Nora "Thank you for your kindness, Your Highness. May the Moon Goddess bless you," the woman said gratefully.  I smiled at her and nodded in acknowledgment. As the last person received their grain, the charity event finally concluded. With Charlotte's support, I climbed into the carriage and waved at the disaster victims. I silently counted to seven before drawing the curtain and settling inside. This was a technique Madam Lydia taught me: don't linger too briefly, or you'll appear aloof and disconnected from the people, but also don't overstay, lest you risk attracting unwanted attention, like that of a potential rogue sniper—even I doubted if such a threat was more hypothetical than real. "Finally, it's over. I'm exhausted," Charlotte sighed, leaning heavily against her seat. "You did well, Nora." "Thank you," I replied, smiling at my companion. Charlotte and I were lucky survivors of the plague that claimed our omega parents' lives. As infants, we were spared from infection and taken in by St. Mary's Abbey. I assumed my life would unfold within its walls, until everything changed when I turned nine and King Theodore visited the abbey. His eyes widened in disbelief at the very first sight of me.  "Incredible, this must be a miracle," he murmured. At the time, I didn't understand what he’s talking about until his daughter, Princess Cynthia, stepped forward, and we found ourselves staring at faces identical to each other. King Theodore proposed bringing me to the palace, promising a life of luxury and honor. As if he really needed anyone’s approval. Of course, I believed him without question. Driven by my own desires, I eagerly requested that my dear friend Charlotte and my little sister Lily accompany me, since we often went hungry at the abbey. I wanted them to find happiness too. To my relief, the king generously agreed. At the time, I thought he was the most benevolent leader in the world. Tearfully, I kissed his hand in gratitude, unaware it was a decision I would come to regret. I was too naive to question why the royal family wanted me there. Once in the palace, King Theodore arranged for maids, etiquette teachers, and politic instructors, treating me the way he raised his own daughter. I was overwhelmed by his kindness, unsure how to express my gratitude. He only asked that I diligently attend all lessons, which I did.  I was asked to mimic everything about Cynthia. Her preferences, her habits, her voice, and even the way she moves.  In hindsight, perhaps the fact that my etiquette lessons included mastering the princess’s signature laugh should have tipped me off that I was less a guest of honor and more a royal stand-in. But I was too young and not sharp enough to see through such an arrangement. King Theodore was kind to me, but Queen Melody and Princess Cynthia were far less welcoming. The queen initially suspected I might be the king's long-lost illegitimate child, a theory she abandoned only after confirming my parents' death from the plague. This revelation softened her demeanor slightly, though Princess Cynthia's disdain for me only grew. I couldn't entirely blame her. Having every move copied by an omega orphan must be unsettling for a princess. "Why do we need this girl around?" Princess Cynthia would often whine, trying her best to convince her father to send me packing. "She's a perfect substitute," King Theodore would say matter-of-factly, not even bothering to conceal his purpose as I stood awkwardly nearby. "And what's a substitute good for?" Princess Cynthia pouted. "You'll find out soon enough," King Theodore replied with a knowing grin. "Father!" "That's final," King Theodore declared firmly, ending the conversation with an air of regal authority, leaving the princess and myself without another word to say. Unable to voice her rebellion, the princess took out her frustrations on me. It began with mocking remarks, but when she realized no one would intervene, her malice only grew. What started as teasing soon escalated to insults, and verbal humiliation turned into physical abuse. She began hitting me—sometimes herself, other times through her maids. On one occasion, they struck so hard I ended up with bruises around my n**k. When King Theodore found out, he was furious. I thought this would end my nightmare, but instead, it opened my eyes to a harsh reality. “How dare you bruise her like that!” he bellowed. “You foolish girl, don’t you realize those marks could reveal she’s not you?” “I’m sorry, Father. I’ll never do it again,” Cynthia cried, begging for forgiveness. How I wished the king had told her to stop hitting me altogether. But he did not. Instead, King Theodore sighed deeply, massaging his temples. "I understand your frustration, my dear," he said after a pause. "If you feel the need to hit her, do so, but ensure the marks are hidden." "Alright, Father," Princess Cynthia replied, a smirk spreading across her face as she shot me a challenging glance. I was utterly shocked and my face paled. I turned my gaze to the king—the man I had seen as a savior, a father figure. It was devastating to realize he cared nothing for me. “Lydia! Take her to the west wing and ensure those bruises are properly treated,” King Theodore commanded dismissively. "Don't squander the herbs. They're costly. Just make sure there are no scars where they can be seen.  ” I was stunned by the king's lack of empathy.“Yes, Your Majesty,” Madam Lydia said quickly, gesturing for me to follow. “Come along, Nora. Let’s get you some herbs.” I followed her to the medical room, where I received treatment. “The princess hit you quite hard, didn’t she?” Madam Lydia whispered, sighing as she gently applied the ointment to my bruises.“Poor child,” she murmured. I bit my l*p, and the tears I had been holding back spilled down my face.“What did I do wrong?” I sobbed. “Nothing,” Madam Lydia sighed again. “Sometimes people hurt you not because of anything you did, but simply because they can. You’re a tough child, Nora,” she said, giving me a sad smile. “Don’t worry, those bruises will heal.” Yes, the bruises on my skin would heal, sooner or later. But the wound in my heart would go on. As I grew up, I began to assume the role of the princess at events considered too dangerous or undesirable. Initially, I was terrified, worrying my disguise would be uncovered. I feared I might forget my lines or say something foolish. The royal family knew how much Lily meant to me and used her as leverage—if I caused any trouble or embarrassment, she would suffer. I couldn't allow Lily to be hurt because of me, so I couldn’t afford any mistakes. I worked tirelessly to suppress my true self, internalizing the princess's mannerisms until they became my second nature. My reflexive responses had to mirror Princess Cynthia's, so that no one could see through the disguise. After each event, a reward or punishment awaited me. If I attended events Cynthia preferred to avoid, I was welcomed back; if I attended those she wanted but King Theodore deemed too dangerous for her, I faced punishment. The type depended on the princess's mood. Sometimes it involved kneeling, other times confinement, or whipping. The water punishment was common because it left no marks. What awaits me this time? I wondered.

