Liora's POV
Setting: The Vale Royal Palace.
The palace was too quiet.Too still for the chaos clawing at her chest.
Liora sat in the grand solar, curtains half-drawn, a thousand candles flickering in polished mirrors. The broadcast replayed on every screen—official footage from the Lycan Council's emergency press conference.
The King of Veyrune—her betrothed, her fated match, her destiny—was carrying another woman in his arms.
Her twin.Nyx.
The image froze on the moment Dorian's hand brushed Nyx's face, his thumb smearing blood from her cheek with a tenderness that shouldn't exist. Pack sensors in the background flared crimson on the monitor—scent bond confirmed, the caption read in silver script.
And then came the words that shattered everything she'd built her life upon:"The prophecy is fulfilled."
The remote clattered against the marble floor as she threw it, shattering the glass of a nearby vase.Water spread like veins of light, glistening beneath the footage that still looped—his mouth forming her sister's name.
Liora's throat constricted. Her reflection stared back at her from the darkened window—golden hair unbound, silk gown crumpled at the waist, a queen's poise fracturing under the weight of rejection.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, it was supposed to be me."
She had been groomed for this since birth—the Golden Twin, blessed by priests, confirmed by the counsel as the chosen one, and molded for devotion. The chosen bride to unite the kingdom. The prophecy had named her. Her.Not the one who was supposed to have died, or in truth to have been killed.
Her eyes, swollen and sharp with fury, caught her own reflection again as she rose.
Her appearance was a contradiction in time—ancient royalty wrapped in modern edges. A delicate crown gleamed upon her golden head, its filigree catching the candlelight like spun fire. She wore a crisp white blouse tucked neatly into black tights that clung to her like a second skin, the contrast making her look both ethereal and severe. Black stilettos clicked sharply against the marble floor, each step a quiet declaration of control.
Her waist was impossibly small—an almost inhuman silhouette sculpted by discipline and vanity. The faint outline of her ribs showed through the silk when she breathed. Everyone in the palace knew her secret: Liora ate like she ruled—carefully, sparingly, with precision that bordered on cruelty. Small meals of fruit and vegetables, nothing that might linger too long in her perfect body, nothing that could dull the golden sheen of her skin.
Even when she shifted, she refused meat. The animal within her starved on purpose, tamed by her obsession with purity.
Beauty was her religion. Perfection, her weapon. And as she stood in that hollow silence, she looked every inch the queen she had been promised to become—only now her crown sat heavier, and her beauty burned colder.
Her advisors stood in a tense line near the hearth. None of them dared meet her gaze. Only Ser Calen, her oldest strategist, spoke.
"Your Grace," he said carefully, voice low and steady, "the Council confirmed the bond through the ancient rites. It cannot be annulled."
Liora laughed—high, brittle, and dangerous."Annulled? As if this is a contract to shred?"
Calen flinched. "Your Grace—"
"He was mine," she cut in, her voice trembling between grief and rage."I was raised on this prophecy, and the belief that it is mine alone. No one is taking that away from me." She trembled with the intensity of her belief. The movement sent a ripple through her blouse like silk caught in wind. "I was promised to him before I could walk. Every prophecy, every offering, every drop of my blood was for this moment. And she—" her lip curled "—steals it because fate decided to play a cruel joke?"
"Your sister bears the mark," another advisor murmured. "Dorian's wolf claimed her before the gods, under a full moon. The law is older than any crown."
Liora turned slowly. Her eyes, once honey-warm, hardened into shards of amber."Then we make it reversible."
"You can't," Calen said softly, and that—more than anything—set her off.
"Watch me."
The words hissed through her teeth, and the room seemed to darken in response. Outside, thunder rumbled, rolling over the land like distant war drums. The ancestral magic of her bloodline stirred, hot and bitter in her veins.
If the gods had made a mistake, she would correct it.
By midnight, the palace was alive again—not with laughter, but with whispers. Servants moved through corridors with heads bowed, avoiding the east wing where the princess's temper had left scorch marks on the walls. Rumor spread fast: the Golden Twin had shattered the scrying mirrors, cursed the moon goddess, and ordered every portrait of the King removed.
Liora sat alone in her study, surrounded by books of forbidden rites. The candlelight caught the edges of her face, throwing long shadows over the desk. She flipped through pages written in old tongues—alchemy, reversal sigils, soul severance rituals. Every spell ended the same way: Be Warned. Irreversible damage. Fatal to both.
A small smile curved her lips. "Perfect."
Her door opened without a knock.Calen entered again, his usual composure worn thin."Your Grace, there's someone here to see you."
"Unless it's a god coming to apologize, I'm not interested."
"They're human," he said carefully. "From the Human Survival League."
That got her attention.
Liora looked up. "You brought them into my palace?"
"They came to you," Calen said. "They claim to know a way to undo a bond."
For the first time that night, something like hope flickered behind her fury.
"Send them in."
Two figures stepped into the room—cloaked, faces half-hidden. The first, a woman with sharp eyes and ink on her wrists. The second, a man with a soldier's posture and the faint scent of iron.
"We represent those who remember what freedom used to mean," the woman said. "Before Lycans ruled by divine decree. Before humans were told to kneel."
Liora folded her hands, studying them. "And what makes you think I care about human freedom?"
"Because you've just learned what happens when a wolf takes what's yours," the woman said. "You of all people should understand domination."
Liora's lips twitched. "You're bold."
"We're desperate," the man added. "You have power. We have methods. The prophecy binds the King to his mate—but bonds can be severed. Permanently."
A long silence followed. The storm outside pressed against the windows, rain streaking like claw marks.
Liora leaned back in her chair, gaze unreadable."And what would this 'severing' cost me?"
"Everything," the woman said simply. "But it would cost your sister more."
The words hung in the air like a promise.
Liora rose, the golden silk of her blouse whispering across the marble. "You'll have what you need. Access, funding, immunity. But if you fail—"
The woman's smile was all teeth. "We don't fail."
By dawn, the palace looked serene again—just as she intended. The press had been silenced, the staff sworn to secrecy. To the world, the Golden Twin mourned her sister's sudden "return" and "sacred union." To those who truly knew her, however, a darker truth glimmered behind her calm façade.
In the reflection of her mirror, she painted her lips red—the color of war."You wanted her, Dorian," she whispered to the glass. "Let's see how long she lives to keep you."
She touched the pendant at her throat, the twin-sun emblem their mother had given them before the separation. Nyx had the other half. Once, they'd fit together perfectly.
Now, Liora wondered how it would look with blood between them.