(Nyx's POV — First Person)
The silence after the bond snapped into place was worse than any battlefield.
Every camera was pointed at him. At her. At me.
The Lycan King wasn't supposed to stumble. He wasn't supposed to break protocol or falter mid-ceremony. But Dorian Voss stood like someone had driven a blade straight through his chest. His eyes—silver flickering through slate-grey—were fixed on me, and the crowd knew.
Not Liora. Not the princess they'd dressed in white silk and prophecy.
The guard. The shadow.
My hand closed tighter around the baton hidden at my side. My wolf thrashed in my ribs, demanding what she already knew. Mate. Yours. Ours. Now.
"Your Majesty." The archbishop's voice cracked on the title, too sharp in the echoing chamber. "The moon awaits your vow."
But he wasn't looking at the dais. He was looking at me.
The whisper spread like fire, catching dry grass."Who is she?""Why isn't he—?""The guard? He's looking at the guard."
Liora's smile froze, porcelain over panic. She didn't dare look back at me. If she did, the world would see it—the identical face, the truth they'd buried twenty years ago.
"Shadow One," Commander Ren's voice crackled in my ear. "Do not move. Do not react."
My jaw locked. I could feel a dozen crosshairs of attention snapping onto me—priests, nobles, wolves bristling at the King's loss of composure. This was not how tonight was supposed to go.
Dorian's lips parted. I braced for denial. For him to snap his wolf back into line, to look past me and grab Liora's hand like duty demanded.
Instead, a growl rolled from his chest, low and violent. It silenced the room better than any bell. His wolf had risen close to the surface. He wasn't resisting it.
He was claiming.
"Mine."
The word wasn't spoken to the crowd. It wasn't for the priests. It was for me.And it rattled every chain I'd ever worn.
Gasps erupted. Someone dropped a glass. The orchestra stuttered to a halt.
"Blasphemy," one of the elder priests spat. "A false bond—witchcraft!"
"No—" Liora's voice sliced through, brittle and desperate. "No, it's me. It has to be me." She reached for him, her hand trembling in the light. "The prophecy said—"
Dorian didn't even look at her. His eyes pinned me like a wolf scenting prey.
"Nyx."
My aunt Serice's voice purred from across the dais, her pearls catching firelight. She didn't look shocked. Not the way she should have. "Step forward, dear. Let the King see what he thinks he's found."
My blood went cold. She'd used my name—the name she should never have spoken in public.
The room went silent. The murmurs sharpened into recognition.Twin. Copy. Shadow. Assassin.
And then, like fate wanted to hammer the point harder, the first arrow flew.
It came from the northeast balcony, silent and true, aimed straight for Liora's chest.
Training took over. My body moved before my mind caught up. I dropped the baton, snapped a blade from the sheath at my thigh, and launched it. My shoulder slammed into Liora's as the arrow hissed through the space where her heart had been.
It buried itself in my arm instead. Pain bloomed hot and instant, but my grip on the knife was steady.
Liora screamed. The crowd erupted. Wolves snarled, priests shouted incantations, guards drew weapons too slow.
I was already moving, spinning toward the balcony, eyes locking on the glint of the archer's second arrow.
"Shadow!" Ren barked in my ear. "Stand down!"
But there was no standing down. Not anymore.
Blood poured down my arm as I fought through the chaos, my vision tunneling on the threat above.
And then Dorian leapt from the dais—straight for me, not Liora.
Because the King's bond had just marked me in front of the world.And now the world wanted me dead.