POV Khalil
My wolf is screaming.
I pace my guest chambers like a caged animal, boots wearing tracks in the expensive carpet. My hands shake.
My chest burns with something corrosive, something that eats through the calm I've cultivated my entire life.
My wolf, always so gentle, so controlled, writhes beneath my skin with unfamiliar fury. It wants to tear, to rend, to destroy. For the first time in my life, I understand what other Alphas feel when rage consumes them.
I heard everything. The memories cascade through my mind like poison, each one more devastating than the last.
Eva's voice, breaking with confession: I'm pregnant.
Eva's admission, raw and damning: I've known since the gala. Your scents—cedar and smoke, frost and pine.
Eva, the woman who melted in my arms just yesterday, who gasped my name among the conservatory flowers, who made me believe our connection was real, carrying another man's child.
Possibly two other men's child.
I slam my fist against the wall, and the impact sends pain radiating up my arm. Good. Pain is clarifying. Pain cuts through the fog of humiliation threatening to drown me.
Yesterday, I held her. Yesterday, I opened myself to her—shared insecurities I've never spoken aloud, vulnerabilities I've hidden from everyone.
I told her about my father's disappointment, about wondering if anyone truly sees me beyond my wolf's calming influence.
And she listened with those green eyes full of understanding. Kissed me like I was the only thing she wanted. Let me worship her body among scattered petals while she cried my name.
While carrying another wolf's pup.
The humiliation is suffocating.
I think of how my wolf responded to her—not just the urge to soothe, but something possessive. Something that wanted to claim.
I'd already begun imagining a future: Eva at my side, her darkness balanced by my calm, our children inheriting the best of both bloodlines.
Foolish. Pathetic. The soft prince, falling for the first woman who pretended to see past his gentleness.
I think of returning to my pack. Of facing my father, my council, my people. Of explaining that I'd been made a fool—courting a princess who was already bred by my competitors before the courtship even began.
The shame would destroy me. My father's suspicions about my weakness would be confirmed. Every whisper about the gentle prince being too soft to lead would crystallize into certainty.
My first instinct is to march to Alpha King Aldric right now.
I can see it perfectly: striding into his study, laying out every damning detail. Watching Eva's carefully constructed world burn to ash around her.
Watching Matteo and Soren scramble to save themselves as their sins are exposed. Let everyone see the truth behind this farce of a courtship.
Let them all burn.
But I force myself to stop. To breathe. To think.
My gentle nature has always masked something sharper—a strategic mind that calculates while others assume I'm simply being kind. People mistake softness for stupidity.
They underestimate the wolf who soothes instead of snarls.
That underestimation has always been my greatest weapon.
I move to the window, staring out at the darkening grounds. My reflection stares back—amber eyes that have gone cold, jaw tight with controlled fury.
Immediate exposure benefits no one but my wounded pride. It would destroy Eva, yes. Damage Matteo and Soren, certainly.
But it would also cast me as the spurned suitor, the fool who couldn't see what was happening beneath his nose.
Strategic revelation, however...
That's a different calculation entirely.
If I wait, if I watch, gather more evidence, choose the perfect moment, I could destroy my enemies completely while positioning myself as the honorable prince who uncovered the deception.
The one who brought truth to light not from petty revenge, but from noble concern for the pack's integrity.
I could turn this disaster into triumph.
The cold calculation settles over me like armor, freezing the rage into something harder. More useful. My wolf still paces beneath my skin, but I've leashed it now. Directed its fury into purpose.
Eva thinks she's hidden her secrets. Matteo and Soren think they've cornered their prey. None of them realize that the gentle prince has teeth—and he's just decided to use them.
A knock at my door interrupts my thoughts.
"Prince Khalil?" A servant's voice. "Dinner will be served in thirty minutes. Alpha King Aldric requests all guests attend."
"Thank you." My voice emerges perfectly pleasant. Perfectly calm. "I'll be down shortly."
I turn from the window and approach the mirror, examining my reflection with clinical detachment. The fury still burns behind my eyes, but I can mask it. I've spent a lifetime masking things.
I adjust my collar. Smooth my expression into something gentle and warm. Practice the smile that makes everyone trust me.
No one will see the predator lurking beneath.
The dining room is elegant chaos when I arrive—servants bustling, candles flickering, the Alpha King presiding over his domain with cold authority.
Matteo and Soren are already seated, their expressions carefully neutral. Sebastian radiates his usual golden warmth, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him.
And Eva...
Eva enters moments after I take my seat. She's wearing blue tonight, the color bringing out the green of her eyes.
She looks tired, dark circles barely concealed beneath careful cosmetics, but she holds herself with the same practiced grace.
Our eyes meet across the room.
I smile. Pleasant. Warm. The gentle prince who held her among the flowers just yesterday.
"Eva." I rise to pull out her chair, the gesture perfectly courteous. "You look lovely this evening."
"Thank you, Khalil." Her smile is grateful, relieved. She has no idea what I know. "That's kind of you to say."
"Merely honest." I settle back into my seat, maintaining my pleasant expression as servants begin placing the first course.
Conversation flows around us—politics and pack alliances, the weather, innocuous topics that fill the silence without meaning anything. I participate appropriately, laughing at the right moments, asking thoughtful questions.
All while watching Eva from the corner of my eye.
She's anxious tonight. I can see it in the way she moves her food around her plate without eating. The way her gaze keeps darting to Matteo and Soren.
The way her hand occasionally drifts toward her stomach before she catches herself.
She's thinking about the pregnancy. About the unknown listener in that corridor. About how close her secrets came to being exposed.
She doesn't realize they were.
Midway through the main course, Eva catches my eye and smiles—warm, genuine, the smile of someone who believes I'm her safe harbor in this storm of predatory princes.
I smile back.
But my eyes have gone cold, and if she looked closely—really looked—she would see the difference. She would see that the gentle prince who held her yesterday has been replaced by something harder.
Something that calculates. Something that waits.
She doesn't look closely.
She will.
I lift my wine glass in a small toast, maintaining pleasant expression.
"To new beginnings," I say, and let the words carry their double meaning.
Eva raises her glass in return, suspecting nothing.
Enjoy your secrets while you can, princess, I think as crystal chimes against crystal. I'll be watching. And when the moment is right...
I take a slow sip of wine, savoring the rich complexity on my tongue.
I'll burn it all down.