[Daphne’s POV]
I wake to the sensation of being watched.
My eyes open slowly, and Hector is there—sitting in the chair beside the bed, fully dressed in formal Alpha regalia. His gaze is fixed on my face with an intensity that makes my skin prickle with unease.
Not romantic. Not affectionate. Calculating.
"Good morning, little moon." His voice is soft, but there's something beneath it I can't identify. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the spot on my left cheek where my birthmark used to be.
"The royals arrive in two hours," he continues, his thumb stroking over my unblemished skin. "We need you looking exceptional. The seamstresses are waiting to help you dress."
He says it like I'm a doll being prepared for presentation. Like my appearance is the only thing that matters.
"Of course." I keep my voice neutral, pushing down the discomfort coiling in my stomach.
The next two hours are a blur of preparation. The omega seamstresses dress me in ceremonial Luna attire—midnight blue silk that hugs my curves and flows like water, silver embroidery catching the light with every movement. They arrange my hair in elaborate braids, weaving in small crystals that sparkle.
Through it all, Hector hovers. Positioning me by windows where the light hits best. Adjusting the drape of my dress. Ensuring his scent saturates my skin with possessive thoroughness.
"Stand here," he instructs, guiding me to a specific spot in the entrance hall. "When the royals arrive, this is where you'll greet them. The light falls perfectly here—they'll see you immediately."
The bond between us—his forced bond—feels heavier today. Almost suffocating. Like invisible chains tightening around my chest, restricting my breathing. Every time I try to step away, to create space, the bond pulls me back toward him with uncomfortable insistence.
Meanwhile, the true bond with Xander thrums with warning. He's somewhere in the pack house, and through our connection I feel his agitation. His certainty that something is wrong with how Hector is orchestrating this.
"The King and Queen are particular about protocol," Hector murmurs, his hand settling on my waist. "You'll bow when they enter. Speak only when spoken to. Show respect but not subservience—you're a Luna, not a common omega."
His fingers dig in slightly, and I realize with sudden clarity: he's nervous. Alpha Hector, who's always perfectly controlled, is anxious about this visit in ways I don't understand.
The royal convoy arrives with trumpets announcing their presence. The sound echoes through the territory, and my wolf stirs restlessly inside my chest.
Hector's hand tightens on my waist as the great doors open.
The King enters first, and the world seems to tilt.
He's imposing—tall and broad-shouldered, with silver threading through dark hair. Power radiates from him in waves that make every wolf in the hall want to bow. But it's his eyes that make my breath catch. Amber-gold, ancient and sad, carrying weight I can't begin to comprehend.
And when those eyes find mine, something inside me pulls.
Not attraction. Not fear. Something deeper. Primal. Like my blood recognizes his, like some fundamental part of me is reaching toward him without understanding why.
He stops mid-stride, his gaze locked on my face. Something flickers in his expression—shock? Recognition? Hope?
Then it's gone, smoothed over with royal composure as he continues forward.
The Queen follows—cold and beautiful like winter personified. Her ice-blue eyes sweep over me with barely concealed contempt, her lips curving into something that's not quite a smile.
"Alpha Hector." The King's voice carries authority that makes Hector's seem diminished. "Thank you for your hospitality."
"Your Majesties." Hector bows, pulling me down with him through the grip on my waist. "Shadow Ridge Pack is honored by your presence."
We rise, and the King's gaze returns to me. Lingering. Searching.
"Your Luna," he says, and there's something odd in his tone. "The one who was wolfless until recently?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty." Hector's pride bleeds into his voice. "Daphne emerged into her wolf barely a day ago. Quite powerful, as I always knew she would be."
"Fascinating." The Queen's voice is sharp, dismissive. "The wolfless omega who finally found her beast. How... unexpected."
My wolf snarls inside my chest at the disrespect—the casual cruelty, the way she says omega like it's an insult. I want to shift, to show her exactly how powerful this omega's wolf is, to make her bow the way Talia and Connor did.
But I hold it back. Barely. My hands clench into fists at my sides, and Hector's grip on my waist tightens in warning.
"Daphne is full of surprises," Hector says smoothly, his thumb drawing circles on my hip through the silk. "I recognized her potential when others only saw weakness."
The King's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "How fortunate for her that you did."
The formal greetings continue, but I can barely focus. The pull toward the King hasn't faded—if anything, it's grown stronger. And the way he looks at me, like he's searching for something in my features, makes my chest ache with inexplicable loss.
The feast that evening is an exercise in tension.
I sit beside Hector at the head table, the King and Queen positioned across from us. Hector keeps me close—his hand possessive on my thigh, his scent marking me constantly, his body angled to keep me partially behind him like a treasure he's displaying but protecting.
They talk about pack politics, no place for me to intervene, but I feel Hector's satisfaction through our bond. Like everything is proceeding according to plan. Like he's orchestrating something I can't see.
Across the room, Xander stands with other high-ranking wolves. His jaw is clenched, his eyes dark with barely contained fury. Through our bond, I feel his rage—at my father's possessiveness, at whatever game is being played, at his own helplessness to intervene.
When I finally excuse myself to visit the restroom, needing escape from Hector's suffocating presence, I barely make it to the hallway before footsteps follow.
The Queen.
She moves like a predator, circling me in the empty corridor with cold assessment in her eyes.
"Walk with me," she says. Not a request—a command.
My wolf bristles, but I comply. We move away from the feast hall, into shadows where we won't be overheard.
"Tell me about your mother," the Queen says abruptly.
"I—I don't remember much." The truth. "She died when I was five. A rogue attack."
"And before that? Where did she come from?"
"I don't know. She never spoke of it."
The Queen's eyes narrow. "Your father?"
"I never knew him."
She stops walking, turning to face me fully. Her gaze rakes over my features—my eyes, my nose, the shape of my face—with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
"You have the look of someone I once knew," she says quietly, dangerously. "Someone who took what wasn't hers. Someone who thought she could hide her theft forever."
The words make no sense, but the venom behind them is unmistakable.
"I don't understand—"
"Of course you don't." Her smile is cruel. "You're just a simple omega who got lucky. Found a wolf. Caught an Alpha's attention. None of it earned, all of it chance."
My wolf snarls, demanding I defend myself, but before I can respond, Hector appears.
"Your Majesty." His voice is all charm, but his hand on my back is iron. "I hope my Luna isn't boring you with provincial stories."
"Not at all." The Queen's expression smooths into cold politeness. "We were just... getting acquainted."
"How wonderful." Hector guides me away, his grip tight enough to bruise. "But I'm afraid I need my Luna for the ceremonial toasts. If you'll excuse us?"
He doesn't wait for permission, just steers me back toward the feast hall.
But the Queen's words echo in my mind: Someone who took what wasn't hers.