Chapter 27 27
Marigold POV
Sugar did not leave. Of course she didn’t. We ended up talking about the plan of me pretending to be Margaux.
Instead, she plopped herself onto the balcony chaise like she owned the damn place, swirling her soda like it was champagne. “Alright, dollface, listen up. If you’re going to pull this off—pretending to be Margaux—you need sass training. And lucky for you, I am an expert.”
I blinked. “Sass training?”
Gregor growled softly under his breath. “This isn’t necessary.”
“Shut it, Alpha Hulksmash,” Sugar shot back without even glancing at him. “Your girlfriend—”
“She’s not my—” we both said at the same time, only for Sugar to keep talking like we hadn’t spoken at all.
“—needs to learn how to act like a spoiled brat princess. Because from what I’ve heard, Margaux wasn’t just a wolf, she was a spectacle. If Marigold here walks into the palace acting like… well, herself…” She squinted at me, her grin wicked. “The jig will be up in five seconds.”
I crossed my arms, glaring. “Excuse me, I can be spoiled. Watch me. Uh…” I snapped my fingers dramatically. “Bring me… uh… three large fries and a strawberry milkshake, peasants!”
Sugar laughed so hard she nearly choked on her soda. “Oh honey, no. That’s hangry sass, not royal sass.”
That’s when Prince Leon appeared, barefoot and looking entirely too good for midnight. He pressed a kiss to Sugar’s cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they’d pop out of my skull. Of course, Mr. Royal Broody himself had to show up just as Sugar was making me look like an idiot.
“Sweetheart,” Leon murmured to her, voice softer than silk. “You should be resting.”
“Mhm, resting is boring,” Sugar replied, waving him off like he was a waiter she didn’t order. “Besides, I’m training your wolf’s fake fiancée to sass like a queen. Look—Marigold, repeat after me: ‘This Hermès bag is so last season, darling.’”
“What the hell is a Hermès?” I asked, genuinely baffled.
Sugar gasped so dramatically you’d think I just confessed to murder. “Did you hear that, Leon? She doesn’t know Hermès. We are doomed.”
Gregor’s lip twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “Margaux was obsessed with fashion. You’d have to at least… pretend.”
“Fine.” I huffed. “This Hermit bag is last seashell, darling.”
Both of them groaned in unison.
“It’s Hermès, not hermit!” Sugar clutched her chest. “Not a crab, sweetheart, a bag. Say it with me: air-mez.”
“Hair mess?” I offered.
Gregor actually chuckled, low and deep, which made my stomach flip traitorously. “Hair mess suits you better.”
I whipped my head toward him. “Excuse me? Did you just call me messy?”
“If the shoe fits.” He smirked.
“Oh, I’ll fit this shoe right into your smug face, Alpha.”
Sugar clapped her hands like an excited coach. “Yes! That’s it! More fire, more brat. Channel that into designer complaints. Like—uh—‘I specifically asked for rose gold, not champagne shimmer!’”
I groaned so loud the storm outside answered with thunder. “This is exhausting. Makeup names sound like rocket science, handbags are crabs, and I’m supposed to sass a king into believing I’m Margaux? We are doomed.”
“Not doomed,” Leon said calmly, sliding his arm around Sugar’s waist. His voice was steady, reassuring, annoyingly royal. “Just… unpolished. But Sugar is right. If you’re going to survive this, you’ll need to act the part.”
Sugar grinned smugly at me. “Told you.”
I flopped onto the nearest chair dramatically, arms dangling like a dying heroine. “Fine. Teach me how to be a spoiled brat. But if I trip in ten-inch heels and break my neck, I’m haunting all of you.”
Gregor’s eyes softened for a second, flicking to me with that wolf intensity that said he was half a second away from tearing the world apart just to keep me safe. Then he muttered, “You’re already haunting me.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Nothing,” he growled, too quickly.
But the smirk tugging at Sugar’s lips told me she heard it too.
A few minutes later. Somehow, somewhere between “Hermit bag” and “hair mess,” I lost control of the night. Sugar had officially declared Sass Bootcamp, and apparently, I was her unwilling trainee.
First came the makeup table. Yes, the makeup table. Sugar dragged me into the massive walk-in closet of doom—lined with dresses that probably cost more than my entire life insurance payout (if I had one). She whipped out a silver case full of lipsticks like a surgeon about to perform open heart surgery.
“Lesson one,” Sugar announced, holding up a tiny gold tube like it was holy relic. “Never say red lipstick. It’s Crimson Kiss No. 47. Repeat it.”
“Red lipstick.”
She glared. “Try again.”
“Crimson… something?”
Gregor’s voice rumbled from the doorway where he leaned, arms crossed, smugness radiating like sunlight. “She’s hopeless.”
“Don’t test me, Alpha Broody,” I snapped. “I killed a bear yesterday, I can survive lipstick.”
He raised a brow. “We’ll see.”
Sugar shoved the lipstick into my hand. “Now pout. Pout like you just found out your diamond tiara didn’t arrive on time.”
I pouted.
Gregor choked on his laugh. “She looks constipated.”
“Shut it!” I threw the lipstick at him, narrowly missing his smug jaw. He caught it mid-air, of course, because he was annoyingly good at everything.
“Keep going,” Prince Leon said smoothly from the corner, sipping wine like this was the theater. “This is… enlightening.”
“Don’t encourage them,” I muttered.
Next up: walking lessons. Sugar made me put on stilettos—bright silver skyscrapers designed by Satan himself—and balance a book on my head. “Stride, darling. Like you own the floor, like every wolf in the room should thank the Moon Goddess you even stepped inside.”
I tried. I really did. But on the second step, the book flew off, I tripped, and face-planted into Gregor’s chest.
“Comfortable?” he asked, not even flinching as I dangled like a ragdoll.
I shoved away, mortified. “I was testing gravity. It works, thanks.”
Sugar was dying of laughter. “Margaux never would’ve admitted that. She’d say, ‘The floor just kissed me because it couldn’t resist.’ Try that!”
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my brain. “The floor just kissed me because it couldn’t resist.”
Gregor smirked. “Better. Still constipated, though.”
“Alpha, I swear—”
“Focus,” Sugar clapped. “Now, lesson three: luxurious food complaints. Say you’ve been served truffle risotto but you wanted saffron.”
“What the hell is a truffle risotto?” I asked.
Sugar gasped like I just admitted I eat rocks. “You’re a wolf, not a barbarian!”
“Excuse you, barbarian cuisine is very tasty.”
Gregor chuckled under his breath. “Let her eat her spicy noodles, Sugar. She’ll sass the king with chopsticks.”
I jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t tempt me, Broodzilla. I will.”
Sugar fanned herself. “You two bicker like a married couple. Honestly, I ship it.”
“WHAT?!” we both barked at the same time, spinning toward her.
Leon actually laughed. Out loud. A royal laugh, smooth as velvet. “Sugar, behave.”
Sugar smirked at him, completely unrepentant. “What? I’m just saying—they have the fire. All they need is matching crowns and a joint bank account.”
Gregor growled. I groaned. And somewhere in the storm outside, thunder cracked like the Moon Goddess herself was laughing at me.