Nora "Why are you still sitting so formally? Doesn't that upright posture tire you out?" Charlotte's voice jolted me back to reality. "The show is over, you should relax." "I can’t," I whispered. "Madam Lydia insists I maintain the princess's poise at all times. I mustn't shame the royal family." "Well, Madam Lydia isn’t here. She wouldn't know," Charlotte said, pulling me over. I yelped as I toppled into her arms. I struggled to sit up, but she held me down. "Lie down and take a break, Nora," she softly insisted. "You've been on your feet all day. You need rest." Her suggestion was tempting. I hesitated briefly, then lay my head on her l*p, sighing in contentment. "Really, why the hll didn’t Princess Cynthia come herself this time?" Charlotte said. "She caught a cold; she needs to rest." "She better be sick," Charlotte snorted. "You know that’s her excuse. She just doesn’t want to face the slums. She thinks the people are filthy and refuses to shake their hands. She’s not a good princess at all." I quickly placed a finger to her l**s, signaling her to stay quiet. "Shhh." "What?" she retorted, brushing my hand aside. "Am I not speaking the truth? She enjoys the luxuries of being a princess while dodging all the responsibilities. Every challenging task falls on you. Shame on her." "Please, don't say any more," I pleaded. "Can't you find an excuse to refuse next time?" Charlotte suggested. "Like what?" I smiled wryly. "Say you caught a cold too." "I'm afraid that's not reason enough to skip an event," I said, allowing myself the small indulgence of a grimace."Madam Lydia said that as long as I breathe, I must be the princess's shadow." "It’s totally unfair," Charlotte remarked. "Have you kept count? You've said that over a hundred times," I joked, trying to lighten the mood. "I don’t remember. I lost count," Charlotte replied. "Doesn't it bother you?" "Bother me about what?" "Attending exhausting events as her substitute." "I'm alright," I said. "Interacting with different people is interesting. Not everyone gets to witness such grand occasions. I should be thankful that I look exactly like the princess." "You’ve been brainwashed, my friend," Charlotte murmured. I couldn’t help but smile. "I’m just trying to stay positive," I said. "Whether I resist or comply, it's something I must do. You know, they have my sister." Charlotte sighed, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry," she said. "It’s okay," I replied. "Lily will soon be eighteen. Maybe she'll meet her mate. Then, even the court won't have a reason to keep her here as a bonus hostage." "And what about you?" Charlotte asked, genuine concern mingling with a hint of teasing in her eyes. "You're already past eighteen, and clearly, you haven’t caught the enticing whiff of your mate anywhere in this country." "I don't know," I admitted. "But as long as Lily finds her happy-ever-after, I'll manage to keep trudging through my own fairy-tale nightmare. Besides, having you by my side is comforting enough." She squeezed my hand again and smiled. Suddenly, the carriage stopped. I quickly sat up, and Charlotte helped straighten my hair. "What's happening, Adam? Why have we changed direction?" Charlotte asked. "Weren't we supposed to head to the church to meet the bishop? Moon Day is around the corner and we haven't decorated the room and dispatch the gifts…" "King's orders," the coachman simply replied. "But where are we going?" I asked. "Back to the court. His Majesty requires your presence immediately." "What? Why?" I asked, frowning, my voice filled with concern. "What's going on?" "Sorry, Your Highness, I have no idea," the coachman said, urging the horses to speed up. "Move!" Charlotte and I exchanged a silent glance. My heart pounded as a sense of dread closed in. Something felt off. It seemed like my life was about to change once again. When I reached the corridor, the hall was already bursting at the seams with people, and the ministers were whispering to each other. "This is all your fault!" King Theodore roared, pounding the table with enough force to splinter it. He snatched up a scroll and hurled it towards a minister in the front row. "I should have your head cut off!" "I'm sorry, Your Majesty!" the minister quivered, collapsing to the ground and asked for mercy."Spare me, spare me!" "Guards! Take him away and execute him tomorrow!" King Theodore bellowed. The king's rage was enough to make me tremble. I was fairly accustomed to his less than sunny disposition. Why was he so angry? Sure, he usually looked the other way while Cynthia bullied anyone who crossed her path, but public tantrums weren't his style. Chest out, head up. Deep breath. I told myself before stepping into the hall, where all eyes instantly zeroed in on me. "Your Highness," they greeted me, and I nodded, maintaining my best serene princess' facade. The king’s eyes lit up at the sight of me. He waved everyone away, saying, "All of you leave. I wish to speak with my daughter alone." The ministers practically tripped over each other in their hurry to exit, leaving just us in the room. He sat regally on his throne and beckoned to me. "Come here, child." I stepped forward obediently, and he lifted my chin as he studied my face. A smile tugged at his l**s. "You are a gift from Moon Goddess to the Crimson Court, Nora," he declared, with all the sincerity of a salesman. "It is my honor to serve the royal family," I replied, laying the humility on as thick as I could. "Good," he said, his gaze fixed on me. "I have an important task for you." He paused dramatically before adding, "In fact, this is the last time I will ask you to play the role of my daughter." I looked up sharply, staring at him in disbelief. My heart pounded at his words. What did he mean last time? “Once you complete this task, you will be free," he said. My breath quickened at the prospect of freedom. "What do you need me to do?" I inquired, attempting to keep my voice from quivering. "Is there a banquet? A speech? Or do I need to give alms on the Moon Day?" "No, no, it's much more serious than that," the king said, as if asking me to perform the trifles of a royal life had ever been serious."I need you to impersonate Cynthia and marry Clyde Murphy, King of Frostfall," he said, the words dropping like ice blocks. I inhaled sharply. Clyde Murphy was more notoriously known as The Savage King, someone you’d imagine laughing maniacally in a lightning storm. A chill colder than a disapproving glare, shot up from the soles of my feet. It raced up my spine, tickling it like an unwelcome breeze, freezing my blood and numbing my heart. "But... but isn't our country at war with that monster?" I sputtered. "Yes," the king nodded gravely. "News from the front arrived yesterday; it seems we're losing. Clyde's soldiers have crossed the Glacier Spine. At this pace, they will encircle Emerald City in less than half a month. Our envoy managed to broker a truce with Clyde, and fortunately, he agreed—but there's a catch: he wants to marry our princess." Fortunate, indeed. This so-called luck seemed a bit dubious, especially for the princess destined to become a strategic bargaining chip. "Can we negotiate with him?" I proposed. "Perhaps we could suggest holding it after the Moon Day. Once Clyde's army runs out of food, he'll have no choice but to retreat." "He won't fall for it," Theodore replied, shaking his head and muttering to himself. "We've used a similar trick before, and he no longer trusts us." Similar trick? When? I wondered briefly, but there was no time to dwell on the question. "What about fighting with him?" I asked, mustering the spirit of a dying moth. "Ha, with what? We have no soldiers left. Our main forces have perished on the battlefield," the king frowned, not happy about the question I asked. "Clyde Murphy is brutal and relentless. Once he takes Emerald City, he will surely massacre everyone. Trading a princess for peace is our best option," the king added. "But why would he want to marry the princess?" I asked. "I'm not sure; there could be many reasons," the king mused. "Years ago, when Frostfall and we were still allies, Clyde and Cynthia met once. They both attended a feast held by Lord Chambers . Perhaps Clyde fell in love with my daughter at first sight and hasn't gotten over that first embarrassing crush. Or maybe that barbarian values lineage and wants a pure-blooded noble as his bride, or he's playing a game of power and intends to control me by taking my daughter. Regardless, I cannot let t**********d have his way." The king paused, appraising me as if I was a fine wine he was about to uncork. "It's time for you to serve our country, Nora. This is your last mission. Will you replace Cynthia and marry Clyde?" Indeed, the last mission, ending only with my unfortunate demise. Lovely. As if I could refuse. "By the way," King Theodore began, "it's been some time since you last saw your sister, hasn't it?" I bit my lower l*p, aware that his mention of my sister was a silent threat. "Would you like to see her before you leave?" he asked, his tone deceptively pleasant.

