Chapter 53 54
Marigold sashayed her words like a weapon, every syllable dripping with false arrogance. Half the nobles bristled, some muttered, but it worked—the focus swung off me, off the clasp of our hands, and right back where it belonged: the so-called “safety” of this cursed palace.
Still, I couldn’t unclench my jaw. Couldn’t ignore the memory of her skin beneath my palm. Couldn’t forget the Queen’s smile.
Not here. Not ever.
A few hours later.
The King’s library smelled of leather, smoke, and old blood. Not literal blood—though gods know enough of it had been spilled to keep this throne in place—but the kind of iron-thick history that clung to every bound volume and carved shelf.
The storm outside hadn’t lifted. Rain slashed the high windows, thunder grumbling like a witness to what was about to unfold.
We stood before the fire. Me, the King, the Queen, Prince Leon. Marigold was dismissed—sent off with Sugar who clutched her arm and made loud, scandalized comments about fainting spells just to distract the nobles.
I should’ve been relieved she was out of the room. But without her there, without her scent cutting through the suffocating tension, my wolf had nothing to cling to. It paced inside me, restless, teeth bared at shadows.
The King’s face was carved from stone, unreadable. But the Queen?
She smiled. Like the poison hadn’t surprised her in the slightest. Like she’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“Well,” she said softly, her voice silk-wrapped steel, “what a tragedy a guest has died on our floor. But perhaps not an accident. Perhaps… a message.”
Her eyes slid to me, deliberate.
I met her stare head-on. My hands flexed against my thighs, fists curling and uncurling. “It wasn’t an accident,” I said flatly. “That poison wasn’t brewed in some back alley. It’s crafted, designed to strike at us. At our kind. I’ve seen it before—in the hands of humans who’d pay gold to see werewolves choke on their own lungs.”
The King’s jaw ticked. “You believe this was human-backed?”
“I don’t believe. I know,” I snapped, before I could leash my temper. “My beta reported signs of experimentation in the human territories. And now the substance shows up in your banquet hall? Inside your walls?”
Silence.
The Queen’s lips curved faintly, like a cat with cream. “Convenient,” she purred. “That your beta just happens to discover such plots, and that you just happen to arrive with warnings the very day an incident occurs. Almost… too convenient.”
My wolf lunged at the insult, claws scraping at my skin.
“You imply—”
“Enough,” the King cut in, sharp. His tone was iron, but his eyes were troubled. “No one is implying. What matters is truth. If the humans have developed such a weapon, then we are all in danger. Leon—” he turned to his son “—you’ll double the guard at the eastern border. Quietly. No panic.”
“Yes, Father.” Leon bowed slightly, though his eyes flickered to me, steady and measuring.
The Queen, of course, wasn’t finished. She leaned forward, voice as sweet as venom. “And what of your… Alpha here, my King? He has been unusually close to the future princess. Closer than protocol dictates.”
My body went cold.
Her words were daggers aimed not at me, but at Marigold.
The King’s gaze slid to mine, heavy as a millstone. “Is that true?”
My throat locked. My wolf howled for truth, for defiance, for a claim it wasn’t allowed to make.
“No,” I said, voice low, raw. “I protect her. Nothing more.”
The Queen’s smile said she didn’t believe me for a second. And worse—she didn’t need to. She’d already planted the seed.
I clenched my fists until the bones in my hands ached. My wolf raged, but I kept it chained with sheer will. Because one slip, one wrong move in this chamber, and I’d be branded not as a protector… but as a traitor.
And still—still—I couldn’t forget the way Marigold’s hand had felt in mine.
The library doors slammed shut behind me, the echo ricocheting down the marble corridor. My chest was tight, lungs straining like I’d sprinted the length of the castle, but it wasn’t running that made me feel strangled. It was her.
The Queen’s words still clung to me like poison smoke: closer than protocol dictates.
She’d said it so casually, so damnably sweet, planting her venom in the King’s ear. And his stare—that heavy, measuring stare—had burned through me.
I stormed through the hall, fists clenched, wolf pacing just beneath my skin. The urge to break something, to shatter a column or rip through a door, boiled in my blood. The only thing worse than being accused was knowing how close she’d come to being right.
Because I had held her hand. Because I had kissed her. Because my wolf didn’t see her as the prince’s fiancée, but as mine.
By the time I reached the guest suites, I was still vibrating with fury. The guards stationed at the end of the corridor tried to straighten, but one look from me had them shifting back like shadows.
I opened the door.
And there she was.
Marigold sat near the fire, shoulders tense, hair loose around her face like she hadn’t bothered to maintain Margaux’s perfect facade. She looked up the moment I entered, her eyes cutting through me. Not frightened. Not surprised. Just… searching.
Behind us, Prince Leon leaned casually by the doorframe, Sugar at his side. They looked like sentries—though Sugar, of course, couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
“Wow,” she whispered, too loud. “Somebody looks like he wants to murder the furniture.”
Leon smirked, but his eyes stayed sharp, steady on me. Watching. Measuring.
I shut the door harder than I meant to, then crossed the room in two strides. Marigold rose halfway to meet me, chin tilted. Her voice carried the same sass she always used to armor herself, but I could hear the worry beneath it.
“Well, someone’s brooding more than usual. What’d they do, demote you to rug-polisher?”
My jaw tightened. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she shot back. “Don’t act like I’m part of this? Like I wasn’t sitting there while they—” Her voice cracked. “Like I don’t know exactly what they’re trying to do?”
Her words hit too close. I turned away, trying to leash myself, but she followed—close, too close—until the heat of her was right there against my chest.
“Gregor,” she whispered, softer now. “Talk to me.”
My wolf shoved hard against the leash. The scent of her, the trust in her voice—it was dangerous. Too dangerous.
And then I felt it—her hand brushing mine, tentative, electric.
I caught it before I could stop myself. Held it. Hard. Like it was the only anchor in a storm.
Her eyes widened, lips parting. And for a heartbeat, the room narrowed to just us—the flicker of firelight, her breath, her pulse against my skin.
Then Leon cleared his throat behind us.
I dropped her hand like it burned.
Prince Leon’s voice was mild, but the weight in it was not. “We should talk. All of us. Because what’s happening here? It isn’t just politics anymore. My mother doesn’t set traps unless she’s preparing for war.”
Sugar, of course, piped up, grinning like she’d just caught us naked. “Also… you two? The hand-holding? Not subtle. At all.”
I growled under my breath. Marigold turned pink, glaring daggers at Sugar.
But inside me, my wolf was still howling—for her hand, for her kiss, for a mark it had no right to give.