[Daphne’s POV]
The guards seal Hector’s study, leaving just the King, the Queen, Hector, and me. Princess. Daughter. Heir. The words whirl, not yet real.
The King nearly reaches for me, then stops—this man who commands kingdoms afraid to startle his lost child. My throat tightens.
“Daphne.” My name is a prayer. “May I?” He gestures to my shoulder, asking—gentle, careful. “I need to see it again.”
I lower the silk. He draws in a breath, steps close, fingers hovering over the crescent without touching. Warmth blooms under my skin.
“You’re truly here,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Alive. After all this time.”
I start to turn, but the Queen’s voice slices in.
“How convenient that Alpha Hector kept this to himself—through six royal visits.” Ice-cold. She sits perfect and still, appraising me like suspect furniture. “One wonders at his motives.”
I adjust my dress and face Hector. He lounges with an Alpha’s ease, unruffled.
“I had my reasons, Your Majesty,” he says—respectful, unapologetic. “Perhaps we discuss them.”
The King seats us. I choose the chair farthest from Hector; his eyes flicker—amusement, warning. My father fixes him with a stare.
“Explain. From the beginning. When did you know?”
“When she was twelve,” Hector says, measured. “During training her shirt tore. I glimpsed the royal crescent—just a moment, but I knew the mark.”
The words thud in my gut. Twelve. He knew for ten years.
“And you said nothing,” the King growls. “Through six years of searching—six visits where I—”
“Because revealing her would have killed her.”
Bold. Hector leans in. “With respect, could you have protected her? From your own court? From those who’d see a servant’s daughter as a threat to succession?”
The Queen’s face smooths to porcelain; rage flashes and is gone. The King’s jaw knots. “You dare—”
“I state facts,” Hector replies, calm. “The Princess’s mother was murdered by professionals—coordinated, efficient. Not rogues.”
“Speculation,” the Queen purrs. “History bent to your tale.”
“Or truth you’d rather not name.” He holds her gaze. “Revealing the Princess would’ve painted a target on her back. So I hid her. Let the pack believe she was beneath notice.”
A slight curve at his mouth. “The best hiding place is in plain sight.”
My father stands abruptly, pacing to the window that overlooks the training grounds. His shoulders are rigid, his hands clasped behind his back so tightly his knuckles have gone white.
"You're saying you protected her."
"I'm saying I kept her alive."
The words should sound noble. Protective. Instead, they make my skin crawl.
"Was it kind?" Hector continues, his voice softening in a way that feels rehearsed. "No. She suffered mockery, cruelty, rejection from her own pack. But she lived. She survived. And when the time was right, when she was strong enough—"
"You claimed her as your own." The Queen's interruption is sharp as broken glass. "Made her your Luna. Bonded her to you. How very convenient that the hidden Princess is now tied to you through mate bonds and Alpha magic."
My heart slams against my ribs. This is it—the moment where someone might question the bond. Might ask if it was truly consensual, if I had any real choice, if the drugs and manipulation and—
But Hector remains calm. Almost amused.
"I made her Luna because my son's treatment of her had become unbearable to witness." He glances at me, and his expression shifts to something that looks almost fond.
"Connor's cruelty was pushing her toward a breaking point. She deserved better than to be mocked and broken by a boy too stupid to recognize her worth. Worth I saw when no one else did—not even herself."
The words are a trap wrapped in compliment. Making himself my savior. My protector from Connor's abuse while never mentioning he orchestrated that abuse, encouraged it, used it to isolate me.
My father turns back from the window, his eyes moving between Hector and me. "And the revelation today? During the sacred ritual? That timing wasn't coincidental."
"No," Hector admits freely, spreading his hands in a gesture of openness. "It wasn't. The sacred oils were always going to activate her royal mark—that's their purpose, to reveal truth written in blood and magic. I chose this moment because you needed to know, Your Majesty. Your daughter has been found."
He pauses for emphasis, letting the words settle. "But more importantly—she's been safe. Protected. And now she's bonded to an Alpha who can continue protecting her from those who might wish her harm."
The implication wraps around us like chains. The mate bond serves as a shield. Breaking it would leave me vulnerable. Exposed. Easy prey for whoever killed my mother.
The Queen's eyes narrow to slits. "How remarkably noble of you, Alpha Hector. And what, precisely, do you gain from this arrangement?"
"An alliance with the Crown." Hector's smile is small, satisfied, completely unashamed. "Respectability for my pack. The honor of having a Princess as my Luna. Political advantages I won't insult anyone's intelligence by denying." He leans back in his chair, smug. "But that doesn't change the fact that I kept her safe when others failed to."
The barb lands like a poisoned dart. My father's expression hardens, pain flashing across his features before anger overtakes it. He couldn't protect my mother. Couldn't prevent her death. Couldn't find me for twenty-two years. And now this Alpha sits in his presence claiming to have done better.
Through all of this, I've been silent. Frozen. Trying to process words that sound reasonable, protective even, but feel wrong in ways I can't articulate. The way Hector speaks about me—like a possession he's graciously maintained. The way he "recognized my worth" only after learning I was a Princess.
“What happens now?” The question slips out smaller than I’d like.
My father softens, all steel gone. “Now you learn your heritage—your place. You’re the Crown Princess, my heir. My daughter.”
It should feel like freedom. It feels like new chains.
“She’s also my Luna,” Hector says smoothly. “Bonded to this pack, with duties that can’t be abandoned.”
The King’s jaw tightens. “Her greater duty is to the Crown.”
“I don’t dispute it,” Hector replies, perfectly reasonable. “A compromise: she stays here for a few months—finishes Luna training while beginning royal lessons. Then she can split her time between court and pack.”
It sounds fair. I see the trap—his control wrapped in magnanimity.
“Daphne,” my father says, eyes fierce on mine. “What do you want?”
The question freezes every thought in my head. What do I want? I've spent twenty-two years being told what to do, what to be, what I'm worth. First as nothing, then as Luna, now as Princess. Everyone has expectations. Plans. Uses for me. But what do I want?
Before I can answer—before I can even begin to formulate words—Hector speaks.
"She wants time to adjust." His voice is gentle, understanding, speaking for me like he has every right. "This is overwhelming for her—discovering her identity, meeting her father, understanding her new role. Let's not rush her into decisions she isn't ready to make."
He's doing it again. Making me seem fragile. Incapable of choosing for myself. Infantilizing me while appearing protective. And the worst part—the part that makes fury and helplessness war in my chest—is that I am overwhelmed. Maybe he's right? Maybe I do need time?
"Three months." The King's decision cuts through my spiraling thoughts. His eyes never leave my face, searching for something—approval, understanding, forgiveness. "You have three months here to adjust. Then we'll discuss your future—including where you'll reside permanently and what your duties to the Crown will entail."
Hector inclines his head in agreement, and satisfaction radiates from him like heat. He's won. Bought himself three months to solidify his control, to make himself indispensable, to ensure when that discussion comes, I'll argue for staying with him.
The Queen's expression promises this conversation is far from over. That she'll find ways to challenge this arrangement, to question my legitimacy, to protect whatever succession plans I've disrupted simply by surviving.
And I realize, with a clarity that feels like falling: I've been traded from one cage to another.
I'm a Princess now. But I'm still not free.