I Am The Luna Queen

Chapter 10- Wounded Ego

Nicholas’s POV

“Baby, when are you going to kick that woman out?”

Liora’s voice sliced through the air like a whip, pulling me back from the fog in my head. I was still standing there in the middle of the room, boxers hanging low on my hips, staring at the door Hazel had just sauntered through like she owned the damn place. My mind was a whirlwind—replaying her words, her smirk, that goddamn wink. Small? Me? The Alpha King?

I blinked, forcing myself to focus on Liora. She was pacing now, her black dress swishing with every angry step, her red lips twisted into a scowl. She looked beautiful, even in her rage—fiery, passionate, the way she always was. But right now, it felt like she was a million miles away.

“My love,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended, “we’ve talked about this. My father’s decree says I can’t make any other woman queen.”

She stopped pacing and whirled on me, her eyes narrowing. “So you want me to be your mistress forever? You heard her—the way she talked to you. To us.”

I heard her, alright. Every single word. But I wasn’t really looking at Liora. My gaze was fixed on her face, but my mind was elsewhere—back on Hazel’s pointed finger, her mocking laugh, the way she’d dropped her eyes to my crotch like I was some disappointing exhibit. “You’re kind of… small.” The words echoed in my skull, louder than Liora’s complaints. How the hell had Hazel, of all people, said that? The same Hazel who’d spent three years pining after me, begging for a glance, a touch?

“Are you even listening to me?” Liora snapped, stepping closer, her hands on her hips. “You always do this. You want to make me the other woman forever. Your father isn’t here anymore, and still you’re going to keep that woman as queen while everyone calls me the mistress?”

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to shake off the daze. “I would have made you queen a long time ago, Liora, but you know that decree is a blood decree. It can’t be broken easily.”

She groaned, her eyes flashing with pure anger, like twin flames in the morning light. “I’m beginning to think you’re using that as an excuse to keep Hazel.”

The accusation hit me like a gut punch. Before I could open my mouth to defend myself—to tell her she was wrong, that Hazel meant nothing, that this was all just politics and ancient magic—she spun on her heel and stormed toward the door.

“Liora!” I called, my voice echoing off the walls. “Liora!”

But she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her with a finality that made the room feel even emptier. I stood there, frozen, the silence pressing in like a weight on my chest. The air still smelled like her perfume—spicy, intoxicating—but it mixed with the faint vanilla from Hazel’s skin, creating a confusing mess that made my head spin.

What the hell just happened?

I sank onto the edge of the bed, the sheets still rumpled from where Hazel had slept. Her scent lingered there too, mocking me. I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging hard enough to feel the sting, trying to make sense of it all. But my thoughts kept circling back to Hazel. Not Liora’s tantrum, not the decree, not even the kingdom’s expectations.

Hazel.

Her words rushed back like a flood. “You’re kind of… small. For a man of your stature.” Said right in front of Liora, no less. I couldn’t believe it. I’d always prided myself on… well, everything. My strength, my rule, my body. Women had whispered about me in the halls—guards joked about it during shifts. I was the Alpha King, for f**k’s sake. Size had never been an issue. Hell, it was a point of pride. And now this… this nobody queen, who’d barely spoken above a whisper for three years, calls me small?

I glanced down at my boxers, the fabric tenting slightly from the leftover adrenaline. Without thinking, I hooked a thumb under the waistband and pulled them down just enough to look. There it was—thick, veined, definitely not small. I’d seen enough when my warriors shifted to know I measured up. More than measured up. What game was she playing? Was she blind? Or just trying to humiliate me?

But then the rest of her words hit me. “I’ve seen much bigger. And much better.” My blood heated up, not from embarrassment this time, but from something darker. Anger. Jealousy? No, that couldn’t be it. Hazel was my wife in name only—a tool for the throne, nothing more.

But the thought of her… seeing other men? Comparing them to me? While she’d been playing the innocent, heartbroken queen all these years?

I stood up abruptly, pacing the room like Liora had, my bare feet slapping against the cold floor. Images flashed in my mind—Hazel sneaking out at night, meeting some guard or noble in the shadows. Laughing at their jokes, letting them touch her, undress her. Measuring them up. The burn in my chest spread, turning into a roar in my ears. She was mine. Legally, magically bound to me. She wasn’t supposed to go around looking at other men’s…sizes. Or anything else.

But had she? The old Hazel wouldn’t have. She’d been obsessed with me—knocking on my door in the dead of night, eyes wet with tears, begging for attention. I’d turned her away every time, sometimes with Liora right there in my bed. It had been satisfying back then, watching her crumble. Payback for the chains my father had put on me.

Now? This new Hazel—or whatever demon had possessed her—didn’t beg. She fought. She insulted. She walked out wrapped in a sheet like a conquering hero. And it bothered me.

Why the hell did it bother me so much?

I stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, my forehead pressing into the cool stone. My wolf stirred inside me, restless, pacing in its own cage. The bond between us—the faint thread from the marriage rite—felt tighter now, pulling at me like a leash. It had always been there, weak and ignored, but since she’d come back from the dead, it was stronger. Alive. Demanding.

I laughed then—a short, bitter sound that echoed in the empty room. There was nothing funny about it. Me, King Nicholas, reduced to staring at my own d**k because my wife called it small. Small? The word tasted like poison. She’d regret it. Oh, she’d eat those words. I’d make sure of it. I’d pin her down, make her beg, show her exactly how “small” I was. The thought sent a rush of heat through me—anger mixed with something else I didn’t want to name.

But underneath it all, a nagging question gnawed at me. Who was this woman? The one who’d jumped off a cliff, come back from the brink, and now acted like she didn’t give a damn about me or the crown? Was it really Hazel? Or had the ocean spit out something else entirely?

I shook my head, pushing the thought away. No. She was still Hazel. Weak, breakable Hazel. I’d remind her of that.

And yet, deep down, a seed of doubt sprouted. Why did her insults cut so deep? Why did the idea of her with other men make my wolf howl for blood?

I didn’t know. But I was going to find out.

But first I have to make her pay for humiliating me.

She thought she could insult me and get away with it?

Oh, she'd regret it all.

“Wait till I get my hands on you Hazel.”

Just wait.