Nora "I'd love to," I replied. "Wonderful," the king nodded. "I'm sure Lily will be delighted to see you. We'll bring her to the palace for the visit, rather than have you go to her. I apologize, Nora, but we must ensure there's no escape at such a critical time." He looked at me, seemingly expecting gratitude for his careful arrangements. I've never run away. Yet. Enduring the unwanted attention of other kings at banquets, distributing masks during plagues, visiting amputated soldiers at hospitals. When have I ever been absent? Cynthia had always been the one missing in action. But really, would saying any of this change my fate? Probably not. More likely, it would irritate the king and rob me of one last meeting with Lily. So, capitulating, I lowered my eyes and curtsied, "Thank you for your mercy, Your Majesty." A king’s memory is a curious thing. When he needs something from you, his memory is sharp as a hawk’s eye. At other times, he might just claim he kept forgetting. The very next day, my little sister was bundled off to the Court. "Nora!" Lily barreled into my arms like a tiny hurricane of enthusiasm. "I missed you so much!" "Oh, my dear, I missed you too," I replied, enveloping her in a hug and planting a k**s on her forehead. "Have you been well?" "Very well," she chirped like a morning bird, "And you?" "I'm doing well too," I assured her, stroking her hair. "Sweetheart, I need to tell you something." "What is it?" she asked, curiosity glimmering in her eyes. "Something good," I declared dramatically. "I'm getting out of this cage." "Really?!" Her eyes widened with a mixture of shock and excitement. "His Majesty is letting you go?" "What made him so suddenly generous?" Lily asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.  "He wanted to show some mercy before Moon Day, perhaps,"I shrugged. "Like some turkeys would be pardoned before Thanksgiving." "Cut the cra'ap. You're going for another of Princess Cynthia's activities, aren't you?" Her sharp wit often made me wonder if she and Charlotte were separated at birth. "You're perceptive," I admitted with a sigh. “A king from the north has invited Princess Cynthia to visit his country, and King Theodore found it hard to decline.” "Which king?" Lily asked, her curiosity refusing to be curbed. "I don't know," I fibbed, not wanting her to be too concerned. "His Majesty advised me not to ask too many questions. I’m given a task, I complete the task—it’s the princess way." "You're so obedient. Theodore must adore you," Lily quipped with sarcasm. "What about Charlotte? Will she be joining you?" "Well, technically the northern king shouldn't object to a maid," I said. "But I'd rather Charlotte stays here to take care of you while I'm gone." "I can take care of myself," Lily insisted, sounding every bit the worldly and wise sage at the ripe age of 17. "I know, but it eases my mind," I said, as if my peace of mind had much bearing in recent royal decisions. "Fine," Lily sighed in reluctant acceptance. “But what about the Moon Day? You won't be here to celebrate it with us this time, right?” "I am afraid so," I sighed. "And my birthday? It is in five months. Will you be back by then?" I wish I could promise her I would, like assuring her I'd be back from a delightful holiday with a suitcase full of souvenirs. But, in truth, I have no idea how long I will be there. And I might never return. Because I was on my way to marry Clyde Murphy, the charming fellow whose hobbies reportedly include dispatching uncles, banishing the unfortunate, and scaring palace elders into early retirement. The likelihood of my becoming his personal heir factory was high, and as soon as I outlived my usefulness, he'd probably ship my head back to King Theodore in a fancy box, complete with ribbons. It's a present anyone would be thrilled to unbox, right? "Okay, I get it. The answer is no," Lily said, reading my face like an open book. "You look like you're about to cry." "Nonsense," I said, my voice just shy of cracking. "I'm not sure if I can make it back for your birthday. Trip logistics, you know? But come what may, stay happy, alright?" Lily nodded, trying to be strong. "And," I added, "if you're lucky enough to sense your mate—" "I'll have him whisk me away and immediately leave this country," Lily interrupted, rolling her eyes. "You've only mentioned it a hundred times before." "Indulge me, you cheeky little teenager," I muttered, burying my nose in her hair. "You smell nice." She hummed softly, nestling deeper into my embrace. "I hate being apart from you," she confessed. "I hate it too," I sighed, clutching her tightly like she might slip away. "Even though you're here, it feels like you're already further away," Lily said, sadness threading her voice. "Cheer up, my dear, I'll pen you letters from the north." "And bring back northern souvenirs," she added with a glimmer of hope. "Of course," I chuckled. "What do you fancy?" "What do they have up there?" she pondered aloud. "I have no idea; it's my first time heading north," I admitted. "Then surprise me with something random," Lily decided. "Just promise you'll come back in one piece." I smiled at her, though my stomach was tangled in dread. It's such a simple request. If only I could assure her without a shadow of doubt. "I promise," I whispered, leaning down to k**s her forehead once more, hoping she wouldn't notice the tremor in my own voice.   *** I sat in the carriage, feeling a t***h bizarre without Charlotte beside me. King Theodore had thoughtfully appointed Rachel and Rebecca to join me—two lovely faces that had the distinction of following Cynthia’s orders to give me a good thrashing. As you might imagine, the atmosphere was delightfully awkward. Sandwiched between them, I felt more hostage than a princess. Adam held the reins, guiding our little procession, shadowed by a few Gamma soldiers whose mission was to deliver me safely into Clyde Murphy’s deadly clutches. The trek from Emerald City to The Frostfall’s realm would stretch over a week, and they had to fend off any rogues looking for a royal snack. Adam casually mentioned the northern wolf populace like he was discussing the weather, which did wonders for my nerves. Each night I slept fitfully, waking at every rustle, while Rachel and Rebecca around me snoozed as if on a royal spa retreat. By the seventh night, we reached the Glacier Spine, where Clyde's army sprawled at the mountain's base. Through the curtains, I caught the glow of random campfires and the mouth-watering scent of barbeque. It was almost festive. "Can you see The Savage King?" Rachel hissed in a conspiratorial tone. "No," Rebecca yawned, "Where is he then?" "Perhaps lurking in the shadows, sizing up his new bride," Rachel snickered, giving me a nudge. "Nora, does your heart flutter at the thought? Your days as a virgin are numbered. I wonder if The Savage King is just as ferocious in bed." "Remember to call me Cynthia," I reminded her. "If you slip up and Clyde finds out I'm a fraud, we're all in danger, and it'll put the entire Emerald City at risk." "I know better than to make such a rookie mistake," Rachel retorted, rolling her eyes. "And don't pretend you care about us or the Emerald City." "Exactly," Rebecca added with a sneer. "We all know the only reason you took this on is because the king has your sister." She pinched my t***h sharply, and I had to fight back a yelp, almost biting through my l*p to keep silent. "Step aside, you're in our way," a Gamma soldier ordered. "No, halt here. Have the princess exit the carriage," a commanding voice instructed. Peering through the curtain, I saw our carriage surrounded by Clyde's soldiers. Their leader, a man looked about forty, his iron-gray hair and steely eyes made more terrifying by a scar slashing across his cheek. “Dam,” Rebecca muttered, her voice laced with worry. “Are we in trouble?” “Out you go,” Rachel said in a low voice, nodding toward outside. “I can’t just hop out now,” I whispered back. "Didn't you get the hint? Do you want us all to lose our heads?" Rebecca hissed, giving me a shove. "Get moving!" I felt a flicker of irritation. "Can't you see this is a test?" I countered. “A true princess wouldn't rush to every command. That's for the omegas. If I step off now, the Savage King will definitely suspect something's wrong. If this mission fails, my sister dies. So don't question me. My will to survive is just as strong as yours!”

