my mother's best freind my mate

poison crown

Kelly’s POV: The Web Tightens

I slammed the door to my mother’s chambers shut with a definitive thud that echoed the tumultuous storm raging within me. The ornate mahogany frame shuddered from the impact, a small, satisfying tremor that did little to quell the tempest in my chest. Anger, hot and acrid, mixed with a chilling cocktail of nerves and a persistent, unwelcome prickle of fear. Fear was a weakness, a sentiment I had long since learned to bury deep beneath layers of ambition and calculated charm. But tonight, it gnawed at the edges of my composure.

The room, usually a sanctuary of refined elegance, felt suffocating. Scented candles flickered, casting long, dancing shadows that stretched and contorted across the velvet drapes and the antique furniture. It was a scene of deceptive tranquility, a stark contrast to the churning maelstrom of my thoughts. And there she sat, my mother, Queen Victoria, perched regally on the edge of her plush armchair, a crystal flute of champagne delicately poised between her manicured fingers. Her expression was serene, unnervingly calm, as if the day’s catastrophic events were nothing more than a minor, fleeting inconvenience.

“What the hell, Mum?!” I exploded, my voice sharp, a controlled hiss that barely contained the tremor of my frustration. “I’m out there, pacing my room, practically clawing at my own skin with anxiety, reliving every agonizing second of today’s debacle. And you’re in here, celebrating? With champagne? Our plan didn’t just not go as planned—it nearly imploded! We could get exposed!”

She merely arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her lips curving into that maddeningly knowing smile I despised and admired in equal measure. It was the smile of a woman who had navigated the treacherous currents of pack politics for decades, a master manipulator who understood the art of patience and the precise timing of cruelty. “Calm yourself, my beautiful, intelligent daughter,” she purred, her voice like silk, smooth and soothing, yet underscored by an unyielding thread of steel. “Yes, perhaps our carefully laid plans didn’t unfold with the absolute precision we’d hoped for today, but do not be so short-sighted. We still, my dear, hold every single advantage.”

I paced, the expensive Persian rug muffling the frantic rhythm of my steps. My hands clenched into tight fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. “I gave her the juice, Mum,” I retorted, my voice tight with indignation. “I weakened her wolf. You made sure I was there, parading Parker in front of her, making her catch him cheating. It was supposed to be the ultimate humiliation, the final crushing blow that would make it impossible for her wolf to surface. And then Father—Alpha Claus—he kicked her out, publicly, in front of the entire pack. The shame, the pain, the absolute devastation… that should have been enough to sever her connection to her wolf entirely. It should have been enough to break her beyond repair.”

My mother took another slow, deliberate sip of her champagne, her gaze unwavering, fixed on my agitated form. Her eyes, usually a placid grey, now glinted with a dark, triumphant satisfaction. “Exactly,” she affirmed, her voice a low, resonant hum. “And that, my dear Kelly, is precisely why we are winning. The wolf within her is not merely weakened; it is fragile, teetering on the precipice of non-existence. Every fresh wound, every public humiliation, every shattered hope she experiences, makes it harder for that pathetic creature to rise. But remember, the goal isn’t just to break her. It’s to control her. To ensure she never poses a threat to our position.”

I stopped pacing, staring at her, my mind replaying the day’s events. The collective gasp of the pack as Mira stumbled, the look of utter despair in her eyes, my father’s roar of rejection. It had been glorious, terrifying, and almost perfect. “If it weren’t for Alpha Lucien,” I muttered, the name a bitter taste on my tongue, “our entire strategy would have culminated in flawless victory. Father would have had no choice but to declare me heiress on the spot. Mira would be nothing more than a forgotten shadow in the annals of our pack’s history.”

My mother’s lips thinned, a faint, almost imperceptible hardening of her features. “Yes, Lucien,” she acknowledged, her voice now edged with a dangerous, simmering resentment. “He always had a peculiar, irritatingly sentimental soft spot for your half-sister. A blind devotion to a ghost from his past. He is the rogue element, the spanner in the works. But do not mistake his interference for a permanent defeat, Kelly. This game, as I’ve told you countless times, is far from over. In fact, we’ve only just begun to play the most crucial moves.”

I swallowed, the thought of Lucien, strong and formidable, sending a flicker of genuine apprehension through me. He was no ordinary rival. He was cunning, deeply respected, and fiercely loyal to Mira’s mother’s memory. Defying him openly would be akin to declaring war. “What’s our next move then?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, the weight of our dark ambitions settling over me like a suffocating shroud. “He’s practically taken her under his wing. What if he trains her? What if he helps her heal, helps her wolf surface, despite everything?”

