Chapter 36 36
GREGOR POV
She walked in like she owned the bloody kingdom.
Diamond earrings glinting, neckline gown sharp enough to bankrupt half the noble houses, the Berlin or Berjin bag-whatever-the-name dangling from her arm like it was forged in Olympus. And yes—the iWatch. Don’t ask me why a supposedly ancient royal princess had the latest tech strapped to her wrist like she was timing a CrossFit class, but here we were. Sugar trailed behind her in her prim P.A uniform, looking like she was two seconds away from filing an HR complaint about all this nonsense, while Prince Leon… oh, he was thriving. The smug bastard had tailored his suit perfectly, walking beside her like a man who was very much “in love,” while I knew damn well the only thing they were actually in love with was confusing the hell out of me.
And me? I was in my Alpha warrior uniform. Which suddenly felt like mud-stained boots compared to this circus of diamonds and designer bags.
The council room was thick with politics the second we stepped in. The king and queen seated like carved statues, eyes sharp enough to slice through pretenders. The Alpha Council lined up, each one whispering to the other, probably drafting a fresh set of assassination rumors before breakfast. Even the Alpha of Wolfgang pack, the wolf whose pack had bled against mine for decades, and the former pack of Marigold who ordered to kill her, sat smug in his chair, eyeing me like this was entertainment hour.
And then there was Beta Whiteland—Marigold/Margaux’s father. He kept staring at her like he was trying to read a book written in another language. Which, considering she wasn’t his real favourite daughter, wasn’t far off. His face twisted every time she twirled her hair too dramatically or waved her phone screen at Prince Leon like she was showing him memes instead of royal decrees.
Rumors? Oh, they were thriving. In less than twenty-four hours, “Princess Margaux” had transformed from cold political pawn into the kingdom’s favorite spoiled brat. And apparently, the court loved her for it.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Sugar, of course, nearly ruined it by whispering too loudly behind us, “Do you think if she drops that diamond earring on the floor, it’ll count as public property? Asking for a friend.”
Marigold elbowed her mid-step without breaking character, fluttering her lashes at Leon like she’d just been serenaded. Leon chuckled under his breath—too convincingly, damn him—and I clenched my jaw so hard it’s a wonder the council didn’t hear my teeth crack.
The queen cleared her throat. “Lady Margaux, you look… radiant.”
Marigold gave a little gasp, the type of gasp that belonged in a soap opera. “Oh, Your Majesty, you’re too kind. I barely slept a wink last night, Leon was just—so insistent—” she fluttered her hand, “—that I stay by his side. He’s terribly clingy, you know. I hardly had time to moisturize.”
The council collectively leaned forward.
Prince Leon smiled like a wolf in velvet. “What can I say, Mother? Love makes fools of us all.”
I swear, I nearly strangled him right there in front of the throne.
And Sugar? Sugar just muttered, loud enough for the first row to hear, “Clingy is one word for it. Ear-splitting is another. Some of us are innocent bystanders, you know.”
The room went pin-drop silent.
Marigold, the devil, beamed wider.
However...
If someone told me a month ago that I’d be sitting in the Royal Council chamber, forced to play audience to Princess Margaux—aka Marigold the accidental thespian—pulling off the role of “spoiled brat turned tragic heroine” like it was Broadway’s opening night, I’d have laughed them out of the pack.
But here I was.
The chamber itself was dripping with power—velvet drapes, gold-etched wood, the king and queen perched like vultures waiting for someone to bleed. The Alpha Council lined in rows, a wall of judging eyes. Wolfgang, the wolf I’d happily strangle with my bare hands, lounged like this was some kind of theater show. And right in front of me? Beta Whiteland—her supposed father—beaming like a proud stage dad who just watched his daughter nail the lead role.
And the worst part? She was nailing it.
Marigold—sorry, Margaux—sat straight-backed, her diamond earrings sparkling under the chandelier, the Berlin bag perched just so on the table. She had the whole council in the palm of her hand, alternating between sighing dramatically, fluttering her lashes at Leon, and giving perfectly timed eye-rolls like she was allergic to politics.
“Council,” the king began, his voice grave. “We are here to discuss the disturbing reports of my future daughter in law’s abduction.”
Abduction. Kidnapping. Assassins. Great. Nothing like a little light breakfast topic.
Before anyone could speak, Marigold slapped her hand against her forehead so hard I thought the tiara might fall. “Oh, Your Majesty, must we dwell on such horrid memories?” She sniffled—sniffled. “I was so close to death. If not for Alpha Gregor’s bravery—” she fluttered her hand toward me, “—I would not be here today to burden you with my tragic, fragile existence.”
Half the council gasped. The other half leaned forward like they were about to write poetry about it.
Sugar, behind us, muttered loud enough for me to hear, “Fragile, my ass. You nearly choked on that caviar last night and blamed the spoon.”
I coughed into my hand to cover the laugh threatening to escape.
Prince Leon, of course, leaned in with that smug politician’s smile and pressed a hand over Marigold’s. “She speaks the truth. Alpha Gregor and I were with her when the attack struck. Assassins came for her, and we barely survived. If not for Alpha Gregor’s quick instincts—” he paused dramatically, too dramatically, “—Margaux might have been lost forever.”
I swear, if his hand lingered on hers another second, I’d rip it clean off.
The queen gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Assassins? In our kingdom?”
“Tragic,” Alpha Wolfgang drawled from his seat, voice thick with mockery. “A future princess targeted so brazenly. Makes one wonder… were they truly after her? Or the Alpha who claims her protection?” His eyes slid to me, sharp as knives.
The room murmured.
Marigold didn’t miss a beat. She sat up straighter, eyes narrowing with just enough sass to silence the whispers. “Oh please, Alpha Wolfgang. Not everything is about Alpha Gregor.” She tossed her hair, earrings catching the light like a weapon. “I’m irresistible. Obviously, they wanted me.”
I nearly choked on air.
The council froze, then—like sheep—nodded in unison. “Well, yes… of course… she is the future princess…”
Perfect. They were buying it. They were actually buying this nonsense.
The king raised his hand, voice steady. “An investigation will be launched immediately.”
I almost gagged. Investigate? Please. The man knew damn well who sent those assassins. Hell, he probably signed the order himself, then sat here playing innocent like a priest in confession.
Beside me, Prince Leon squeezed Marigold’s hand again, his voice silky smooth. “Until then, Father, I insist Margaux remain under Alpha Gregor and my protection. She is safest by my side.”
The council swooned. The queen dabbed her eyes. Beta Whiteland looked like he’d already commissioned the wedding invitations.
Meanwhile, I sat there grinding my teeth so hard my jaw popped, trying not to let my wolf claw its way out and shred the velvet curtains.
Because while the entire council was being dazzled by her princess act, I knew the truth.
And the truth was this: the only assassins I wanted to deal with right now were the ones coming for my sanity, armed with tiaras, handbags, and Leon’s smug grin.