Chapter 52 53
MARIGOLD POV
Of course. Of course the universe couldn’t let me have my private corridor drama in peace. No, it had to throw Prince Leon into the mix.
And not just Leon.
Sugar.
Yes. Sugar. My supposed best friend, my partner in crime, my sister-in-sass—currently giggling like a lovesick squirrel next to Leon, as if the two of them hadn’t just walked into what was definitely not a near-kiss moment between me and Gregor.
I swear I felt my soul leave my body.
Prince Leon strolled closer, all effortless grace, his arm brushing against Sugar’s as if that was the most natural thing in the world. “I couldn’t attend the council earlier,” he began, but his eyes were pinned to Gregor with a sharpness that belied his casual tone. “My mother sent me east to handle human territory matters. Apparently, the Queen fears we’re being targeted by humans who want our kind dead.”
No surprise there.
But why was she acting like she cares?
Alpha Gregory bristled at that, muscles taut like a bowstring. I could practically hear his wolf pacing under his skin. “She fears it—or she knows it?” His tone was dark, suspicious.
Prince Leon’s lips curved into the kind of smile that was half secret, half warning. “Smart question.” Then he tilted his head, almost lazily, and added, “Let’s just say… I’ve learned my mother doesn’t fear shadows unless she’s the one casting them.”
Ooooh. Cryptic. Mysterious. Potentially treasonous. Classic Leon.
Sugar, bless her, leaned into him like the dramatic reveal wasn’t happening, her fingers brushing his sleeve as she laughed softly. “Leon, don’t start sounding like one of those ominous storytellers in the market square. You’ll give Marigold wrinkles.”
Wrinkles.
Excuse me?
I fixed my human best friend with my best what the hell, traitor? stare. She only winked at me before turning those sparkly eyes back on Leon, like he’d hung the moon just to impress her. And Leon—sweet heavens—was eating it up. He bent close, murmuring something in her ear that made her laugh again, and I—yes, me—had to physically hold back an eye roll so big it would have dislocated something.
Meanwhile, Alpha Gregor stood beside me, radiating enough heat to set the tapestries on fire. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just… burned. I could feel it through the narrow gap between us.
And me? Oh, I was stuck in the middle of political conspiracies, potential human wars, a maybe-evil queen, a prince dropping cryptic hints, and my best friend practically cuddling said prince while I tried not to scream into my sleeve.
“Fantastic,” I muttered under my breath. “Humans plotting war, queens plotting gods-know-what, and Sugar plotting my early death by secondhand embarrassment.”
Gregor’s head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I said sweetly, plastering on my brightest, fakest smile. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
But I swear, if Leon and Sugar giggled one more time, I was going to throw myself out the nearest window.
The next day
Dinner with royals. Yay. Nothing says “romantic slow burn with your broody Alpha” like sitting in a glittering hall with the King, Queen, and every noble in velvet while Alpha Gregor stares daggers into his plate like he wants to stab the silverware.
The long banquet table was a battlefield in itself. Goblets gleamed, roasted boar smoked, and jeweled courtiers whispered behind lace fans. I was seated right next to the prince and Alpha Gregor—because apparently fate likes watching me suffer—and Sugar was behind me, secretly mooning at Prince Leon like they were already rehearsing their royal wedding vows.
I was busy pretending to sip my wine without thinking about Gregor’s lips when chaos struck.
The servant who had just poured my cup faltered. His tray clattered to the floor. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed—mouth frothing, body seizing right there on the marble.
Screams ricocheted through the banquet hall. Nobles scrambled, skirts tore, goblets spilled red wine like blood.
“Poison!” someone cried.
Gregor was already on his feet, grabbing my wrist and yanking me behind him. His wolf was practically vibrating through his skin, every muscle taut, his gray eyes burning as if he was ready to tear through the walls to find whoever was behind this.
But it wasn’t just poison. No, I knew the signs. The guard captain shouted about “supplement powder” that had been smuggled into the kitchens—just like Gregor’s intel warned. And here it was, in the palace itself, killing staff under the Queen’s watch.
The King slammed his goblet down, face red with fury. “WHO ALLOWED THIS INTO MY HOUSE?”
Everyone froze. Except the Queen.
She sat there, regal, calm, her jeweled fingers folded as if she was merely bored of the theatrics. And when our eyes met—Saints help me—she smiled. Smiled.
Gregor growled low under his breath, so quiet only I could hear.
I elbowed him, whispering, “Don’t start a war at the dinner table, alpha. At least let me finish dessert first.”
