“…just a surrogate…”
“…keeping the bed warm for a dead man…”
“…did you see that dress she arrived in?”
Margaux stopped. Turned. The servants went rigid.
“The next person who speaks about the Luna Princess like she’s not standing right there will scrub the east wing latrines for a month.” Her voice was ice. “She holds a title. You will address it.”
The whispering stopped. But the looks didn’t.
The training grounds were a wide, open courtyard surrounded by stone walls. Wolves in human form sparred in pairs – grappling, striking, moving with a speed. The air smelled like sweat and iron and trampled grass.
A girl broke from the group before Margaux could steer me past. was tall. Blonde. Built like someone who’d been training since she could walk. She planted herself in front of me and looked me over slowly, top to bottom, like she was inspecting something she’d found on the bottom of her shoe.
“So you’re the new surrogate.” Not a question.
Margaux touched my elbow. “This is Ophelia,” she said, low enough that only I could hear. “The Royal Beta’s daughter. She grew up with the Prince.”
Ophelia smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes.
“A Gamma’s daughter.” She tilted her head. “From Shadow Creek, right? One of the border packs?” She said it the way someone would say one of the servant’s closets. “Tell me what exactly makes you think your bloodline is fit to carry a Lycan Prince’s heir?”
Three girls had stopped sparring and drifted over to flank her. One cracked her knuckles. Another crossed her arms and smirked.
“She’s right,” the smirking one said. “You’d probably produce some half-blood runt. The King’s bloodline deserves better.”
“You can’t even shift properly, can you?” another added. “I heard Gamma wolves barely manage a half-form. Imagine pushing that onto the Prince’s pups.”
“Much better,” Ophelia agreed. She stepped closer. Her scent hit me something floral and sharp, expensive.”
So do yourself a favor, little wolf. Walk away. Tell the King you can’t do it. Save yourself the embarrassment of failing at the one thing they brought you here to do.”
My wolf lunged inside my chest. She slammed against the walls my mother had built, snarling, clawing, demanding I rip the smile off this girl’s face.
I breathed through it. Clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms.
Back home, I would have swallowed this. I’d swallowed worse from Maren, from my father, from Calvin. Three years of keeping my head down, my voice soft, my wolf locked behind walls. I was good at it. I hated how good I was at it.
I didn’t know the rules here. I didn’t know who was protected, who was connected, who could make my life worse than it already was. And I had a brother in a basement somewhere whose safety depended on me not making enemies.
I turned to walk away.
“Excuse me.” Ophelia’s voice went cold. “Did I say you could leave?”
I kept walking.
“Grab her.”
Two of the followers seized my arms and dragged me back. Their grip was iron. I stumbled, nearly fell, and found myself standing in front of Ophelia again.
Margaux stepped forward. “Lady Ophelia, the Luna Princess has a schedule today. Perhaps -“
“Perhaps you should remember your place.” Ophelia didn’t look at her. “You’re a servant, Margaux. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
Margaux’s jaw tightened. She went still.
Ophelia turned back to me. Her hand came up slowly. Her fingers extended, and her nails lengthened into claws – dark, curved, sharp enough to fillet skin from bone.
“Someone needs to teach you how things work around here,” she said. Her voice had gone quiet.
She swung.
I caught her wrist.
My hand closed around it before my brain registered what my body was doing. Ophelia’s claws stopped an inch from my face. Her eyes widened.
And my wolf – the wolf my mother had caged – rose to the surface and growled.
Not a sound from my throat. A vibration that came from somewhere deeper. It rolled through the courtyard like low thunder, pressing against the air, and every wolf within earshot felt it.
Ophelia’s wolf flinched. The training grounds went dead silent. Nobody moved.
The followers flanking Ophelia stared at me with something that hadn’t been there ten seconds ago. Not respect, exactly. Wariness. The kind of look you give a stray dog that just showed teeth.
In the werewolf world, females trained to fight were rare. Most girls – Beta daughters, Gamma daughters, Omega daughters – learned to cook, to clean, to run a household. Combat training was for males, and for Alpha- blooded girls whose families could afford the privilege. Ophelia sparring alongside the King’s warriors wasn’t just ambition. It was proof of how deeply the royal family adored her.
And I’d just blocked her strike with one hand.
My wolf was buzzing inside me. Not snarling anymore. Excited. Alive in a way she hadn’t been since I was twelve years old and used to sneak out to the training yard after dark, mimicking the movements I’d watched the boys practice all day. I’d loved it. The speed, the precision, the way my body knew what to do before my brain caught up.
Then Calvin told me he wanted a Luna who was graceful. Soft-spoken. Feminine.
So I stopped sneaking out. Wore dresses. Kept my hands folded in my lap.
Ophelia wrenched her wrist free. Her face was flushed. Her followers shifted behind her, uncertain.
“You’ll regret that.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes were not. “I promise you, surrogate. You will regret that.”
She turned on her heel and walked away. The three followers trailed after her, one of them glancing back at me over her shoulder.
The courtyard stayed silent for another three seconds. Then the sparring resumed, and the whispers started.
“That,” Margaux said, once we were out of earshot, “was extremely foolish.”
I said nothing.
“Ophelia is not some pack bully you can brush off.” She walked faster, and I had to half-jog to keep up. “She is the Royal Beta’s daughter. She has the Queen’s ear, the King’s affection, and every warrior in this compound would take her side over yours without thinking twice.”
“She was going to claw my face off.”
“And now she’ll find a way to do worse.” Margaux stopped and faced me. Her expression wasn’t angry. It was tired. “You are a surrogate, Lillian. You have a title and no power behind it. Ophelia has been the pack’s favorite since she was born. Don’t make enemies you can’t afford.”
She turned and kept walking. I followed, my wolf still humming behind my ribs, and said nothing.
The nurse was waiting in the Prince’s chamber when I returned.
She was a small, efficient woman with a clipboard and reading glasses. She stood beside the bed, gestured to the unconscious Prince, and launched into instructions without preamble.
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