POV: Rosalinda
The courtyard had been transformed into a stage of power.
Banners bearing Cassian’s sigil hung from the stone balconies, crimson and gold snapping in the morning wind. Rows of nobles filled the raised platforms, their silks and jewels catching the sun, while guards in ceremonial armor lined the perimeter in perfect formation.
At the center stood a carved dais draped in velvet, the throne set beneath a canopy as if the sky itself bowed to the king. I stood at Cassian’s side, crowned and composed, my expression carefully serene.
This was the moment he had chosen.
The murmurs of the crowd rose and fell like a living tide. Courtiers leaned toward one another, speculating, whispering, already sensing that this gathering was more than mere ceremony.
Cassian thrived on such moments. He waited until the noise settled, until every eye turned toward him, before lifting his hand.
“My loyal subjects,” he began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the courtyard, “today I stand before you to secure the future of our kingdom.”
Applause rippled through the crowd. I inclined my head slightly, playing my role, though my pulse hammered beneath my ribs.
I knew what was coming. I had known since the solar, since the way Cassian’s hand had rested possessively on the boy’s shoulder.
Cassian gestured, and Luka was brought forward. The child looked painfully small amid the grandeur, dressed in dark blue velvet with silver embroidery. His curls had been tamed for once, though they still resisted discipline, and his green eyes scanned the crowd with visible unease.
He did not smile. He searched. For her.
“My son,” Cassian said, placing a hand on Luka’s shoulder. “Born of my blood and raised under my protection. He is the continuation of my line.”
The words rang out, firm and absolute.
“Today,” Cassian continued, “I declare Luka my rightful heir. He will one day sit upon this throne and rule after me.”
The courtyard erupted. Cheers and applause. Cries of approval from those eager to align themselves with the future.
I kept my posture perfect, my smile measured, even as something cold and furious twisted inside me. This was betrayal made public.
Then the sound came. A scream.
Not the polite gasp of a courtier or the startled cry of a child. This was raw, torn from the chest, sharp enough to cut through celebration like a blade.
I turned toward the gates. She was there.
Francesca stood beyond the iron bars, her hair loose and wild, whipping around her face as if stirred by unseen wind. Her dress was torn, travel-stained, her boots caked with mud and dust.
She looked nothing like the broken slave Cassian had once paraded through these halls. She looked feral.
“My son!” she screamed, her voice cracking the air. “Luka!”
The courtyard froze. Gasps rippled through the crowd as recognition spread.
Whispers surged instantly—the cursed woman, the traitor, the marked one. I felt Cassian stiffen beside me, his hand tightening on the armrest of the throne.
Francesca’s eyes burned.
Not green or brown. They were yellow! Bright, unnatural, and blazing with something ancient and uncontrollable.
“Stop her!” Cassian barked.
The guards at the gate moved quickly, spears lowering as they rushed forward. Francesca did not slow. She slammed into the iron bars once, twice, then threw her head back and screamed again—this time in pain and fury both.
The air seemed to shudder. Before my eyes, her body twisted.
Bones cracked with sickening clarity as her spine arched, her limbs stretching and reshaping. Skin gave way to fur in a rush of gray and black, her scream dissolving into a snarl that made several nobles stumble backward in terror.
A wolf stood where the woman had been. Massive, lean, and wild. It lunged.
One of the guards barely had time to raise his spear before she was on him. Her jaws closed around his throat with brutal efficiency, tearing through flesh and armor alike. Blood sprayed across the stone. The man collapsed without a sound, his body falling like a discarded doll.
Screams erupted.
The wolf did not linger. She leapt over the fallen guard and charged the gate, claws scraping sparks from iron as she tried to force her way through.
For a heartbeat, I thought she would succeed. Then she hit the invisible barrier. The curse.
It flared like heat against glass, throwing her backward with a violent force. She crashed onto the stone, howling, her body convulsing as if struck from the inside. The wolf staggered, her movements suddenly clumsy, her strength bleeding away in seconds.
The transformation reversed just as violently.
Fur receded. Bones snapped back into human shape. Francesca collapsed onto the ground, naked skin scraping stone, her breath coming in ragged sobs.
She tried to rise. She failed.
Tears streamed down her face as she dragged herself forward on trembling arms, reaching toward the gate, toward the courtyard, toward the child who stared at her with wide, horrified eyes.
“Luka,” she whispered. “Please…”
The boy took a step forward instinctively. “Mama?”
Cassian surged to his feet. “Get her out of my sight,” he roared. “Now!”
The guards hesitated. I did not.
“Seize her,” I ordered sharply, my voice cutting through the chaos with practiced authority.
My guards moved at once, not the ceremonial soldiers but the ones loyal to me. They rushed forward, weapons drawn, surrounding Francesca as she collapsed fully onto the stone, her body shaking with exhaustion and grief.
She barely resisted. Her eyes found the dais again, found the boy standing there, tears running silently down his cheeks as Cassian dragged him back.
Francesca’s gaze locked on mine. There was no hatred in it. Only devastation.
The guards hauled her upright, chains snapping closed around her wrists. She sagged between them, barely conscious, her head falling forward as a sob tore from her chest.
Cassian leaned toward me, his voice low and furious. “Finish this.”
I stepped closer to the edge of the dais, looking down at her with cold clarity. This woman had disrupted my court, threatened my crown, and reminded the kingdom that blood did not always obey decrees.
“You were warned,” I said, ensuring my voice carried. “You were cursed and expelled from this land.”
Francesca lifted her head weakly, her eyes dull now, hollow with pain. “He’s my son,” she whispered. “You can’t—”
I raised my hand. The guards tightened their grip.
“If you show yourself again,” I said evenly, “we will kill you.”
Silence fell heavy over the courtyard. The guards dragged her away, her sobs fading as the gates closed once more. Blood stained the stones where the guard had fallen, stark and undeniable.
I turned back toward the throne, my posture unshaken, my expression composed.
The court would remember this day.