Her shimmer hadn’t stopped. Even now, hours after the ordeal, her wolf still glowed faintly beneath that pink hue — radiant, alive, impossible to ignore. I kept my eyes on her form as she rested, nuzzled far too comfortably against Prince Callum’s hand.
Every instinct in me screamed to intervene.
Prince Charles’s accusation replayed in my mind like a broken record. He’d claimed she was not the real Princess Mishka — and the more I thought about it, the less certain I became. We were sure she was the same woman, just… altered. Tempered by whatever had nearly broken her. Yet there was something off, something that didn’t align with the Mishka I once knew — or the one I’d prepared myself to court.
I have no patience for lies. And even less for wolves who protect them.
‘We’re back to this
