Chapter 31 31
By the time we finally rolled into the capital, my body was crying for a spa, my hair smelled faintly of fried chicken, and my mood was at rock-bottom sass levels.
But the second I saw the city, all the complaints lodged in my throat.
It was… massive.
The capital sprawled out like a glittering beast, all shining glass towers and sprawling plazas. Cars zipped everywhere, banners flapped in the breeze, and in the center—like some impossible jewel—stood the castle.
Huge. Majestic. Absolutely terrifying.
Its spires stabbed the sky like the crown of a god, walls carved in pale stone that glowed under the sun. Every inch screamed power, wealth, and the very real fact that I was about to step into a world where one wrong curtsy could get me tossed into a dungeon.
I pressed my face to the window like a kid at Disneyland. “Oh, crap. This is… this is insane. That’s a castle. A real one. Not the fake medieval kind next to a theme park funnel cake stand. That’s a whole monster of politics right there.”
Gregor glanced at me sideways. “Scared already?”
I shook my head quickly. “Nope. Just… appropriately horrified.”
Sugar’s voice crackled through the comms between the cars.
“Darling, horrified is good. Horrified means your mascara will smudge naturally. Very in season.”
I groaned, but secretly, I was glad she was here. Because as intimidating as that castle looked, I had no doubt Sugar was about to waltz in and make it her personal runway.
And me? Well, I just had to survive not tripping up those palace stairs.
However, the capital streets were madness, but the real chaos started at the castle gates.
The walls stretched sky-high, carved from pale stone, flanked by guards in polished armor that glinted like mirrors. The massive iron gates groaned as they swung open, and suddenly, every single guard had their weapon angled toward us.
And all because Alpha Gregor was driving.
The second the soldiers caught sight of him behind the wheel—stone-faced, hands gripping the steering like he was about to storm the kingdom—the radios lit up. Voices barked rapid orders, boots thundered, and within seconds, half the garrison was surrounding the SUV like we were a rolling bomb.
Apparently, in their eyes, Alpha Gregor was the criminal who had kidnapped Margaux, the prince’s future bride.
Spoiler alert: me.
“Great,” I muttered under my breath. “We’re about to die before I even get to fake my first spoiled-brat meltdown.”
Gregor’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. Of course he didn’t. Mr. Brooding Stone Face looked like he thrived on this tension.
Then Sugar let out a strangled gasp from the other SUV as she opened the car window. At first, I thought she was panicking about the weapons pointed at us. Nope. She was fanning herself dramatically. I swear my werewolf hearing was sometimes a blessing and a curse because I could clearly hear her.
“Oh. My. Gods. Do you see those uniforms? Tailored leather? Cape accents? Darling, if I faint, catch me—I refuse to be trampled in front of men who look like that.” She said with sass, knowing that I would be able to hear her loud and clear as our car stopped side by side.
I smacked my forehead and opened the car window, “Really, Sugar? Priorities?”
“I have priorities,” she whispered back fiercely. “And one of them is getting at least three phone numbers before we leave this gate.”
Before I could sass her again, a guard slammed his palm against Gregor’s hood, barking, “Step out of the vehicle, Alpha. Now!”
I was two seconds away from crawling under the seat when salvation appeared: Prince Leon’s SUV rolled up.
The guards froze. Their radios went dead silent. Then, as Leon stepped out, they practically tripped over themselves to bow.
“Your Highness!” the captain stammered.
Leon’s voice was calm, clipped, carrying the kind of authority that made even the walls seem to straighten.
“This is all a misunderstanding,” he announced. “Alpha Gregor has not kidnapped anyone. He sought an audience with the crown. Lady Margaux is safe.”
He glanced meaningfully at me through the tinted glass. I forced my best Margaux face—bored, slightly disdainful, like the chaos outside was beneath me. (Inside, I was two seconds away from vomiting up beef jerky and bitter coffee.)
The guards hesitated for a fraction too long, clearly itching to argue. But then Leon added, voice sharp as steel:
“You’re aiming your blades at the wrong people. Lower them.”
And like puppets on a string, the weapons dropped.
Just like that, the tension broke.
Alpha Gregor didn’t so much as blink, but I swear I saw his knuckles relax on the steering wheel.
The gates finally creaked wide enough for us to pass through, and Sugar leaned out her window, fluttering her fingers at the guards.
“Boys, if you’re single, please form a line at the east wing garden later. I’ll bring ink for autographs.”
The guards nearly choked trying not to laugh. Gregor groaned. I rolled my eyes so hard I worried they’d get stuck.
But as we rolled past those massive gates into the courtyard, one thing was painfully clear: the real performance was only just beginning.
Because behind those walls wasn’t just polished uniforms or dramatic entrances—it was the king. And one wrong word from me could get Gregor killed.
Several Minutes later.
If the castle gates were intimidating, the throne hall was a whole new level of oh crap.
The air inside the massive chamber felt colder than outside despite the golden chandeliers blazing overhead. Everything glittered: marble floors polished until you could see your reflection, blood-red banners embroidered with the royal crest, guards lined up like chess pieces.
And at the far end—sitting on a throne carved from black stone—was the King.
He didn’t look like the storybook kind of monarch. No kindly old man with twinkling eyes here. His presence was a weight. Broad shoulders under a cloak edged with wolf fur, a crown like a ring of claws, and those eyes—ice blue, sharp as blades—tracking me the second I walked in.
I swear my soul tried to crawl out of my body.