Nora Bless the Moon, Clyde broke the silence. "This way, princess," he said, leading me gracefully past his soldiers. Their eyes followed us with reverence. Even without turning around, I could feel Rebecca and Rachel's gaze fixed on us. My heart pounded so loudly that I was afraid everyone could hear it. I was baffled because my situation was quite the unique ordeal compared to most werewolves. I once had a wolf named Phoenix. Her voice in my mind was a warm, amber glow, a presence that chased away the loneliness of court life. "Chin up, little warrior. Our bond is stronger than their pettiness." she would whisper, giving me strength against Cynthia's cruel jabs. She stayed with me for a wonderful year. Yet, everything changed when Princess Cynthia reached the same age and discovered herself wolfless. I remember the night. The entire west wing echoed with her shattered screams and the sound of priceless things being broken. The next morning, her eyes, red-rimmed and burning with a cold fire, found me. She had wept her tears, and hatched a plan full of malice. She decided that if she couldn’t have a wolf, then neither could I. She went to King Theodore, claiming, "Father, to make Nora more like me, her wolf should be removed." The king looked at his perfect, wolfless daughter and saw a political problem to be solved. He found her logic, and I was summoned and offered a goblet. The air around it shimmered with a faint, purple haze. Wolfsbane. Not just a leaf, but a concentrated, viciously refined cocktail. "No," I breathed, my blood turning to ice. I took a step back. Phoenix roared in my head, a sound of pure, primal fear. "Fight, Nora! Run!" I tried. Goddess, I tried to fight. A low growl rumbled in my throat. The familiar warmth of the shift prickled under my skin. But Cynthia’s voice cut through my defiance."Think of your sister, Nora," she murmured, stepping down from the dais to appear as a compassionate friend. She placed a cold, restraining hand on my arm. Her eyes, however, held no pity, only a glint of vicious triumph. "Sweet little Lily. So fragile. It would be a tragedy if her privileges here at court were… reconsidered. If the air in her suddenly grew cold, or if her meals failed to include the medicine that keeps her weak lungs clear. Would you be so selfish as to jeopardize your own sister’s wellbeing for your own… pet?" Her words were a dagger to my soul. All the fight drained from me, leaving a hollow, aching terror. I looked from Cynthia’s smug face to the King’s indifferent one. My shoulders slumped. For Lily. Always for Lily. With a trembling hand that felt like it belonged to someone else, I took the goblet. Its bitter scent stung my nose. I heard Phoenix whimper, a sound of utter betrayal and heartbreak. "I’m sorry," I thought to her, my own heart shattering. "I’m so sorry." I drank. It was like swallowing liquid fire and frost simultaneously, a poison that sought not my life, but my soul. I fell to my knees, a silent scream locked in my throat as I felt it. A tearing, a ripping, a bond stretching until it snapped with a finality. Phoenix was gone. Sacrificed on the altar of Cynthia’s envy. "I hope you don’t hold a grudge against us, Nora." Cynthia said with a smirk. "It's nothing personal. It was for the greater good." I forced my head to bow. "I understand." I choked out. "Your vision for the kingdom's unity... surpasses my own. I was... shallow and short-sighted." Cynthia’s smile was a victor’s banner. From that day forward, I never spoke of Phoenix again.The idea of finding a mate became more frightening than hopeful. How could I trust another when I had betrayed my own soul? Thus, I had no idea what encountering my mate would entail under these circumstances. You see, I detected Clyde's scent and felt the spark unique to mates, yet he seemed oblivious to my presence. Was I invisible to him in some way? Otherwise, why did he act as if nothing had happened? Clyde helped me into his carriage. As soon as the curtains fell, he released my hand and leaned in with an intensity that made the small space feel even smaller. He gripped my chin, pulling my gaze to meet his. "So, you're Princess Cynthia?" he asked, his voice low and emotionless, yet each word hammered at my nerves. His hot breath skims across my skin, sending involuntary shivers down my spine. In that charged moment, his gaze pierced through me, the intensity crackling in the air between us. It felt like being ensnared by a predator whose desires were inscrutably layered, more complex than mere fleshly hunger. A twisted blend of threat and allure left me reeling, yet oddly captivated. Despite the rush of adrenaline, I met his gaze, summoning the regal detachment of a princess. My chin lifted, eyes steady. "I am," I replied with a calm I barely felt. "Didn't we meet briefly at Lord Chambers's banquet, Your Majesty?" I deftly tossed the question back at him, hinting at his prior encounter with Cynthia. He hummed softly, his l**s curving into a wry, almost cynical smile. "Many years have passed," he mused, his eyes unwavering on mine, "Memories can become hazy. I scarcely recall your exact features." "Then," I ventured, heart hammering against my ribs, but my voice deliberately languid, laced with a princess’s challenge, "after all these years, does my features still please you, Your Majesty?" Abruptly, he closed the distance, his presence enveloping me, his scent a heady invasion of my senses. "Please?" he echoed, leaning in so close I could count his long, thick eyelashes. "Your beauty is flawless, fit for any king." His voice dropped, now a velvety murmur, "Yet something is amiss. You possess a subtle difference from the Princess Cynthia I remember." The moment of truth had arrived. A sheen of cold sweat lined my back, but I maintained my composure, a mask perfected through years of practice. "Oh? What is different?" I asked, curiosity feigned with a tilt of my head. "Is it the fatigue of travel? Or..." I paused, allowing a playful vanity to creep into my tone, "Have I grown more beautiful?" I added a flutter of innocent lashes. He chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air but never reached his eyes. He retreated slightly, giving me a moment to breathe, but the tension remained thick. "No. It’s not your appearance." His gaze roamed over my features, from eyebrows to eyes, nose, and finally paused at my l**s. "It’s here. You're more spirited, daring. At that mundane banquet, you were like an ice sculpture, silent, aloof." "People change, Your Majesty," I countered swiftly, though his astute memory set my pulse racing. The more he remembered, the greater my risk of exposure. I chose my words carefully, then added, "I speak more freely with those I admire." His eyebrow arched, a gleam sparking in his eyes. "Admire?" he repeated, his tone sharpened with playful provocation. "Do you claim to admire me more now—the conqueror of your army, than when I was an ally?" The jab, expertly aimed, sent a chill skittering up