Chapter 38 38
A few days later.
The move happened faster than I thought. One day, I was still reeling from my father’s smug smile in the council, the next I was being “escorted” with all the pomp and drama of a spoiled royal bride-to-be. The royal court bought every ounce of it—Margaux’s diamond tiara gleaming, Sugar trailing behind me with her clipboard, and Alpha Gregor stalking at my side like the world’s most unwilling bodyguard.
The separate royal villa for the future princess itself was obscene. Tall glass windows, sprawling gardens, endless corridors lined with art that probably cost more than the entirety of my childhood home. I almost laughed out loud at how ridiculous it was—me, Marigold, the twin who was nearly poisoned out of existence, now walking marble floors like some princess.
Of course, I didn’t let the awe show. I put on my Margaux-act the moment we stepped inside.
“Hmm,” I sniffed, flicking my wrist like the chandeliers offended me. “This villa will do. But only if my private chef can cook me dumplings every morning. And caviar for lunch. And dessert for dinner. Otherwise, I simply cannot function.”
Sugar nearly choked trying to hold in her laugh. Gregor? His jaw ticked like he was holding back the urge to strangle me—or maybe throw me over his shoulder. Hard to tell with him.
And that’s how our strange new life began.
Days blurred into routines of pretend-royalty: Sugar arranging my schedule like a tyrant secretary, me perfecting Margaux’s spoiled drawl, and Gregor brooding like a shadow that refused to leave. The villa became its own stage, with no courtiers watching—just us. And that’s where the cracks started to show.
Gregor wasn’t just the Alpha guarding me. He was the man who saw me at night, when the tiara came off and my hands shook from old memories. He was the one who caught me once, when my wolf surged with rage after a nightmare of my father and brother’s betrayal. His touch was steady, grounding, maddeningly warm.
But of course, Sugar had to stir the pot.
One evening, she leaned back on the sofa, sipping wine with a grin.
“You know, Goldie, if you really want to sell this act, you should practice royal tantrums. Throwing goblets, stomping, demanding roses at midnight. Maybe practice on Alpha Gregor here.”
Gregor’s glare could have set her hair on fire. Sugar just cackled, clinking her glass.
“Relax, big bad wolf. We all know you’d fetch her roses if she asked.”
My cheeks burned hotter than the wine. Gregor’s growl rattled the villa walls.
And just like that, the tension thickened—not the political kind, but the kind that made my heart trip over itself every time I was left alone in a room with him.
The next day.
The decision came swiftly, for me to be transfere to Leon's Pack and like most royal decrees, it was wrapped up in ribbons of diplomacy and hidden threats. Prince Leon was the one who suggested it—his smile just a little too charming when he proposed that Margaux should be “safeguarded” away from court until the winter solstice. Three months until the perfect royal wedding. Three months until this masquerade had to hold.
The king and queen agreed far too easily. I suppose it looked like the perfect solution: a future princess protected by an Alpha warrior in his own territory. Two hours away from the castle ground. Prince Leon, of course, made it sound like a non-romantic safeguard, as if my savior and I couldn’t bear to be parted. I nearly gagged.
Gregor, on the other hand, said nothing. He just inclined his head like the obedient Alpha he was supposed to be, though I saw his jaw tighten at the edges. And when he offered one of his villas—the villa, the one nearest to the royal castle—it was done. The council nodded, the queen smiled, and my father… my father looked at me like he had already won.
But I had my own conditions, delivered in Margaux’s most sassy voice.
“I cannot possibly live in a villa without my own private chef,” I declared, twirling the diamond bracelet on my wrist. “And maids. Not from the castle, of course. I only trust my savior’s household staff. Otherwise, how will I survive, hm?”
The council members exchanged glances. Some rolled their eyes. A few tried to hide their amusement. But in the end, it was granted. Just as we planned. No royal guards, no king’s spies stationed inside. Only Gregor’s men and my chosen staff—loyal wolves from his pack who had sworn their allegiance.
That night, Sugar leaned over as we packed my trunks and whispered, “Goldie, you’re dangerously good at being awful. If the real Margaux ever shows up, she’s going to sue you for impersonation.”
I laughed until I almost cried.
The villa was something out of a storybook.
White stone walls with ivy crawling across them. And of course, a tall glass windows that caught the morning light and turned every room golden. Trees so majestic covered the massive villa. Inside, a sweeping staircase that made me feel like a duchess every time I went down it. The gardens stretched wide and manicured, filled with roses and trimmed hedges, fountains that sparkled in the sun.
Alpha Gregor’s men handled everything in quiet efficiency, their presence steady but respectful. My maids fluttered about, arranging gowns and jewelry, while the chef—a middle-aged wolf with surprisingly sharp wit—introduced himself by saying, “Don’t worry, my lady, I’ve cooked for worse.”
I almost liked him instantly.
And of course, Sugar set up her little “office corner” like the professional chaos gremlin she was. She had her clipboard, her pens, and an expression that said she was about to run my fake royal life better than any court official could.
But the true test of this arrangement was Gregor.
At court, he was Alpha Gregor—stoic, imposing, never letting emotions slip. At the villa, with no one watching but me, Sugar, and his pack, he was still stoic, still imposing… but cracks started to show. Little moments where his wolf hovered too close, where his eyes lingered too long.
Our days began with me in full Margaux mode, sashaying around the villa like a spoiled royal.
“This bedroom is too small,” I announced one morning in a room big enough to host a ball. “I’ll need the curtains in silk. And where is my imported wine? Honestly, Greggy, do you expect me to drink from the local vineyard?”
Sugar nearly choked trying not to laugh. Alpha Gregor didn’t even blink. “You’ll drink whatever’s poured,” he said flatly, and stalked out of the room before I could sass back.
But later that evening, I found a bottle of imported wine on my dresser. Uncorked. Breathing. Waiting for me.
My heart did something dangerous then.
The slow burn came not from grand gestures but from the tiny ones.
Gregor walking me around the gardens at dusk, his hand occasionally brushing mine.
Gregor growling at one of the maids when she forgot to light the fireplace before I came in.
Gregor catching me in the kitchen at midnight, stuffing dumplings into my mouth like a starving wolf. “You’re supposed to be a princess,” he said, voice low, cornering me by the pantry.
“I am a princess,” I shot back through a mouthful of food. “Just… a hungry one.”
He stared at me for so long I thought he might drag me back to my room. But then he reached past me, grabbed another dumpling, and ate it himself. No words. Just that.
Something inside me melted.
Of course, Sugar noticed everything. She noticed when Gregor’s gaze lingered too long, when my cheeks went pink, when silence stretched between us too tightly.
“Slow burn?” she whispered one night while brushing out my hair.
“Shut up,” I hissed, shoving her with a pillow.
But she wasn’t wrong. Because as the days stretched into weeks, and the villa became more home than stage, I started forgetting where Marigold ended and Margaux began. I was supposed to be pretending. But sometimes, with Gregor so close, watching me with those storm-dark eyes… it didn’t feel like an act at all.