She set her crystal glass down on the ornate side table with a delicate clink, her fingers lingering on the cool, smooth surface. Her gaze pierced through me, sharp and unwavering. “Then we simply accelerate our timeline,” she stated, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “The juice was merely the initial phase. A weakening agent. Now, we proceed to the psychological offensive. We will ensure that Mira remains isolated, a pariah within the pack. Whispers will spread, stories will be twisted, her every perceived flaw magnified. A wolf cannot truly heal, cannot truly thrive, without the support of her pack. We will deny her that support, meticulously and relentlessly.”

A cold thrill snaked through me, momentarily eclipsing the fear. The sheer ruthlessness of her plan, the insidious nature of it, filled me with a twisted sense of pride. “And Parker?” I mused, a smirk touching my lips. “He was hers, now he’s mine. That’s a blow she won’t recover from emotionally. The ultimate betrayal.”

My mother’s eyes gleamed with a predatory satisfaction. “My dear Kelly,” she purred, her voice dripping with an almost venomous pride, “Parker is a pawn. A malleable instrument in our grand design. Use him well, exploit his weaknesses, but never, ever mistake him for anything more than a means to an end. Do not become emotionally entangled. The throne, my sweet girl, is the ultimate prize, and we will do whatever is necessary to claim it, no matter the cost.”

A sudden, sharp pang of something akin to guilt, a phantom ache in my chest, threatened to resurface. The wolf inside me, a silent, unseen entity, howled in mute protest at the cruelty of our machinations. But I ruthlessly suppressed it, burying the unwelcome emotion deep beneath layers of ambition and self-preservation. This was war, a brutal, unforgiving struggle for power. And in war, there was no room for sentimentality, no space for mercy.

“But what if she fights back?” I ventured, testing the boundaries of her confidence. “What if Lucien’s intervention is more profound than we anticipate? What if he somehow finds a way to truly heal her wolf?”

My mother’s expression darkened, her voice dropping to a dangerous, almost imperceptible whisper. “Lucien,” she repeated the name, tasting it like a bitter pill. “He is indeed a formidable opponent. Too noble, too loyal to an inconvenient past. We must observe him with utmost vigilance. If he becomes an insurmountable obstacle, a true threat to our ascendancy, then we will deal with him. Decisively.” Her eyes held a chilling promise I didn’t dare question.

“And Father?” I continued, pushing further. “He’s angry, yes, but he’s still the Alpha. What if he ever discovers the true depth of our involvement? What if he learns about the juice, about the extent of our manipulation?”

She smiled, a slow, chilling smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He won’t. Not unless we deem it strategically advantageous for him to know. Power, my darling, is a delicate dance of secrets and sacrifices. We have choreographed our moves with meticulous precision. For now, he remains a pawn, a figurehead whose anger serves our purpose by keeping Mira isolated. He will believe what we allow him to believe.”

I rose to my feet, the cold determination settling over me like a second skin. The room felt colder, the shadows longer, stretching like grasping fingers around us. This wasn’t just a political maneuver for the Alpha’s throne; it was a ruthless, primal war for dominance, for survival, for identity itself. And in this war, any shred of humanity or compassion was a weakness to be exploited. “I’ll make sure Mira never forgets what we did to her today,” I vowed, my voice low and fierce. “She’ll be broken, utterly alone, and desperate. That’s when we’ll strike the final, decisive blow.”

My mother’s eyes glittered with undeniable approval. “That’s my girl,” she purred, her voice laced with a dark pride. “Remember, Kelly, the pack is like any other pack of wolves—fiercely loyal to the strongest, but savagely quick to turn on the weak. We simply need to ensure Mira remains weak, vulnerable, for long enough for us to ascend and solidify our claim.”

I walked towards the door, the weight of our shared ambition a heavy cloak on my shoulders. As my hand reached for the cold brass handle, my mother’s voice, a final, chilling pronouncement, stopped me. “Watch your back, my daughter. The Blood Moon rises, and with it, the true battle for our pack’s destiny begins.”

I stepped into the silent hallway, the air suddenly feeling heavy, charged with an unseen presence. My heart still hammered, but now it was laced with a new kind of dread. A fleeting movement caught my eye. Something white. I glanced down. A folded piece of parchment lay on the polished floorboards, half-hidden beneath the intricate carvings of the doorframe. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.

My fingers trembled as I bent down, my breath catching in my throat as I unfolded the stark, unadorned paper. The words, scrawled in an unfamiliar, precise hand, seemed to leap off the page, chilling me to the bone:

“The wolf you try to break is not as weak as you think. The bloodline runs deeper than your poisoned schemes. The moon’s ancient power will not be denied. Beware the shadow that moves unseen, for it knows your darkest secrets.”

My breath hitched, a gasp trapped in my throat. The parchment fluttered in my shaking hand. I looked back at my mother’s closed door, a sudden, cold wave of fear washing over me. This was no idle threat. This was a warning.

Because this war was far from over.

And the enemy might be closer, far more powerful, and dangerously knowledgeable than we had ever dared to imagin.