my spine. Taking a steadying breath, I made a daring move. I leaned forward, deliberately narrowing the space between us, my fingers cool as they wrapped around his gloved hand. His fingers twitched slightly but did not pull away. "I am married to you, Your Majesty." I lifted my eyes, meeting his with a blend of sincerity and warmth, as though my deepest feelings fueled the words. "From today forward, we share glory and disgrace. You're no longer my foe but my husband, my future strength." I lingered on the word "husband," infusing it with gentle shyness and commitment. I aimed to portray a princess unafraid to sacrifice pride for peace, eager to forge a new path. I silently prayed he would buy my performance. He glanced down at my hand, then back to my face, his eyes a storm of ice and fire, settling into a deep, mysterious glow. He returned the grip with gentle but firm authority, a silent claim. "Well-spoken, Princess," he drawled, each word layered with intent. "Let us hope your deeds match your eloquent words." We remained locked in each other’s eyes until a knock at the window shattered the moment. Instinctively, I let my hand slip away. "Your Majesty, have you finished the interrogation?" It was General Marcus. My heart leapt into my throat as tension crackled in the air. Clyde turned to the window, his voice authoritative and calm. "General, the princess has been identified. We'll e****t her back to Frostfall and arrange a feast in her honor." The general hesitated, doubt shadowing his eyes. He seemed on the verge of questioning, but Clyde silenced him with a simple, elegant wave of his hand. "I said she's the real princess," he declared, his tone smooth and commanding. Reluctantly, the general fell silent and complied, signaling to the soldiers with raised arms. "Let's move! We have the real princess," he proclaimed. A surge of cheers erupted from the soldiers, their enthusiasm rolling through the air like a victorious anthem. I let out a quiet sigh of relief, feeling some of the tension in my chest begin to unwind. Then, unexpectedly, Clyde's hand closed around mine, a curious mixture of warmth and assertive possession that sent a jolt through me. The surprise on my face didn’t escape him; he seemed amused, his eyes dancing with a playful glint. "I just wanted to hold your hand, Princess. Welcome to the North," he drawled, a smirk tugging at his l**s.

  Nora "Welcome the Return of the King!" "Welcome, Princess Cynthia!" As our carriage rolled into Frostfall City, we were greeted with a torrent of warmth—applause, flowers, and cheers rained upon us. Faces leaned out from balconies; children perched on adult shoulders regarded us with wide-eyed curiosity. Along the road, soldiers maintained order, pushing back the eager crowd whenever they pressed too close. "Stay back!" commanded the soldiers, and the crowd would momentarily oblige, only to surge forward again with renewed enthusiasm. "Shouldn't you show your face and greet your people?" I asked, casting a sidelong glance at Clyde, who lay with his head comfortably in my l*p, eyes closed. I envied his ability to rest so easily, while I, despite my own fatigue, served as his pillow. "Maintaining a sense of mystery keeps their awe intact," he replied lazily, without even opening his eyes. "But that makes you seem distant," I countered. "If I were you, I would choose to be a little more approachable." "Approachable? So that someone with ill intent can assassinate me?" he chuckled, a wry smile pulling at his l**s. "I meant emotionally closer, not physically," I pressed. "Your soldiers just waged a war. This is a prime moment to win their loyalty. You only need to show your face, wave, and smile." "I'm exhausted," he sighed. "I know," I said gently, "but this chance will not come again." He opened his eyes and said, "You talked too much as a princess," impatience edging his voice. I quickly fell silent. Yet, acknowledging the truth in my words, he sat up and extended his hand to me. I blinked at him, surprised. “What? Did you think you'd have the carriage to yourself by pushing me out there alone?” he teased, pulling me to my feet. “Wait, I haven't properly arranged the folds of my dress…” I began, but he was already guiding me out of the carriage. “Keep the carriage steady, Josh,” he instructed the coachman."I don’t want my bride to tumble and force me to jump after her." The coachman chuckled in response, accustomed to Clyde's blend of charisma and dry humor. I swallowed my retort as his arm locked securely around my w***t, drawing me against his side with an assertive ease that left little room for argument. “Smile, Cynthia,” he murmured, his voice a velvet tease that was both infuriating and fascinating. “Let my people believe we’re very much in love.” “And why would we want them to think that?” I asked. “Ever heard of a war over a woman named Helen? She ran off with her lover, sparking a war when her enraged husband sought to reclaim her. It lasted a decade, with countless lives lost. Yet when the king won and Helen returned, the sight of her inspired the soldiers to declare they’d fight another ten years for such beauty.” “Interesting tale,” I muttered. “A clever way to glamorize an invasion.” “Are you always so sharp-tongued, Princess?” Clyde asked, tilting his head with curiosity. “Only when provoked,” I replied with a smirk. “It was never my intention to offend,” Clyde said smoothly. “Allow me to rephrase. I hope our union demonstrates to my soldiers that their devotion isn’t in vain.” “That sounds much better,” I said. With a wave to the crowd, Clyde played his part perfectly. Reluctantly, I mimicked him, a practiced smile finding its way to my l**s as the cheers around us amplified. “Who’s this woman?” people whispered, their curiosity piqued. “She’s Princess Cynthia, the most beautiful woman in the Emerald City,” a man responded proudly. “She looks gorgeous, look at those sun-kissed golden hair and those hazel eyes.” “I like her dress,” remarked a little girl perched on her dad’s shoulders, her eyes wide with admiration. “Yours look great too, sweetheart," I replied, my smile softening into genuine warmth. She blushed, her cheeks a rosy hue, and muttered, “Thank you.” Our brief exchange drew smiles from the onlookers, the shared moment of connection spreading through the crowd. Somewhere in the throng, a cheer and a whistle directed at me pierced the air. “Don’t whistle at my Luna, you lecher,” Clyde interjected with mock indignation, flinging his boot at a cheeky young man in the crowd. The crowd collectively gasped before erupting into laughter, an infectious energy rippling through them. I turned to Clyde, shock written across my features. "What about your boot—" I began, only to be cut off by his teasing response. "You're failing as a compassionate princess, Cynthia," he quipped, his tone laced with light mockery. "You should worry more about his head than my boot. I have many boots, but he only has one head." His expression softened. “Though, I must admit, I like the shock on your face.” He pinched my chin gently, an unexpected intimacy that made my pulse quicken. "You're almost too cute." His gaze was intense, leaving me momentarily breathless.