{Third Person}
Werewolf Imperial Palace~
A car halted, and the door swung open. Slowly, a tall werewolf guard approached with keen, evaluating eyes.
"Amara Caldwell," he said, opening the car door. "You have arrived."
At the wee hours of this morning, Amara was packed up and sent away without a single procession or entourage. And now, there was barely any emotion left on her face as she stepped out of the car and stared at the imperial palace looming before her like a warning.
Inside the palace, every step Amara took along the long, cold corridors echoed too loudly. Even here, there was no welcome banquet, court officials, or a ceremonial reception befitting a political bride awaiting her.
Instead, she was led forward without explanation. Even her personal servant was stopped at the palace entrance and asked to wait there.
Amara was forced to continue alone and was brought into a vast hall—plainer than she had expected, yet far more intimidating.
At the far end, seated upon a dark stone throne, was a woman whose presence dominated the room.
Queen Lysandra.
She was striking in a sharp, threatening manner, regal and immaculate. Then, her gaze swept coolly over Amara, like a blade pressed against bare skin.
Amara stopped where indicated and bowed slightly. "Your Majesty."
"The wedding date was moved up rather suddenly," the Queen said lazily. "I must say, I've never seen a human bride so eager to marry into our clan."
Amara's jaw tightened. 'Eager?'
If only the Queen knew the betrayals, the slap, the locked door, and the lies that had dragged her here. But Amara remained silent.
"You should understand this clearly," Queen Lysandra remarked as her gaze sharpened. "This is simply a political marriage. You are not a wife or a mate." Then, she went on. "You are just a consort. An upgraded breeding incubator. That is all."
Amara's breath faltered for the briefest moment before she forced it steady.
"You must have heard the rumours about your dear husband," the Queen said lightly. She paused, then chuckled. "Forgive me, dear monster."
Amara's chest tightened. The Queen noticed, therefore, her gaze brightened with interest.
"What do you think happens to those unfortunate enough to be near him when the curse takes hold?" she continued conversationally, as if discussing the weather.
Fear slid through Amara. She tried to steady herself and school her expression, but her heartbeat was too loud.
The Queen's smile widened with pure satisfaction. At last, she waved a hand dismissively and turned to the servant beside her.
"Looks like the poor girl won't even last a few weeks." She sighed theatrically. "Pour her some tea to patch her dry throat after the long journey."
A servant stepped forward immediately and presented a tray. A wooden cup of tea was placed before Amara.
Slowly, she lifted her head for the first time since entering the hall. Her hands shook as she reached out her fingers to brush the rim of the cup. But just then—
"Didn't your mother teach you anything about accepting gifts from strangers?"
The voice was low and cold. It did not need to be loud to command attention.
Amara recoiled instantly, withdrawing her hands as if burned. She bowed her head deeply, her instinct overriding her thought.
The air in the hall shifted as heavy, unhurried footsteps drew closer from behind her, each one landing softly on the floor with quiet authority.
Around her, movements erupted. Servants rushed aside, then dropped to their knees as one.
"Your Highness!"
They kowtowed deeply, their foreheads pressed to the floor. No one dared to rise or dared to look up.
Even Amara's skin prickled. She didn't need to turn to see who that man was. She knew because every instinct in her screamed the same answer.
Only the Alpha Prince could make the temperature plummet so sharply. Only he could draw such raw, instinctive fear from everyone present. The rumours had never exaggerated this.
Meanwhile, Queen Lysandra's expression twisted with displeasure, flashing across her face as she slightly shifted in her seat.
"Alexander," she said coolly.
The Alpha Prince stepped fully into view. He was tall, taller than most men in the Human clan. His build was lean and powerful, the kind of strength that did not need exaggeration.
Raven-black hair brushed his shoulders, smooth and untamed, threaded through at the front with streaks of white that looked neither aged nor accidental. They only made him more striking and dangerous.
He was devastatingly handsome in a way that felt wrong to admire.
Alexander offered the Queen nothing more than a barely perceptible nod, exempting himself from bowing or greeting her. The slight alone was deliberate.
Queen Lysandra's fingers tightened against the arm of her throne. "You arrive unannounced in my territory," she said sharply. "Do you find that acceptable?"
Alexander's gaze flicked to her, cool and indifferent. "Is there a problem with my presence?"
He did not wait for her answer as he added flatly, "This is the palace's receiving hall. Not your private domain."
The Queen's jaw clenched as she stared angrily at him. Aside from his looks, his mouth was the next second thing she despised most.
Despite his slight, she swallowed her fury, schooling her expression even as hatred burned behind her eyes.
'One day, I will tear that tongue from his mouth with my own hands,' she promised herself.
"I am still Queen," Lysandra said coldly. "And I remain above you. Mind how you speak."
Alexander scoffed. "Anyone who needs to constantly remind others that she is Queen," he said calmly, "is no Queen at all."
"Alexander!" Lysandra's composure cracked, her expression twisting with fury as the insult rang through the hall—heard by servants, guards, and worse, the human girl.
Amara's neck ached as she kept her head bowed, her pulse pounding while the air grew hostile.
She couldn't see the confrontation, but she felt the violence coiling between them. And one thing was very clear to her: these two were enemies, heading down separate paths.
"You have no right to address me so casually," Queen Lysandra snapped.
Alexander's voice dropped. "You have no right to call me by my name."
His words silenced the hall. Then, as if the Queen were no longer worth his attention, he continued evenly, "If you have nothing else to add, I will be taking my leave."
Lysandra seethed, her lips pressed tight as blood rose to her face. Alexander gave her another minimal nod, one of pure mockery, then turned.
Without warning, his hand closed around Amara's wrist and yanked her forward, leaving her no time to react or refuse.