KAMILA'S POV
I'm exhausted and tired, dragging my feet across the floors.
My entire day has been spent greeting older men-Alphas from different packs and a lot of political aspirants-having long, exhausting talks where I have to stand and seem interested in everything they say.
All to fulfill a role that isn't mine anymore: the role of being Artemis' partner.
I guess in a way, our breaking up will serve me, as I won't have to be this golden ticket people use to climb to the top.
I won't be the Alpha princess everyone curries favor with, showering me with fake, sweet words.
I'll just be a girl.
I imagine when this is over, I'll be lost and without a purpose, but a small, insignificant part of me is tired.
Maybe ending this long battle for a man who should love me is for the best.
It's dark out as I make my way to the female dorm to retire, hoping to skip the banquet tomorrow. My plans of sleeping in and doing nothing for the first time in my life come to a halt when I see a familiar tall, dark man in his mid-thirties.
He's standing by the doorway, dressed in a full black suit with an inner black turtleneck, standing stiff as a statue.
I recognize his posture, his silhouette, even his face without the sunlight.
"Jonathan?" I say his name, approaching slowly, and he looks at me, acknowledging that's his name.
Instantly, I'm overwhelmed by panic, fear, and discomfort-emotions I've successfully buried away long enough but are now forcefully surfacing because of what it means for him to be here.
For Father's Beta and right-hand man to be standing in front of me.
"Miss Kamila," he greets with a bow. "Your father has summoned you."
Of course he has.
He never calls or visits like a normal father would, maintaining decorum and formalities even with his only daughter, treating family issues like business deals.
That's the kind of man my father is.
I purse my lips together, knowing I can't refuse.
"Where is he?"
He responds with a nod, walking away. A silent command to follow him hangs in the air, and I do. We walk farther from the dorms and toward the school.
I hadn't even known when he arrived; I'd prayed something had come up and he couldn't make it again.
But sadly, he's here, having arrived at whatever time and choosing not to make his presence known until now.
I rub my sweaty palms against my shirt as we draw closer to the school library. He stops at the door, pulling it open and stepping aside.
I pause right in front of the open door; the overwhelming fear and nervousness welling inside me cause my hands to tremble. I shake it off, squeezing them tighter, and walk in.
He sits facing the entrance, his battalion of guards lined perfectly behind him, all wearing black and remaining still as statues.
I draw closer to him-my father-who looks the same as always with his copper-red hair streaked with white and piercing blue eyes.
"I greet the Alpha of the Wildheart Pack, Gideon Wildheart," I say, performing a ceremonial bow.
It's the only form of greeting Father has ever approved of: bowing to the point where only the lower body remains upright, remaining still as a statue.
It's painful, especially doing it as a little child without balance, but I learned it the hard way.
I had no choice.
"Rise," he acknowledges after a minute of keeping me in an uncomfortable position.
I slowly rise to my feet again but avoid meeting his eyes; I don't dare to. The room is quiet and still, and I'm as stiff as the guards standing around us.
"I received word from His Majesty, King Silvan. Interesting and new information reached my ears, Kamila; news that you seem to have left out in your recent reports," he says.
I gulp. "What would that be, Father?"
"You seem not even to know what is happening around you, even matters concerning your own mate. Your incompetence seems to have risen to an alarming rate in recent months," he frowns.
I bow my head lower, beads of sweat forming on my forehead.
"Forgive me, Father," I apologize, even though I did it purposely.
How could I break the news of the end of my relationship to the royal family?
"Apparently, Prince Artemis has requested to be separated from you in a severing ceremony. Are you or are you not aware of his plans?"
"I am aware."
"And you did nothing?"
A moment of cold silence passes between us. I need a second-or more-to say what needs to be said, for him to understand me.
"I've convinced him time and time again, but my effects seem to have weakened on him. Recently, he decided to end it once and for all. I couldn't talk him out of it."
He scoffs now, finding every word I've uttered pathetic.
"Couldn't or wouldn't? You seem too relaxed for a she-wolf about to lose her mate. Almost as if you don't realize the shame and disgrace that being severed from your pair will bring to my reputation."
"I understand, Father. I tried to-"
"And yet here we are, and I'm expected to fix this pathetic mistake of yours that you made without regard to your family. Do you wish to make a mockery of us further? You've already done enough damage being born as a girl and leaving the family without a male heir."
I bite my lip, holding back the emotions that his words gather in my chest, deciding that none of them will hurt me today.
"I do not think it should be tampered with," I look up at him now, more confidently meeting blue eyes and features that are identical to mine.
I hope to show him that I made the right call, that I did it to uphold our family honor.
"What?" He looks at me, taken aback briefly by my bold response of talking back to him.
I take another breath and prepare to continue.
"It's his decision. He despises me, can't even stand the sight of me for too long. That's enough indication that hanging on any further makes me look like a desperate gold digger."
"Then if you must seem like a desperate gold digger being despised, it's your duty to do so for the good of this family."
"Father!" I raise my voice a decibel higher against my better judgment, overwhelmed by the emotions of having to lower myself just to earn more honor on his behalf.
And instantly, I regret it.
I realize my mistake too late.
His hand swoops through the air, gathering motion just before it smacks across my face with enough force to turn my head to the other side and twist my neck.
"Silence," he mutters coldly.
I tremble, biting my lips and tasting blood, holding my bruised cheek and hiding my face. I swallow it down so he doesn't see it, so he doesn't see me bleed.
I try to remain still, but the fear inside me forces my body to tremble. I shake uncontrollably, and his anger rises like flames in his eyes.
"You ungrateful thing. You should be grateful for the position I've given you, the clothes on your back, the privilege of being able to call yourself a Wildheart. You should be grateful I didn't fling your pathetic self into the rubbish the moment you were born," he yells even louder.
I watch his rage grow, overtaking everything else just like it always did in the past. I remain silent, trying to stay strong, but my emotions betray me, and a single tear slides down my eye.
He sees it before I can wipe it away and save myself.
Another blow hits my other cheek, harder than the first.
"A Wildheart doesn't waste their time on tears! How long do I have to teach you that?"
A third blow follows.
"You're still weak and timid, without a spine. It's clear this school has undone years of teaching and discipline I've instilled in you."
I remain silent, my body trembling harder than before, completely beyond control.
"Jonathan!" He yells, looking towards the door, signaling his Beta, who begins drawing closer.
I freeze in horror, understanding what this means.
Suddenly, I'm five years old again, hiding under my bed after getting a B on an English test, while my father furiously searches the house for me with a bloody whip in his hands.
"I'm sorry, Father, please," I shake violently, reverting back to my younger self, begging to be forgiven for my insolence, begging for his mercy, hoping that the blood we share would be enough for him to at least pity me.
"A Wildheart does not beg for mercy. You have to bear the consequences of your actions," he declares. Jonathan emerges at his side, holding up a horse whip and handing it to the man in front of me.
I clamor to my knees, throwing away all my dignity to plead and clutch the hem of his trousers. It angers him further; he kicks me away as if I'm a beggar on the street.
Two more of his men draw closer, seizing me by both arms and holding me in place.
"Please!" I cry out.
"Silence! Clench your jaw and suck it up," he yells, just before the first whip cracks against my back.
I feel the familiar pricking pain that lets me know my skin has been broken; it burns so badly that I cry out, begging like a child for her father's mercy.
He doesn't stop-blow after blow- even when blood starts to drip down my back, forming a puddle on the floor beneath me.
It continues until the very moment before I lose consciousness, when I'm completely numb and exhausted from crying, when my body feels nothing but the cold rising from the tips of my fingers due to the loss of blood.