“Do you want to know how we can make them like us more?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned closer. Before I could muster a reply, Clyde's l**s captured mine, fervent and possessive. The k**s was like a blend of defiance and duty, leaving me dizzy in its wake. The crowd's roar swelled around us, an ocean of approval and excitement that seemed to make the very air vibrate. Yeah, the effect turned out to be great, but…this was my first k**s! Never had I imagined it would happen like this. So publicly, so unexpectedly, and under such intense scrutiny. The world narrowed to the sensation of his mouth on mine, demanding and possessive, leaving me breathless and disoriented. And then there was the sharp, unexpected sting. A brief, teasing bite that grazed my l*p, drawing blood. It was a jolt, a mingling of pleasure and pain that reminded me of the precarious position I was in. The metallic tang of blood lingered, grounding me as the intensity of the moment swirled around. Clyde pulled back slightly.“What’s with that expression?” he asked, his voice low. He tilted his head in playful inquiry. His demeanor was an effortless charisma that both drew me in and set me on edge. “Do you want my honesty or my respect?” I replied, trying to regain my composure. “Can’t I have both?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “No,” I stated firmly. “Alright, then, your honesty.” “I was thinking of hitting you over the head with my high heel,” I confessed. “That was my first k**s. I wasn’t prepared. You kissed me without asking—” “Get used to it, southern flower. It’s how we do things in the north,” he said unapologetically. “Savage,” I muttered under my breath. “What was that?” His gaze narrowed. “Hot,” I quickly corrected. “Sounds very Hot.” He chuckled darkly. “I doubt that was your honest answer,” he said, giving my bottom a playful pinch that nearly made me jump. “Dishonest ones get punished,” he added with a wicked gleam in his eye. “As if the disrespectful ones would get off any easier,” I murmured. He smirked but chose not to comment further. Soon, the carriage rolled to a gentle stop in front of the grand palace. "Take off your shoes," Clyde commanded, with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "What? Why?" I asked, incredulous. "Obviously, I'm afraid you'll use them to bash my head in," he replied with a teasing lilt. I stared at him, my eyes wide. "It was a joke," he added quickly, urging me along. "Seriously, though, take them off. I’ll carry you into the palace. It’s a tradition here in Frostfall. The palace floors are to remain unsullied by outside dirt." His explanation left me skeptical, and he sensed it. “It’s true. My father carried my mother in this way, as did my grandfather with my grandmother, and all the generations before.” His explanation was peculiar, but his words unexpectedly warmed something deep inside me, making me feel as though I was genuinely being welcomed into his family. I slipped off my shoes, and Clyde effortlessly scooped me up into his arms. A flush crept up my cheeks, heightened by the watchful eyes of the crowd that surrounded us. Their gazes bore into me, amplifying my embarrassment until I couldn't help but bury my face against him, seeking refuge from their scrutiny. Suddenly, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Clyde feigned a stumble, momentarily unsettling us both. Instinctively, I tightened my grip around his n**k, clinging to him with a startled gasp as my heart raced. Clyde swiftly regained his balance, his strong arms reassuringly pulling me even closer against him. "Got you," he murmured teasingly, his eyes locking onto mine with a blend of playful mirth and something deeper that made my heart flutter. “Don’t pin this on me, Your Majesty,” Josh piped up from the front. “The carriage is perfectly still.” “Quiet, Josh,” Clyde quipped, his light laughter a private melody between us, vibrating through his chest where I rested my head.  

  Nora Clyde carried me smoothly through the grand entrance, and I couldn't help but notice the eyes that followed us. Servants and guards paused in their duties, nodding and murmuring, "Your Majesty" and "Princess" as we passed by. “This is the main hall,” Clyde said, gesturing to the impressive surroundings. “Beyond it are the gardens, although they’re mostly covered in snow this time of year. The library is in the west wing, the armory to the north, and there are plenty of rooms for guests and advisors.” I nodded, taking it all in. I couldn’t help but compare it to the palace I used to know. This place was bigger and more stunning, but it felt cold and impersonal, lacking the warmth and familiarity of my old home. It made me feel lost in its grandeur. Sensing my discomfort, Clyde paused, holding me close. “Stay by my side,” he said gently. “You’ll have plenty of time to explore later.” He carried me further down the corridors, setting me down gently in the main hall. Standing barefoot on the chilly stone floor, I felt the respect and recognition from those around us. It was a reminder of the new role I had stepped into. As I looked around, I noticed several maids watching me, their eyes filled with curiosity. Their silent appraisal made me blush, and I found myself fiddling with my fingers, feeling the weight of their attention. “Do you plan on standing there admiring my Luna all day, or will someone fetch her a pair of shoes?” Clyde quipped, his voice carrying a commanding yet playful lilt. “Yes, Your Majesty!” the maids responded in chorus, quickly darting off to fulfill his request. Clyde then turned his gaze back to me, scanning me with a hint of playful disapproval. "You're so light," he noted, both amused and concerned. "Did the Crimson Court not provide you with enough to eat?" "I was on a diet," I replied, providing a half-truth that concealed the complexity of my reality. In fact, food was never scarce—at least not for those residing in the palace. But Princess Cynthia's preoccupation with maintaining her figure dictated our meals. Whenever she decided to diet, I had no choice but to follow suit. Any divergence would make the discrepancies in our appearances too glaringly obvious. Her whims became my constraints, and though sustenance was always available, it occurred on terms defined by her desires, not mine. “I see,” Clyde murmured, his eyes roving over me. “But you're far too thin. Let’s see if Betty, our head cook, can change your mind with her cooking. She has three children, each strong as an ox.” I couldn’t help but smile at his words. Just then, the maids returned, led by a striking young woman with chestnut curls and light brown eyes. “Your Majesty,” she said as she approached, offering a respectful curtsy. “Oh, you’re here, Barbara,” Clyde greeted her