I barely had time to scream, "I'm never riding that demon horse again!" before Lucien dismounted Nyx and snapped his fingers.
Literally. He snapped.
Because apparently that's how royalty commands people.
Within seconds, three maids in matching pastel uniforms appeared out of nowhere like magical groundhogs.
"Take her to the guest chambers," Lucien ordered. "Clean her up. New clothes. Hair. Everything."
I blinked. "Excuse me? Am I a stray cat to be cleaned up?"
One maid gasped. "Is that … mud in her eyelashes?"
Another whispered, "And twigs. In her soul."
Before I could protest, they surrounded me, herded me, and practically levitated me off the ground like a grumpy Cinderella.
"I swear, if one of you touches my eyebrows, we're fighting," I muttered as they dragged me away.
Meanwhile, in the Fancy Part of the Castle…
Lucien stepped into a grand chamber where three very regal people waited:
An imposing silver-haired man, a graceful woman with piercing blue eyes, and a brooding guy in armor who looked like he bench-pressed dragons for fun.
"You're late," the silver-haired man said. "Again."
"Good to see you too, Father," Lucien replied dryly.
Oh. Father.
Because apparently my moody travel companion wasn't just some charming rogue with cheekbones for days.
He was Prince Lucien Asterion—third prince of the realm.
Warrior. Outcast. Secret softie. And, inconveniently, royalty.
"What's this I hear about bringing a girl into the palace?" his mother asked.
"She's not just a girl," Lucien said, voice low. "She's important. She was rejected by an alpha prince … and survived."
"Survived?" his older brother scoffed. "They all survive."
Lucien met his eyes. "Not like this one."
Back in the Royal Bubble Bath from Hell…
I was buried in lavender bubbles, wrapped in silk, and interrogated by the maids like I'd stumbled into a makeover montage gone wrong.
"Your hair—gorgeous, but tragic."
"These clothes? Criminal."
"Sweetheart, are you even moisturizing?"
"I just escaped a monster attack," I protested. "Sorry for not spritzing rosewater while dodging claws!"
They ignored me—professionals at work—and continued Operation Fix the Feral Girl.
When they were done, I looked in the mirror and gasped.
I didn't recognize myself.
Hair: soft waves.
Skin: glowing.
Outfit: a sleek midnight-blue gown that made me look like a magical heiress on her way to slay both enemies and exes.
For the first time, I didn't look like a maid.
I looked like someone with power.
The door swung open.
Lucien stood there, eyes widening for just a second before he masked it.
"You clean up nice," he said.
"I had help. And threats," I replied.
He smiled faintly. "Come. There's someone you need to meet."