Arin closed the door behind her and exhaled the breath she had been holding since leaving the courtyard. Without a wolf to speed her healing, the ceremonial cut across her palm still ached. A dull, persistent throb beneath the salve one of the palace healers had rubbed in silence. Their eyes had carefully avoided hers the entire time.
The Queen's chamber was too grand, too pristine for the way she felt, lined with silver mirrors and windows steeped in moonlight. A tub sat cold and unused near the hearth. Her new robes, royal ones lay folded on a chaise: indigo velvet, high-necked, embroidered with the crest of the united packs.
A nameless queen, dressing for a celebration built on her humiliation.
The maids fluttered around her like startled birds, young and nervous, their hands shaking slightly as they unfastened the clasps of her mating gown. They didn't speak unless necessary.
"I'll fetch the final set of hairpins," one whispered.
"The tiara needs adjusting," said another.
Then, without waiting for her approval, they slipped out of the chamber, likely relieved to escape the silence pressing down on them like heavy snow.
The bridal chamber should have been teeming with family and friends excited for her new beginning. Instead, it was empty. No one dared offend Nova more than they wished to ingratiate themselves with the new queen, after all they knew where true power rested.
Arin stood alone in her underdress, shoulders bare, back straight. The white silk pooled around her feet like spilled milk, stained faintly red from the blood of the bond.
She had still not cried. Not in the courtyard. Not during the ceremony. Not under the thousand judgmental eyes on her return to the palace.
But now, in the stillness, she allowed herself one shudder. Just one.
And then the door opened.
Not a maid.
Not her father.
Nova.
Arin turned slowly, dread coiling low and tight in her stomach, but her chin lifted on instinct. She wouldn't be seen cowering.
Nova shut the door behind her with careful grace, her steps deliberate as she crossed the room like a queen already crowned.
She was radiant in the silk that clung to her curves, hair swishing with her movements as she walked, the stones in her circlet seemed to glitter mockingly at her.
Nova's smirk was gentle, but Arin recognized it for what it was.
Another performance. Another blow.
"I came to congratulate you," Nova said, her voice honeyed with mock concern. "The realm has never seen a mating ceremony quite like that. Truly unforgettable."
Arin said nothing, but she didn't drop her gaze either. Her silence wasn't surrender, it was a blade held tight.
Nova circled her slowly, gaze drifting to the bloodstain on Arin's discarded gown.
"Such a shame about the kiss. But then, Roan's always had impeccable instincts, hasn't he? He doesn't fake what he doesn't feel."
Arin didn't flinch. She folded her arms slowly across her stomach and met Nova's eyes without wavering.
"Did you come to pay allegiance to your new queen?" she asked, her voice low and cold.
Nova blinked, caught off guard for a second.
"Oh, but don't look so wounded, sister dearest. Or should I say… Queen?" Nova chuckled. "I suppose that makes me your subject now. Isn't that delicious?"
Arin's lips curled faintly, but it wasn't a smile.
"Only if I believed you'd kneel," she said.
Nova leaned in close, her perfume cloying, sickly sweet. "You and I both know this is temporary. He'll do his duty… he has. The bond was forged, the politics are satisfied. But soon... he will come to me."
Her voice dropped to a vicious purr. "He loves me, Arin. He always has. And when the dust settles, when the council stops pretending this wasn't a mistake, he'll make me his official mistress. I'll bear the heir. The realm will rejoice that they've been spared another wolfless monstrosity."
Arin's jaw tightened. Her fists clenched, nails biting into her palms. But still, she stood her ground.
"He'll do what he wants," she said, voice steady. "Just as he always has. But don't mistake his lust for loyalty. He might come to your bed, Nova, but that doesn't make you queen. That makes you used."
Nova's smile faltered for just a beat. Then it returned, sharper.
"You'll remain a footnote," she sneered. "The wolfless queen in title only."
Arin stepped forward. Just one step. Enough to force Nova back without touching her.
"Careful," she whispered. "You might want to save your breath. You'll need it to explain to your supporters why you will never be queen."
Nova's face drained of color.
Arin didn't wait for a reply. She turned her back and returned to the chaise, as if Nova had never entered at all.
After a long, seething moment, Nova swept out of the room, the door clicking shut with a finality that didn't touch Arin.
She stood there, her hands trembling. The rage and humiliation twisted inside her, but she would not be broken. She refused.
She had nothing to throw. No mother to turn to. No soft place to fall. But she would survive, as she always had, spitefully, rebelliously.
The ache bloomed in her chest anyway at the thought of a mother's arms. A feeling she had never known.
Her lips parted as if to call for someone, anyone.
But only silence answered.
When the maids returned, they didn't meet her eyes. Arin doubted they ever would. She imagined Nova had ordered them to leave her earlier. That would have been her style.
They finished their tasks quietly. Dressed her in the indigo robes that marked her station. Twisted her hair with moonstones. Painted her lips crimson.
They handed her a delicate silver half-mask to honor the tradition of hiding a mate's expression on the night of celebration.
It felt ironic.
She wore it anyway.
When she entered the ballroom, the golden doors opened with a booming announcement:
"Her Majesty, Queen Arin of the Unified Realm."
Every eye turned.
The hall was a storm of color and sound, laughter, music, clinking glasses. Courtiers raised goblets. Dancers spun like petals in the wind. The tables overflowed with food and wine.
But Arin saw only them.
Roan and Nova.
Dancing.
Roan, who hadn't spared her a single word since the ceremony. Whose hands now rested easily on Nova's waist, guiding her across the polished floor like they'd done it a hundred times before.
Maybe they had.
There was something practiced in the way they moved. familiar, fluid. Perfect harmony.
Nova leaned in to whisper something. Roan didn't smile. But he didn't pull away either.
The court watched. Whispered. Wondered.
The queen had arrived.
And the king was dancing with someone else.
Arin stood at the top of the steps, her mask cold against her skin. She felt no one at her side. No welcoming arms. No safety.
"Should we greet her?" someone whispered behind a fan.
"Let her be. She looks like a ghost."
A ghost.
Not yet.
But something inside her was dying.