Loreleia’s polished mask slipped, just slightly, revealing that flame of hatred simmering in her gaze. If I hadn’t been sure before, I was now: this woman loathed me. Not because I wasn’t an elf, though that surely played a part. But because I was a witch, with a trace of Lycan blood. And to her, that was unforgivable. Leave it to the elves to cradle their superiority complexes like precious heirlooms. Not that the Fangs or Faes were any better. It seemed only the witches and the Lycans could coexist without choking on their own arrogance.

“How bold of you,” she said, her lips curling into a smile so thin it looked more like a cut. “Perhaps you’re not as meek as I presumed.”

“I’d argue it was bold of you to presume I was meek, Your Eminence,” I replied, and my hands itched to clench into fists, but I didn’t let them.

Her head dipped in a shallow nod, which was more dismissal than acknowledgment. I noticed how the carefully plaited strands of her golden hair, styled to fall forward, swayed ever so slightly, clashing with the rest of her locks secured behind her polished crown. The sharp angles of her cheekbones and delicate points of her ears peeked through the hanging tresses. Everything she did, down to her smallest gestures, was choreographed.

“Such bold words for such a youngling,” she said with that saccharine venom that made me wonder how someone so beautiful could be so—wicked. “We shall see if this boldness is enough to carry you, little one.”

My teeth clenched, my nails pressing into my palms. Youngling. Little one. The sheer nerve of her. Compared to her age, I might be young, but I had half a mind to remind her I only seemed young because she was so old. A glance at the council members lingering nearby kept the words in check.

“There you go with that term again,” I said instead, the corners of my mouth curving into a thin smile. “Boldness.”

There was a slight arch in her brow, and her silence invited an explanation.

Fine. I’d oblige.

“This is much bigger than that, Your Eminence,” I said, letting a trace of my irritation bleed into my voice. “Bold is to a child what good is to a warrior. A term meant to placate or diminish. I am not bold, and I take offence to the implication of your presumptions.”

Loreleia folded her hands elegantly in front of her. Around us, the council remained unnervingly silent, their gazes flickering between us like spectators at a duel. Even Devon said nothing, which only made me more suspicious.

“That’s a fascinating and bold perspective,” she said finally. “Though one could argue that offence is not something a Supreme Successor can afford to take. It is, after all, our duty to remain impartial, objective, and above reproach. No matter the personal cost.”

Ah, yes. The inevitable lecture. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes so hard they might have popped out of my head. Instead, I tilted my head, watching her for a minute before replying.

“I find Your Eminence bracingly myopic,” I said, with the most charming smile I could muster. “But I doubt Gaia saw “boldness” as the quality to carry Wridel’s future when she chose me. It is not bold to stand here, speaking for myself. It’s necessary. And I trust you understand the distinction.”

Loreleia’s polished mask stayed put. Still, I didn’t miss the slight twitch of her lips. She said nothing as her beautiful blue eyes stayed on me. My intention was to rattle her, just enough to make her realize she wasn’t untouchable. I could almost feel my mother’s worry radiating like a fire on my back. I could practically hear her voice in my head, reminding me to tread carefully.

But I wasn’t in the mood to be careful.

“How” pragmatic of you,” Loreleia said, waving her hand with the perfectly manicured coral-peach nails dismissively, as if she was brushing me aside like an inconsequential wisp of dust.

I stood quietly, holding her gaze unblinkingly. Let the silence stretch, I thought. Let her stew in it. Then, with deliberate slowness, I stepped closer, leaning slightly toward her, my voice dropping just enough for just her to hear.

“You sound like it’s been a great burden being Sovereign of Wridel. “So why fight its successor if you’d rather be anything else?”

Her shoulders tensed as a flicker of shock crossed her perfectly composed face. For a moment, I thought she might snap back, cut me down with one of her sharp, rehearsed retorts. But no. She let out a soft, bitter laugh instead, one that wasn’t meant to soothe, but to seethe.

I took a step closer, watching the faint strain in her jaw as her teeth clenched tight enough to make me wonder if she’d crack a molar.

“I am not you, Your Eminence,” I continued. “And I never will be. You do not know me well enough to reduce me to these things you’ve decided I must be. Bold. