A few days later.
The move happened faster than I thought. One day, I was still reeling from my father’s smug smile in the council, the next I was being “escorted” with all the pomp and drama of a spoiled royal bride-to-be. The royal court bought every ounce of it—Margaux’s diamond tiara gleaming, Sugar trailing behind me with her clipboard, and Alpha Gregor stalking at my side like the world’s most unwilling bodyguard.
The separate royal villa for the future princess itself was obscene. Tall glass windows, sprawling gardens, endless corridors lined with art that probably cost more than the entirety of my childhood home. I almost laughed out loud at how ridiculous it was—me, Marigold, the twin who was nearly poisoned out of existence, now walking marble floors like some princess.
Of cou
