(Nyx POV)
The main hall outside the royal suites pulsed with chaos.
Liora stood there like a displaced queen, surrounded by trunks and gowns enough to arm a stylist regiment. Her golden hair caught the morning light—every strand calibrated for sympathy.
And behind her—Moon Goddess help us—stood journalists, cameras already humming.
Security breach, I thought grimly. Perfect. It took everything I had not to face palm myself. The entire castle will need a sweep.
Kelly growled. Who the heck let her in with the media? She has loyalists.
"Your Royal Highness," she began, voice pitched for broadcast. "I seek sanctuary. An assassin has targeted me." She paused for effect, making certain the words landed.
I mind link Dorian; how did she get that information before you? He nodded. It was so subtle, I almost missed it.
Liora continued, "As a princess of your kingdom, I demand protection," she finished on a desperate plea.
My pulse thudded. She was good—too good. The nation would eat this performance alive.
Dorian's tone stayed level and steel. "You bring the press into my private hall?"
"I bring truth into the light." Her gaze slid to me—and curdled. "And there it is. The imposter wearing my mark."
Gasps. Shutter clicks. Liora spread her arms like a martyr. "Behold the traitor! My twin—the usurper who stole what was meant for me!"
Before Dorian could answer, my wolf surged forward—heat, instinct, teeth. I stepped past him, training coiled tight.
"You want to call me a traitor?" I faced the cameras. "See this?" I touched the bite at my throat, still glowing faint gold. "This mark was earned, not stolen."
Liora's laugh cracked like ice. "Yeah—earned on your back."
Gasps rippled through the corridor. The cameras whirred, hungry for blood.
She tilted her chin, voice dripping sugar and spite. "Enjoy it while it lasts, sister. The gods don't bless mistakes."
I smiled. "I'm feeling pretty blessed right now, Liora."
Her mask shattered. "You bitch!"
The growl that followed wasn't mine—it was his.Dorian's Lycan rose like thunder.
"Enough."
Power rolled through the marble, ancient and absolute. The corridor shook; even the cameras froze.
He turned his gaze on the reporters. "Out. Now."
The command carried centuries of bloodline. Within heartbeats, lenses dropped, equipment clattered, and the press scattered like prey sensing death.
When silence fell again, he faced my sister."There is a threat, Liora. We'll handle it so you can live in peace. But you will not stay in the royal suites. I will not have you disrupt my home."
Her lip trembled. "You would exile your own kind?"
"I'm sparing it," he said, voice edged with the Lycan's growl. "You'll be escorted to a secure wing. Guards, healers, safety. Take it or leave it—but you will not return here."
Two sentinels moved forward. Liora's pride stiffened her spine, and she swept past them without a word.
When she was gone, the air finally moved again."That went about as well as juggling live grenades," I muttered.
Through the bond, I sent: It was necessary, but a bad idea.
He didn't reply—just studied me.Hair loose, leather half-buckled, pistol in one hand, blade at my thigh. His gaze warmed, a flicker of pride and something darker.
"Sweet moon," he murmured. "You look ready to declare war before breakfast."
"Always a possibility."
He huffed a laugh, threading his fingers through mine. "Come. You'll need to meet my mother."
I raised a brow. "Now?"
"Exactly. She adores strong women—just not ones aiming weapons at diplomats."
"Noted." I holstered the Glock. "But no promises."
He leaned close, voice a growl-whisper against my ear. "Honey, we need to go shopping. My mother thinks leather belongs in the armory, not at breakfast."
I smiled. "That's a shame. I love leather."
His grin sharpened. "On you? So do I."