with casual familiarity. “I was just about to look for you.” There was a flicker of hopeful anticipation in her eyes at his words. “Meet my future Luna, Princess Cynthia from the Crimson Court,” Clyde introduced with a proud tilt of his head. “She’s traveled a long way to be here. Please see that she is well cared for.” Barbara's expression barely flickered, but the surprise was evident in the way her features momentarily tightened. "An honor to meet you, Princess," she said, her tone was anything but honorable. Despite being an Omega, Barbara carried herself with the poise and assurance of someone accustomed to command, a confidence that piqued my curiosity. Why did she wield such a presence? "It's a pleasure to meet you," I replied diplomatically, maintaining a cordial facade. “You must be exhausted from your journey,” she continued, leaning in slightly as if to scrutinize me more closely. Her look was a blend of sympathy and mild disdain. “And you certainly don’t smell your best. Let me e****t you to a bath and fresh clothes, Princess.” I caught Clyde’s approving nod as I prepared to follow her, but he called me back. “Wait, is there anything special you fancy for dinner, Cynthia?” he asked, his tone seemingly offhand but laced with interest. A straightforward question for most, but in my case, far from simple. Once, the gnawing ache of hunger was a constant companion. At the Abbey, meals were uncertain, and I learned to savor every scrap like a precious gem. What others deemed mundane was, to me, pure luxury. A humble piece of bread, its crust carefully removed and adorned with the rare treat of honey or cheese, was a feast I cherished beyond words. Then my life in the palace swept those simple joys away, replacing them with a different kind of hunger. To shadow Princess Cynthia's privileged lifestyle meant adopting her every whim and preference. If she delighted in a dish, I was allowed a taste; if not, no matter how much my taste buds longed for it, I had to abstain. Over time, this constant bending of my will began to erode the very core of who I was. My own essence gradually faded away and I ended up being a shadow, a ghostly reflection, unable to recall what I truly liked or desired. “Is this question difficult?” Clyde prompted, his eyebrows lifting in genuine curiosity. “Um, I…,” I faltered, caught in a struggle to remember the remnants of my own identity, but inevitably defaulting to what I had been trained to say. “Oysters with a crisp white wine. They’re my favorite.” “How noble,” Barbara remarked dryly, her tone tinged with irony. “I’ll let Betty know,” Clyde said, “See you at dinner, Cynthia.” I offered a small curtsy before following Barbara to the bathroom, the air between us taut with unspoken tension. "Please, undress, Princess," Barbara instructed smoothly, her hands poised to assist as she observed me with a practiced, unreadable expression. "You can leave," I responded firmly, preferring the solace of privacy. "I'd like to bathe alone." Yet Barbara lingered, her fingers nimble as she began removing my earrings and necklace. "Such lovely decorations," she commented, a smile gracing her l**s that lacked warmth. Her tone turned subtly ironic as she continued, "Especially for someone from a defeated country. It seems the Crimson Court knows how to maintain appearances, even in trying times." I met her gaze steadily, refusing to be rattled by her veiled jabs. “Thank you, Barbara,” I replied. “It's always been a gift of ours to shine, no matter the circumstances.” She hesitated, momentarily caught off guard by my composed response. I saw a flicker of envy cross her eyes, quickly masked by practiced indifference. My steadfast refusal to be cowed seemed to only stoke the fire of her resentment further. "We shine not only with adornments," I added, holding her gaze with unwavering resolve, "but through our resilience and grace." "Of course," Barbara replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "May I?" she asked, gesturing to my gown. Resignedly, I began undoing the buttons of my gown while Barbara assisted, slipping it off. Her eyes appraised my form critically in a way that unsettled me. "You look... much thinner," she observed, her voice edged with a dispassionate scrutiny. "The last time I saw you, you were quite robust." A wave of panic hit me. Had Barbara encountered Princess Cynthia before? “Sorry, but I don’t quite recall,” I replied carefully, keeping my voice steady. “Of course,” she said with a hint of scorn, “someone as noble as you wouldn’t remember us common folk.” Anxiety churned within me, but I forced a neutral smile. “Apologies, I’ve attended countless events. Could you remind me when we last met? I’d certainly remember this time.” “At the Mating Ball three years ago,” Barbara announced with undue pride. “I accompanied His Majesty to Lord Chambers’s banquet. Surely, you remember? The musicians were exceptional, and the fireworks unforgettable.” My heart pounded as I replied, struggling to maintain composure. “Ah, yes, now you jog my memory. I do recall meeting the King, though we didn’t have the chance to speak.” “Indeed, His Majesty never mentioned you upon his return. But now, it seems he’s taken quite an interest... even asking about your favorite foods.”she remarked, a tinge of jealousy in her voice. I forced a casual tone, eager to escape her probing. “I believe His Majesty is just being polite,” I added. “Considering I'm a guest at Frostfall and his future Luna. Can I start my bath now?” Barbara’s expression remained inscrutable as she nodded curtly. “Certainly.” I sank into the warm bath, letting out a contented sigh as the heat wrapped around my weary limbs, washing away the fatigue of the journey. Barbara suddenly leaned in, her eyes flicking over the water. "This water's getting cold. I'll fetch hot water," she announced. "Is it?" I replied, surprised. "It feels fine to me." "It will get cold soon," she insisted, her voice smooth and reassuring. "I'll prepare some hot water." "You're very considerate, thank you, Barbara," I said, trying to match her sudden cordiality. "You're mostly welcome," she replied with a fleeting smile, standing up. "I’ll be right back." As she left, time seemed to stretch uncomfortably. The warmth began to seep away, replaced by a creeping chill that settled into my bones. Why was she taking so long? A thread of suspicion started to weave its way through my thoughts, yet I brushed it aside. Just as I was starting to grow concerned, the door swung open with an abruptness that startled me. “Thank God, you're finally back," I began, turning my head towards the entrance, expecting to see Barbara. But my words died on my l**s when I found it wasn't just Barbara who entered. Clyde was there too, his expression unreadable. “Your Majesty!” Barbara exclaimed, her voice sharp with accusation as she pointed directly at me. “This woman is an imposter! Her back is covered with scars! She can’t be Princess Cynthia. She must be an Omega slave!"  

