Lyra’s POV
The morning air was cool, thick with mist that clung to the castle’s marble walls like ghostly breath. I walked quietly, my cloak drawn close, my boots making no sound on the polished floor. Every shadow felt alive, every creak of wood whispered secrets.
Yesterday’s discovery had kept me awake. I could still hear Veronica’s voice echoing in my head — her sweet, poisonous tone as she ordered the pack doctor to lie.
“Tell him the baby is stressed. Tell him I need care. The Alpha will never doubt you.”
And the doctor’s fearful reply: “You’re beginning to do too much, my lady. You’re not even pregnant.”
My fingers clenched around the edge of my cloak. I knew it — I had known something about her story never felt right. But hearing it with my own ears was something else entirely.
