden by heavy vines.
As Cierce stepped into the gazebo, the air felt charged. Pandora was already waiting, her back to them.
"I believe," Pandora said softly, turning around, "that we have a common problem."
Cierce leaned against the stone pillar, her eyes glinting with a dangerous curiosity. "A problem? You mean the masked girl? Draven is convinced she’s someone we know, but I find it hard to believe a Northwood 'stray' could wield that kind of power."
She watched Pandora closely, testing the waters. "Unless, of course, you know something we don't? Draven is obsessed with finding a girl named Elara. Are you suggesting the King’s little champion... and his runaway slave... are the same person?"
Pandora’s smile was like a razor. "I’m suggesting that the King is hiding a woman who flinches at the mention of your Arch-Alpha’s name. Whether she is this 'Elara' or just a very talented relative, she is a thorn in both our sides. If you help me, Draven will have his prize, and I will have my revenge."
Cierce’s smile didn't reach her eyes. The stakes were high. If she helped Pandora, she might give Draven exactly what he wanted. But if she did nothing, the masked girl would continue to enchant the King and humiliate the nobility.
"Tell me more," Cierce whispered.