It happened on the twelfth night in the villa.
I was curled up on the velvet couch in the library, pretending to read some heavy tome about wolf bloodlines, while Sugar was sprawled dramatically on the rug, doodling moustaches on portraits in the margins of my “notes.” Gregor was pacing—as usual—like a caged beast.
That’s when the knock came. Sharp. Three times.
Gregor froze. His wolf surged so hard the room felt colder. Sugar stopped mid-doodle and looked up. I barely had time to put my “Margaux” mask back on before Gregor was at the door, yanking it open.
Two guards dragged in a trembling young man. One of Gregor’s sentinels shoved him forward, and he fell to his knees, clutching at the hem of my gown like I was salvation.
“Please, Princess! I didn’t mean to—”
“Get off!” I snapped