His glare cut to me, sharp and infuriating, but his grip on my wrist tightened—steady, protective, maybe a little possessive. Okay, fine, a lot possessive.
Then he leaned down, voice rough, for my ears only. “This wasn’t an accident. She knew.”
And my stupid heart? It skipped like a fool. Not because of the poison. But because even in the middle of a literal assassination attempt, his wolf’s first instinct was to shield me.
Of course, that’s when Sugar chose to beam behind me and whispered in my ears, like she just forgot that werewolves has divine hearing power-whatsoever, “Oh my GOD—you two are holding hands. During a poisoning? Really?!”
“WE ARE NOT—” I snapped, too fast. Alpha Gregor said it at the same time, gruffer, and the effect was… not great.
Damn werewolf hearing.
Half the table turned to stare. Including the King.
And oh, didn’t he frown.
GREGOR POV
Poison.
Inside the palace banquet.
With the King, the Queen, the Prince—and her—all seated in the same hall.
If there was ever a moment I wanted to shift and rip throats in front of half the noble council, it was now. The servant’s body was still twitching near the wine goblets, foam clinging to his lips, and the King’s roar shook the vaulted ceiling.
But none of it mattered as much as the weight of her wrist in my hand. I hadn’t realized until too late that I’d grabbed Marigold. Too tight. Possessive. My wolf demanded it—shield her, cover her, tear apart anything that so much as breathed wrong in her direction.
And then I made the mistake of looking up.
The Queen was smiling.
Not shocked. Not furious. Smiling.
It wasn’t the soft smile of a mother. No, this was a snake’s curl, the kind that says: I’ve been waiting for you to notice.
I nearly bared my teeth at her right there. My wolf scraped at my insides, begging me to lunge across the damn table.
But then—blessed timing—Prince Leon leaned forward and casually took Marigold’s free hand, sliding it between his and the edge of the table as if it was him she’d been clinging to the whole time.
It was a clean save, political, elegant—exactly the kind of move that stopped the King’s sharp eyes from narrowing any further in my direction.
Still, my jaw ticked so hard I thought I’d crack a tooth. Leon’s fingers on her wrist burned in my vision. My wolf hated it. Despised it. Wanted her hand back. But thank God for his quick thinking.
I sat rigid, gray slacks pressed taut against my thighs under the table, fists balled, breathing in Marigold’s scent like it was the only anchor keeping me from tearing the room apart.
Then, as if things weren’t already cursed enough, Sugar leaned over Marigold’s ear like some demented court jester. “Oh my GOD—you’re all holding hands like some weird triangle!” Darn sugar and her mouth, sometimes she forgot that we were werewolves and our hearing was beyond that of an ordinary human.
I swore the heavens themselves went silent. Every noble eye flicked toward us.
“WE ARE NOT,” I snapped. Too sharp. Too fast. My voice echoed in the marble chamber like an oath.
And of course, Marigold matched me in the same breath, her sass cutting like a whip. “WE ARE NOT!”
The King frowned so hard it felt like the room chilled ten degrees.
Thank the goddess for Prince Leon.
If he hadn’t been quick enough to slide his hand over Marigold’s other one, covering it with that easy, princely charm of his, I would’ve been caught. The King’s eyes were already sharp as daggers, suspicious. And the Queen… saints, she was watching me like she knew. Like she’d been waiting for me to make a mistake.
Marigold sat between us, her posture flawless, her lips pressed into the kind of pout only Margaux would dare wear in the middle of a poisoned banquet. And me? I was a fool—still holding her wrist too tight, like the contact was the only thing keeping me sane while a servant’s corpse was cooling on the floor.
Prince Leon saved it, covered it, turned it into some innocent gesture between “fiancé” and “bride-to-be.”
If the situation wasn’t so dire, I might’ve laughed. Might’ve kissed her just for the audacity of it.
The King’s frown deepened, heavy as stone.
But Marigold—gods bless her reckless, razor-tongued soul—only tilted her chin high, every inch the spoiled, untouchable princess she was pretending to be. “Honestly,” she drawled, loud enough for the entire hall to hear, “is no one going to comment that I was nearly poisoned here? If even I’m not safe, then what are all these guards for? Decoration?”
Murmurs rippled, shifting the scrutiny back where it belonged. Away from me. Away from the heat still lingering where my hand had pressed against hers.
But the Queen… the Queen was still smiling.
And I knew, without a shred of doubt, that she saw everything.