The silence in my room was a heavy cloak, wrapping around me, but it couldn’t muffle the frantic drumbeat of my own heart.
Outside, the last rays of sunlight bled across the sky, painting the ancient stone walls of the castle in hues of fading gold and deep violet. A shiver, not from cold, traced its way down my spine.
It had been just a week since I arrived here, thrown into this political whirlwind by my father, Alpha Edward Moreau, and already, my life felt like a runaway carriage.
My mind, a buzzing hive of thoughts, kept circling back to him—King Arthur Draven. The mate who didn't want me. The shame of it felt like a brand, fresh and stinging.
“Mom, what’s kicking?” I finally chirped into my phone, using my shoulder to cradle it to my ear like a seasoned circus performer. My hand
