[Daphne’s POV]
I wake to the sensation of being watched.
My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the darkness. Hector sits in the chair beside my bed, completely still, his gaze fixed on my face. How long has he been there? Watching me sleep? The thought sends ice through my veins.
"We need to discuss your recent behavior." His voice is pleasant, conversational. But his eyes are cold.
I sit up, pulling the blankets higher, my wolf rising defensively inside my chest. "What are you talking about?"
"The disrespect in council meetings. The time spent with my son. Your growing disobedience." He leans forward slightly, and the movement feels predatory. "I've been patient, Daphne. More patient than you deserve. I've allowed you freedoms I shouldn't have. But you seem to have forgotten something important."
His hand shoots out faster than I can react, gripping my wrist tight enough to bruise. Pain blooms under his fingers.
"You're mine. My Luna. My mate. My property."
The word lands like a physical blow. Property. Not partner. Not equal. Property.
"I'm not—" I start, but his grip tightens, cutting off my words with a gasp.
"Yes. You are." His voice remains pleasant, which makes it worse. "And you need to remember that before you do something we'll both regret."
I force myself to meet his gaze, to not show the fear racing through me. "I'm the Crown Princess. I'm not anyone's property."
His laugh is cruel, sharp-edged. "You're the Crown Princess because I revealed you at the perfect moment. You're powerful because I allowed you to survive long enough to meet your wolf. Everything you are, everything you have, you owe to me."
“I owe you nothing,” I snap. “You knew and let me suffer—let Connor torment me—let the pack treat me like dirt—”
“To keep you safe,” he cuts in, smooth. “Hidden. Your mother’s killers didn’t stop. The Queen didn’t stop. I made you invisible by making you worthless in their eyes.”
“You made me believe I was worthless.” My voice shakes with fury. “That wasn’t protection—that was cruelty.”
“That was survival.” He leans in; his once-comforting scent now suffocates. “And you survived. You’re alive, royal—everything as planned.”
My stomach turns. “So I’m just a plan to you?”
“My greatest achievement,” he says, proud. “Twenty-two years of positioning. Now you’re where you should be—bound to me, dependent on me, mine.”
“The King knows who I am. I don’t need you. I’ll go to court—”
“He gave you three months. It’s almost up. I’ve decided: you’re not going. You’re staying here as my Luna, bearing my heirs.”
“You can’t decide that—”
“I can.” His grip bites. “I’ll tell your father you’re unstable, inexperienced, not ready. He’ll believe his devoted son-in-law.”
“He won’t—”
“He will.” Calm, certain. “I’ll show him the evidence—your council outbursts, your…relationship with my son, your lack of control.” He tips his head. “I’ve documented everything, little moon. Every breach. Every slip.”
The trap closes around me with perfect precision. If I leave, he'll paint me as unstable and unfit. If I stay, I'm his prisoner. Forever.
"You're insane," I whisper.
"I'm thorough." His thumb strokes across my wrist, a mockery of tenderness over the bruises he's creating. "There's a difference. I've spent twenty-two years on this, Daphne. Do you really think I'd let it fall apart now? Let you walk away because you've developed some childish notion of independence?"
"It's not childish to want freedom—"
"It's childish to throw away everything I've given you." His voice hardens. "Power. Position. Protection. A mate who actually values you enough to plan your entire life around claiming you. What does Xander offer? Pretty words? Momentary passion? He's a second son with no pack, no future, nothing to give you."
"He doesn't treat me like property."
"He treats you like a fantasy." Hector releases my wrist, but only to grip my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "A forbidden romance with his father's Luna. Do you think that's real? That's sustainable? The moment the novelty wears off, you'll be nothing to him. But to me—you'll always be essential. Always valuable. Always mine."
The words are poison dressed as devotion. I can hear Xander's lessons in my head—how to spot manipulation, how to recognize when someone is rewriting reality. But knowing it intellectually and breaking free are different things.
Before I can answer, before I can even process the full horror of my situation, the door slams open.
Xander stands in the doorway, breathing hard, his expression fierce. Behind him—
My father. The King himself.
"Your Majesty." Hector's voice transforms instantly, becoming smooth and concerned. He releases my wrist and stands, positioning himself between me and the doorway. "This is highly irregular. I wasn't informed you'd be visiting—"
"Silence."
The single word carries absolute authority. The kind that topples kingdoms and ends bloodlines. My father's eyes move from Hector to me, taking in the bruises already forming on my wrist, the fear I can't quite hide, the possessive way Hector positions himself over my bed.
"I came to surprise my daughter with an early morning visit." The King's voice is deceptively calm. "Instead, I find this."
Xander steps forward, and I see he's carrying documents. Journals. A small vial. He hands them to my father with careful reverence.
When he looks up, his eyes burn with fury so profound it steals my breath.
"Alpha Hector Silvermoon." His voice reverberates with royal power, ancient and undeniable. "You stand accused of the highest treason: drugging and forcibly bonding the Crown Princess. Manipulating the royal succession. Conspiracy against the Crown itself."
Hector's composure cracks. Just slightly, but enough. "Your Majesty, those documents are falsified. A plot by my son to—"
"They're in your handwriting." The King's voice could cut steel. "Sealed with your Alpha mark. And I can smell the truth of it now—the bond between you and my daughter is wrong. Forced. Unnatural. It reeks of coercion, magic and drugs."
"Your false bond is hereby annulled by royal decree," my father continues, his voice carrying the weight of absolute law. "And you will face trial before the Crown for your crimes against the Princess and the throne."
The room falls silent. Hector's face goes carefully blank, but I see the calculation behind his eyes. Looking for an escape. A way out.
And suddenly, I understand. He doesn't get to decide this. Not anymore.
I stand on shaking legs, feeling Xander's support like warmth at my back and my father's presence like a shield. For the first time in my life, I'm not alone. Not powerless.
"Alpha Hector." My voice doesn't shake. "I reject you as my mate."
The words are sacred. Binding. Absolute.
The bond shatters.
I feel it snap like a physical thing—that thread that's been connecting us, constraining me, controlling me. It breaks completely, and the relief is overwhelming. Like I can finally breathe after years of suffocation. Like I've been carrying impossible weight and suddenly it's gone.
My wolf howls with joy inside my chest, free at last.
But Hector isn't finished.
His face twists with rage—raw, uncontrolled, violent. The mask is completely gone now, revealing the monster underneath. He lunges, but not toward the King or Xander.
Toward me.
"If I can't have you," he snarls, his wolf rising, claws extending, eyes flashing gold with killing intent, "no one will."
His hands reach for my throat.
Time slows. I see death in his eyes. See the intent to end me rather than let me escape his control. My wolf surges, ready to fight, but Hector is a full Alpha—stronger, faster, more experienced.
His claws are inches from my throat when—