“Your Majesty,” Prince Leon said, bowing low, voice clipped. Alpha Gregor mirrored him with a stiff, respectful dip of the head.
I, meanwhile, did exactly what Sugar had drilled into me the entire night before:
I waltzed forward like the marble belonged to me, chin high, hips swaying just so, and gave the King a soft, airy curtsy.
“Your Majesty,” I said in the most Margaux voice I could manage—sweet, airy, just this side of bratty. “It’s been far too long.”
Inside, my heart was tap-dancing a death metal solo. Outside, I was basically a perfume ad on legs.
The King’s eyes narrowed. “Margaux.” His voice was low, dangerous. “You were missing.”
I blinked slowly—Sugar’s signature move—and tilted my head. “Missing? Oh, heavens no. Simply… delayed.”
(I wanted to vomit at my own words. But wow, did I sound like an airhead.)
The King’s gaze flicked to Gregor. “And you. Alpha. You took my son’s bride. Do you deny this?”
Gregor’s shoulders went tight. “It’s not as it seems, Your Majesty.”
I cut in, sugar-sweet. “Oh, future Father King—must we really start with accusations? I’m here, aren’t I? Perfectly fine.” I spread my hands, flashing a bored smile. “No harm done.”
I could feel Gregor’s wolf pacing just behind me, his energy hot and restless. I didn’t dare glance back at him.
The King rose. The room went dead silent. Guards straightened. Even Prince Leon tensed.
“Margaux,” the King said slowly, “your disappearance embarrassed the crown. The alliance with your pack is in jeopardy.”
Inside: Oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods.
Outside: I flicked imaginary lint from my sleeve. “Well, I’m here now. Isn’t that what matters? Plus, dear, Alpha Gregor did not kidnapped me, we were simply targeted by some ugly villain, my goshhh! They dare target the future princess. Dissapointed.”
Sugar’s voice from last night rang in my head: Be airhead. Be untouchable. Channel Hermes bag energy.
So I did. I tilted my chin and smiled like the world was my dressing room.
The King studied me for a long, terrible moment. Then he lowered himself back onto the throne, eyes still sharp. “We will discuss this further. Tonight’s banquet will be held in your honor. You will sit by my side.”
My stomach plummeted. A banquet. Great. More acting.
“As you wish,” I said lightly. “I do adore a good feast.”
Inside, I was screaming.
As the King motioned for us to leave, Gregor brushed past me, his arm brushing mine for a fraction of a second. His fingers grazed my palm, a silent anchor.
I didn’t dare look at him, but my breath hitched anyway.
This wasn’t a rehearsal anymore. This was the real stage. And one wrong line could get us both killed.
Gregor POV
The second those massive throne hall doors boomed shut behind us, my chest felt like it would split apart. My wolf was pacing, snarling, claws raking inside me as if the bastard king’s voice alone had trespassed on something sacred.
He dared to accuse me. To look at her like that. To talk about her as if she were a pawn, an alliance piece, something he could place wherever he damn pleased.
It took every ounce of control not to shift then and there and rip the marble apart with my teeth.
Marigold—no, Margaux, for their eyes—walked half a step ahead of me, satin robe swishing over her borrowed dress, her chin high, her expression pure airhead royalty. But I wasn’t fooled. I could smell her fear—sharp, like crushed pine needles—under the flowery perfume Sugar had drowned her in.
And still… she didn’t falter.
Not when the guards’ eyes tracked her like hawks. Not when the omegas lined up by the wall bowed so low their foreheads nearly touched the floor, trembling at the sound of my hiss slipping out. Not even when her hands shook slightly by her sides before she curled her fingers into dainty fists to hide it.
My wolf pressed hard against my skin. She’s ours. She’s ours. They can’t touch her.
Four omegas approached, heads bowed so deeply they looked ready to snap their necks. They carried folded linens and a silver tray of refreshments, voices quivering as they asked if “Lady Margaux” wished to rest in her chambers. One of them—a slip of a girl with freckles and ink-stained fingers—stole a glance up at me, then paled so hard she almost fainted when she caught my eyes glowing gold.
I hadn’t even realized my wolf was bleeding into my gaze until Sugar hissed softly behind me, whispering just loud enough for me to hear, “Alpha, tone down the murder eyes. You’re about to scare the omegas into the afterlife. Not a great political move.”
I didn’t look back at her, but I felt her roll her eyes, the dramatic way only Sugar could. She was playing her role well though—arms full of Margaux’s ridiculous fur stole, balancing a notebook, whispering things like, “Yes, Lady Margaux, we’ll make sure your bath is the right temperature,” as if she really was just a personal assistant.
But her sarcasm clung like static. And somehow, it kept me from losing the leash entirely.
Marigold stopped at the top of the staircase where the corridor split into royal guest wings. She tilted her head back at me with that practiced lazy blink she’d stolen from Sugar’s “spoiled brat” lessons. “Alpha Gregor,” she said, her voice light, dismissive, but I caught the flicker in her eyes. “Shall we?”
Her voice said Margaux.
Her eyes said don’t you dare leave me alone with these people.
And that was the problem.
I couldn’t protect her with words. I couldn’t kill them all—not yet. But gods, I wanted to.
My wolf shoved against my chest. Ours.
My hands flexed at my sides until my knuckles popped. I forced a nod, stepping forward, my presence alone scattering the guards who had lingered too close.
If anyone touched her—if anyone even thought of touching her—king or no king, crown or no crown…
They would not live to see another dawn.