Nora Rebecca relented, an unusual glimmer of respect in her eyes, and she stayed silent. "So, what's the plan?" Rachel murmured. Clearing my throat, I addressed the voice outside, “To whom am I speaking?” “Marcus Antonius, General of The Frostfall.” “Thank you, General,” I said graciously. “However, I’ll remain here until King Murphy himself arrives. I am, after all, his bride.” Silence reigned for a beat before the general chuckled derisively. “Do you honestly think you merit a personal welcome by His Majesty? You're just a pawn of peace from a defeated kingdom. A shiny bauble. Now step out of the carriage. I’m trying to remain civil, but my patience is wearing thin.” “Defeated kingdom? What nonsense is he talking about?” Rebecca asked, bewildered. “Wasn't this supposed to be a diplomatic marriage for mutual benefit?” “The stark truth is, our forces have been obliterated," I responded, knowing full well her father and brother had battled in the war. “No, you’re just spinning tales,” Rebecca protested, her face paling as she muttered the words. She lunged toward me, but Rachel quickly intervened, holding her back. "Calm down, Rebecca! Don’t harm her. We’ve got to count on her now." “If you persist in remaining in the carriage, I’ll have to drag you out myself,” Marcus threatened “Then come and fetch me, General,” I declared, uncowed. “A savage might disregard decorum, but a princess adheres to it.” “Are you slighting His Majesty as a savage?” Marcus's expression grew dark as he snarled and stormed forward, roughly pushing Adam from his perch. Rachel and Rebecca recoiled instinctively, pressing themselves back against the seats. Bracing myself, I lifted my chin defiantly. Just as the general's hand reached for the curtain, a new, commanding voice cut through the tension. “Enough.” The voice was far from thunderous, but carried a lazy authority that was impossible to ignore.  Marcus immediately stepped aside and bowed to him. "Your Majesty." "Do not show such disrespect to the princess, General. Have your men step back three paces—you’ve crowded the place enough to stifle the air," Clyde commanded, his hand outstretched to help Adam up, yet radiating a chill that lingered in the air. "You alright?" "I am fine, Your Majesty," Adam stammered, opting to pull himself up as if contact with a king was a line he dared not cross. I fixed my gaze on Clyde Murphy, half-expecting a scene out of a horror tale to unfold before me. Instead, his demeanor threw me for a loop. Where was the unrestrained barbarian I’d imagined? Why did he seem almost... easygoing? Was this an elaborate facade? Hypocrisy in the flesh? Very much like King Theodore’s feigned warmth at the abbey gates. Come on, Nora, stay on your toes. Clyde chuckled softly, clearly entertained by Adam's nervousness. As he shifted his gaze to me, Rachel and Rebecca’s eyes widened. It was that classic response when an irresistible Alpha graces the scene. Clothed entirely in black, Clyde’s opulent fur cloak draped over his shoulders. His platinum blonde hair and ice-blue eyes cut a striking figure. His high cheekbones and flawless skin appeared sculpted by a master artisan, crowned by arched eyebrows and a teasing smirk that epitomized the careless allure of a nonchalant playboy. I’d expected a sly silver fox nearing forty, yet was met by a bewilderingly youthful visage instead. As his hand lifted the curtain, an electric connection seemed to crackle in the narrow space between us, sending my heart racing wildly to my throat. "Now that I’ve come in person, it’s time to step out, Princess,"his voice tinged with a magnetic pull I couldn't ignore. "It’s too cold outside," I protested, shivering as the icy wind crept into the carriage. "Can’t I stay inside until we reach your palace?" I ventured, trying to sound both innocent and reasonable. "Southern flower, this isn't even the coldest time in the North," he teased softly, his words wrapped in a gentle taunt. "We can travel there in my carriage, but your soldiers will have to stay behind." "And my maids?" I asked, trying to mask the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. "Your call," he replied casually, barely sparing them a glance, his unwavering gaze firmly set on mine as if daring me to look away. “Let’s go, Your Highness,” Rebecca urged, preparing to help me down. Yet I resolutely ignored her hand. Having Rebecca and Rachel around was like carrying the weight of an unwanted royal entourage. They served as the eyes and ears for King Theodore or Princess Cynthia, ensuring my every move aligned with the court's expectations. Their presence was a constant reminder of my shackles. But did I mention I had a plan? Because I do. While the royal family might believe they have me caught in their web, I've been weaving my own threads for escape. Once settled in Frostfall, I’d correspond with my sister. The moment I confirm she’s found her mate and safely left Emerald City, I’ll melt away from Frostfall’s icy grasp too. As for where I’d land, perhaps somewhere like White Harbor with its promises of endless sun and sandy beaches—a place I've dreamed of through the pages of books. And if Clyde Murphy decides to wage war on King Theodore after I vanish? Well, that would be their problem, not mine. As Theodore himself noted, this is to be my final act in the role of his daughter. In my imagination, my spirit was already strolling along sunlit shores, with the cries of seagulls echoing in the skies. That is, until Rachel’s voice jolted me back to reality. "Your Highness?" "I'll go alone with King Murphy. You two shall return to Emerald City," I asserted calmly, my words carrying an unexpected certainty that surprised even me. Rebecca and Rachel gaped at me as if I'd suggested they sprout wings and fly home on their own. "But, Your Highness… without us, who will serve you?" Rachel pressed, her smile teetering at the brink. I nearly laughed at her question. How ironic. Isn't it always I am the one serving them instead? So no, I'd try my best not to have them around.  "Although we’re guests, King Murphy may not like too many strangers wandering in his place. Besides, there’s no way that Frostfall will be short on staff. I'm sure King Murphy has everything arranged," I said, turning my gaze toward Clyde with a mixture of challenge and curiosity. "Isn’t that right?" Clyde raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by our little interplay. "Rest easy, ladies. I’ll see to the princess’s comfort," he assured smoothly.Extending his hand toward me. His eyes held mine, and I took his hand with deliberate caution. I managed a smile, but the moment my fingers brushed his skin, a current of electricity raced through me, igniting fireworks in my veins. My mate. Leave it to fate—Clyde Murphy is my go'ddаmned mate. I jrked up my head, staring at him in astonishment. Immediately, a captivating scent hit me. Hate to admit it, but what the Moon Goddess had arranged was truly unparalleled. The smell wafting off him was akin to wood—if wood could somehow be s*******e—and it had a deadly allure for me, even outdoing the aroma of roasting meat. My mouth watered. My mind drew a complete blank. He was my mate. My. fking. Mate. I had conjured up countless scenarios and strategies for meeting Clyde, but none of them prepared me for discovering he was my mate, leaving me utterly speechless. I opened my mouth, only to realize I had no idea what to say.