Chapter 50 Hollow Echo
Pandora stood there, dressed in a shimmering night-robe of emerald silk, her long red hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of dried blood. She didn't look startled; she looked like she had been waiting. A slow, mocking smile spread across the Southern Princess’s lips as she looked Elara up and down.
"My, my," Pandora purred, her eyes glinting with a dangerous, knowing light. "The little stray finally learned how to bark."
Elara’s breathing hitched, her lungs burning from her frantic flight from Ronan’s chambers. The adrenaline of her argument with the King was still buzzing in her ears, but it curdled instantly into a cold, numbing reality as she stared into Pandora’s emerald eyes. Beside her, Kira stood with a smirk that was far too sharp for a servant.
The hallway, lit by the flickering, pale glow of moonstone lamps, suddenly felt too small, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and the metallic tang of an impending storm.
"Watch your tongue," Elara snapped, the words coming out as a rasp as she struggled to get her breathing back on track. She straightened her spine, refusing to let the trembling in her knees show.
Pandora scoffed, a light, musical sound. "Still barking? You shouldn't forget your place, Elara. You said it yourself. You’re a nobody from Northwood. An outcast. A piece of chipped glass in a palace of diamonds."
Pandora stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made Elara’s skin crawl. "I heard a rumor, though. Draven is already in Lycan territory. The Alpha of the North doesn’t like losing his property. I wonder if he knows that one of his dogs... is trying to cozy up to the Lycan King."
Elara staggered backward as if she’d been struck. The name Draven wasn't just a word; it was a physical weight. Suddenly, the corridor felt like the damp cellars of Northwood. She could almost smell the iron of the shackles and the stale air of her cage. The world tilted, her pupils roaming in frantic, jagged circles as her mind searched for an exit that didn't exist.
“Draven is here?” Elara whispered. The terror was a living thing, clawing at her throat.
Pandora lazily twirled a loc around her finger, watching the color drain from Elara’s face with clinical delight. "What’s with that look? Scared your owner has come to put the leash back on? You should know where you stand, Elara. Ronan and I go back centuries. The position of Lycan Queen belongs to me. You? You’re just a temporary curiosity. A pet he’ll grow bored of once the North comes to collect its debt."
The mention of being a "pet" hit a nerve that Draven’s name had left raw. Deep inside, Lyra let out a snarl that vibrated through Elara’s marrow. The fear was still there—massive and suffocating—but it began to curdle into a desperate, cornered kind of rage.
Elara forced her lungs to take in air. She looked at Pandora, then at Kira, who was watching her like she was a bug under a boot.
"I’ve shown no interest in being a Queen," Elara said, her voice shaking but gaining strength. "But rather than acting like an entitled brat, Pandora, maybe you should focus on your own standing. Because if you’re so secure in your 'centuries of history,' you wouldn't be lurking in hallways trying to bully a girl you claim is a nobody."
"You should apologize to Lady Pandora," Kira said, her voice laced with a smug, treacherous sweetness. "The Council is already pushing for her to be Queen. Once she is, someone like you won't even be allowed to scrub the floors of the Royal Wing. You’d be lucky if the King even remembers your name by the time you're dragged back to the North."
Elara felt a strange, cold clarity wash over her. It was the courage of the condemned. She ignored Pandora and walked straight up to Kira. The maid was taller, but Elara looked at her with a predatory smirk that made the girl flinch.
"Kira, right?" Elara said softly. "The last time I checked, you were a maid of this palace, not a Southern slave. And I am a guest of the King. Maids are meant to have manners, regardless of how much they want to crawl into a Princess’s shadow. Or does your loyalty change as easily as your uniform?"
Kira stepped back in genuine fright. At that moment, the silver in Elara’s eyes didn't just flicker—it ignited. A bright, piercing glow began to bleed into her irises as Lyra pushed against the surface.
Pandora’s expression shifted from amusement to a snarl. "What the hell are you? A witch? Some freakish hybrid?"
Elara turned back to the Princess, the frost from the stone floor beginning to creep toward Pandora’s silk hem. "Oh darling, why do you think I was called an outcast? It wasn't because I was 'normal.'"
The air thickened, the temperature plummeting as the two women's presence began to bleed into the physical world.
In that moment, Ronan rounded the corner, Matthew skidding to a halt behind him. Ronan stopped dead, his golden eyes widening. To his moon-blessed sight, the hallway was a war zone. He saw Pandora’s fiery, orange-red aura—burning like a Southern sun—clashing violently against Elara’s aura, which was a piercing, winter-storm silver.
Matthew gulped, his hand hovering over his sword. He had never seen a human aura hold its own against a High Alpha’s daughter like this.
"Elara—" Ronan began, his voice a low warning.
But Pandora was done with words. The sight of Ronan watching her struggle against a "stray" pushed her over the edge. She used her Dominant Voice, a low-frequency rumble that demanded total submission.
"Your tricks won't work on the Ridge, Northwood," Pandora hissed, her eyes burning with emerald light.
"A Queen is built on strength. If you think you're so much more than a slave, then prove it. I challenge you to a duel on the training grounds tomorrow at dawn."
Pandora stepped into Elara's space, her smile turning razor-sharp.
"The stakes, Elara? If I win, you leave this palace tonight, and I hand you to Draven myself. No King. No protection." Pandora leaned in closer, her voice a poisonous thread. "But... if you win, you get to stay in the Royal Wing and I will serve you as your personal maid for the duration of the Ridge. I will be the one scrubbing your floors while you watch the King from the high seats."
The humiliation of the stake was visible in the way Pandora’s own lip curled as she said it—she didn't believe for a second she could lose, but the mere thought of serving Elara was meant to show how little she feared the outcome.
The silence that followed was absolute. Ronan’s golden eyes went wide with horror. He opened his mouth to roar a denial, but the words died in his throat as he saw Elara’s face. She looked like a woman who had finally stopped running.
"Accepted," Elara whispered into the freezing air.