[Xander’s POV]
I've worn a path in the stone outside the closed doors. Over an hour they've been in there—Father, Daphne, the King and Queen—and the pack seethes with chaos around me. Whispers ricochet off walls. Speculation builds like storm pressure. Everyone saw the mark ignite. Everyone knows what it means.
The lost Princess. The King's daughter. Found in our pack, claimed as our Luna.
My mind keeps replaying the moment her birthmark glowed—that crescent moon burning brilliant on her shoulder blade, visible to every soul in the hall. The King's face. His recognition. And my father's expression, carefully controlled but satisfied underneath.
He knew.
The certainty settles in my gut like swallowed stone. The timing of everything—claiming Daphne as Luna right before the royal visit, choosing this specific ritual, positioning her with her back exposed for the sacred oils. This wasn't coincidence or luck. This was strategy. Planning. Years of it.
Footsteps make me turn. Connor approaches, and he looks shaken in a way I've never seen. His usual arrogance has crumbled, leaving something raw and uncertain beneath.
"Did you know?" he demands without preamble. "That she was—that she's—"
"No." My voice comes out harder than I intend. "Did you?"
"Father never told me anything." Connor's hands clench and unclench at his sides. "I just thought she was—" He stops, shame crossing his face. "I thought she was nothing. Worthless. That's what Father wanted us all to think."
The pieces are clicking together for both of us. I can see it happening behind Connor's eyes, the same realization building that's been tearing through my mind since the mark ignited.
"His unusual leniency toward her," I say quietly, thinking aloud. "Despite her supposed worthlessness. The way he positioned himself as her protector even when she was being tormented."
"The forced mating." Connor's voice drops. "He made me pursue her. Pushed me toward her constantly. And when that wasn't working fast enough—"
"He claimed her himself." The rage building in my chest tastes like copper. "Gave him legal claim before anyone discovered who she was."
"But why not just tell the King?" Connor asks. "If he knew all along, why hide it?"
"Because then he couldn't control her." The words burn coming out. "This way, she's bonded to him first. The King can't simply take his daughter away without breaking sacred mate bonds. Father positioned himself perfectly—the Alpha who protected the Princess, who deserves her gratitude and loyalty."
Connor goes pale. Something shifts in his expression—a memory surfacing that makes his face drain of color.
"What?" I demand.
"The tea." His voice barely carries. "The morning of their Luna ceremony. Father prepared it himself. Wouldn't let anyone else handle it, not even the ceremony servers. I thought it was just tradition, something ceremonial, but—"
Ice floods my veins. "But what?"
Connor moves closer, his words dropping to a whisper. "Heat inducer. I've seen him use it before, on she-wolves during breeding season to ensure successful conception. It's illegal but effective. Creates artificial heat that triggers immediate bonding." He swallows hard. "If he drugged her..."
The rage that explodes through me is volcanic. Consuming. I knew, of course, came to the same conclusion that Connor just did. I just never had any proof. And right now, hearing my suspicions being confirmed, it burns me alive. That bastard…
Before I can respond, before I can process the full horror of what Connor's suggesting, the doors open.
Father emerges looking satisfied, utterly composed. The King follows, troubled and uncertain. The Queen radiates cold fury. And Daphne—
Daphne looks lost. Overwhelmed. Like she's drowning and everyone's too busy discussing the water to throw her a rope.
"The Princess will remain here for three months," Father announces to the waiting pack members who've gathered in the corridor. His voice carries Alpha authority, undeniable and absolute. "To adjust to her new role while maintaining her Luna duties. We're honored by the Crown's trust in our pack to guide her through this transition."
It sounds reasonable. Responsible. Protective.
But I see the trap—three months for Father to solidify his control, to poison her understanding, to ensure when the time comes to choose between pack and Crown, she'll fight to stay with him.
That evening, I find Daphne in her room. She's still wearing the ceremonial dress, that white silk that leaves her back exposed. The crescent mark is visible on her shoulder blade—no longer glowing, but still there. Permanent. Undeniable.
She stands at the window, staring at nothing, her shoulders rigid with tension.
"Did you know?" she asks without turning. Her voice is hollow, scraped raw.
I move closer carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. "No. I had no idea."
"But Hector did." She finally turns to face me, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears. "He's known since I was twelve years old. Watched me be mocked, broken, convinced I was worthless. And he knew the whole time I was a Princess."
"Daphne—"
"Was any of it real?" Her voice cracks. "Connor's attention? Hector's protection? Or was I just a game piece being positioned on a board I couldn't even see?"
"My father is a strategist," I say carefully. "Everything he does serves a purpose. But that doesn't mean—"
"That doesn't mean I wasn't being used." She laughs, and the sound is bitter enough to sting. "I was so grateful when he claimed me as Luna. So relieved someone finally saw my worth. But he didn't see me—he saw a Crown Princess he could control."
The pain in her voice guts me. Flays me open.
"Not everyone was using you," I say quietly.
She looks up at me, searching my face for lies. "Weren't you? You've hated me for years, Xander. Mocked me, dismissed me, treated me like I was beneath you."
"Because you were clinging to Connor." The truth bursts out before I can stop it. "Because you believed his lies about me. Because I watched you thank him for destroying you, over and over, and I couldn't stand it."
"So you decided to be cruel instead?"
"I decided to stop caring." My voice roughens with honesty I've never let myself speak. "If you wanted to believe I was a monster, fine. I'd be one. Maybe then you'd finally see the difference between real cruelty and Connor's manipulations."
"I don't know what's real anymore." She wraps her arms around herself, trying to hold together pieces that keep fracturing. "I don't know who I am. Daphne the worthless omega? Crown Princess? Luna? Someone's pawn in a game I never consented to play?"
"You're you," I say firmly, moving closer until I can touch her shoulder—the one without the mark. "That hasn't changed. You're still the girl who left flowers on graves when no one was watching. Who protected smaller omegas from bullies. Who shared her food when she barely had enough to survive. Princess or not, Luna or not, that's who you are."
Something in her expression softens. Cracks. She reaches for me, and I catch her, pull her close, kiss her with all the desperation and certainty I've been holding back.
I worship her. Cherish her. Lay her down and take her apart with careful hands and deliberate intention, showing her what real care looks like. What it means to be wanted for herself, not for what she represents. My lips trail across her skin, pointedly avoiding the mark on her shoulder—refusing to acknowledge my father's claim, refusing to give it power in this moment.
She gasps beneath me, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her body arching into mine as I show her everything I've been too proud to say.
We're too deep in it—lost in sensation, in the desperate connection we've both been denying—when I hear the door open.
I freeze. Look up.
My father stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable in the shadows.