Celine sat in her bed, her muscles aching, her mind spinning. The remnants of last confrontation with Damian still scorched through her mind. His words sharp and accusing reverberated in the silence of her room.
"You disobeyed me. Again," his voice had thundered, laden with a mix of anger and disappointment.
"You wouldn't train me. So I found someone who would," she recalled, the irony of his tone mingling with her own regret.
Damian's golden eyes had darkened with barely contained fury. Yet, despite his seething anger, he had refrained from punishment. Instead, he had stormed out, leaving a void filled with unresolved tension. As she sat up, Celine's pulse still raced at the mere thought of him. There was something in his intensity that terrified and fascinated her in equal measure,a magnetism that she secretly craved.
Before the weight of the memories could settle, the sound of the door swinging open startled her. Expecting Damian's return, Celine tensed, but found Lilian instead, a maid with a penchant for mischief and an irreverent smile that betrayed no concern for propriety.
"Good morning, princess," Lilian chirped as she bounded into the room, her eyes dancing with teasing delight. "Look who's still breathing after sneaking out past the Lycan King's orders!"
Celine groaned and tried to shield herself with a hand. "Lilian, not now… Please."
Ignoring the plea, Lilian plopped onto the edge of the bed. "So, how much trouble are you in this time?" she pressed, her tone playful yet laced with curiosity.
"Enough," Celine muttered, rubbing her temples as if trying to smooth away the tension. "If Damian finds out you know I trained with someone… he'll lose it."
Lilian's eyes widened theatrically. "Did he roar? Brood in that dark, intimidating way? And… did he punish you?" she teased, nudging her curiosity further.
Before Celine could retort with an exasperated throw of a pillow, the door thumped open again. Both women fell silent as Damian stepped in. His presence filled the room with a charged intensity that made every hair on Celine's neck stand on end.
"Get dressed," Damian commanded, his voice rough and edged with something more than anger. His eyes, normally a brilliant gold, now shimmered with a darkness that unsettled her. "You're coming with me."
"Where?" Celine asked, her voice barely concealing the uncertainty that prickled beneath her skin.
Without a word, Damian turned on his heel, expecting her immediate compliance. Despite the storm of emotions whirling inside her, Celine followed, her steps hesitant but resolute. There was an unspoken promise in his silent directive. A promise laced with both danger and undeniable desire.
The grand hall of the Lycan court was a cavern of tension and whispered judgments as Celine entered. Seated around a massive oak table were the court's highest-ranking members, their eyes fixed on her with thinly veiled skepticism. At the head of the table sat Lady Rose, her gaze as sharp as the thorns on a rose bush.
"Your Majesty," began Lord Derick, the Lycan Kingdom Commander ,
,a broad-shouldered man with a scar cutting across his left cheek.
"we have gathered to address the complications arising from your intended wife's… unconventional choices."
Celine's stomach churned. She knew this day would come, the public challenge of her legitimacy, her outsider status. "Here we go again," she thought, steeling herself.
Lady Rose's smile was all pretense as her eyes slid toward Celine. "We simply wish to express our concerns," she purred. "Surely, you understand why an outsider could pose a problem."
A murmur of discontent rippled among the nobles. Celine's heart pounded, but she raised her chin. "I was raised outside your traditions," she admitted softly, "yet I stand before you as his mate."
...
Commander Derick rose again to speak, "Princess Celine," he declared loudly, his voice echoing against the stone walls, "how can we be sure that a mere werewolf, raised among humans, is truly fit to stand as our king's consort? Your lineage is questioned, your abilities unproven!"
A murmur of agreement spread through a faction of the assembly, and some nobles exchanged glances full of suspicion and challenge. Celine's heart pounded as she listened. She could see some faces harden with resolve while others, perhaps too fearful to speak out kept silent.
Unable to let the challenge pass, Celine stood, her voice clear and unwavering. "Commander Derick, if you question my lineage and my worth, know that I have fought every day to prove myself against prejudice, against expectations, and against the very bonds that seek to define me. I may be new to your customs, but I assure you, my strength is not measured by where I come from, but by the choices I make."
Her words hung in the air, charged with a quiet defiance. For a moment, the tension tightened further, until Damian's voice sliced through the murmurs like a blade.
"Enough," he declared, his tone icy and final. "Celine is under my protection. This meeting is over."
He moved to stand beside her, his hand briefly grazing her arm, a touch that sparked a jolt of warmth despite the hostility around them. In that brief contact, an unspoken promise passed between them, electrifying the atmosphere. Lady Rose's expression shifted imperceptibly, her gaze narrowing as if silently plotting her next move.
That night, as the world outside slumbered, an uneasy silence wrapped around Celine's chamber. Sleep, if it came at all, was troubled. A sudden movement in the shadows woke her with a start. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled with forewarning. Before she could fully comprehend, a glint of steel flashed past her bed.
A dagger, swift and precise sliced through the air, embedding itself into her pillow mere inches from her head. Celine's breath hitched, and adrenaline surged through her veins. As she rolled aside, three figures emerged from the darkness: masked, armed, and silent in their lethal intent.
Instinct took over. Celine dodged the first strike, her body moving on a preternatural sense of danger. She blocked the second attack, but then the chaos shifted. In a moment of vulnerability, a blade caught her shoulder, sending a searing pain down her arm.
Clutching the wound, Celine's mind raced as the attackers closed in, their silent determination as cold as the steel in their hands. In the midst of the assault, a voice low, commanding, and laced with fury, erupted from the shadows.
A roar shattered the stillness, and within seconds, Damian burst into the room. His transformation was swift and merciless. With a primal fury, he lunged at the assassins. His claws slashed with brutal precision the first assailant never had a chance to cry out. In the next heartbeat, Damian's fangs found their mark, silencing another foe in a savage display of dominance.
The remaining attacker faltered, his eyes wide with terror, before he turned and fled into the night, leaving behind a final, haunting message scrawled in haste: "You don't belong here, lost princess."
Celine staggered, her strength waning from blood loss, her heart pounding in a chaotic rhythm. Damian turned toward her, his face a mix of raw rage and tender concern. His eyes, still that same golden hue but now shadowed with the wildness of his nature, bore into hers.
"Mine," he growled. A word that held both a promise and a threat.
The command vibrated through her, igniting a torrent of conflicting emotions. Heat and fear intertwined as Damian stepped closer, his hand gently cupping her chin. For one breathless second, Celine believed his next action might be a kiss, a moment of intimacy that defied the violence surrounding them.
But as quickly as the moment had bloomed, it shattered. Damian pulled away sharply, his voice strained yet resolute. "Go to sleep, Celine," he ordered, leaving no room for argument.
Alone once again in the now-quiet chamber, Celine's thoughts raced.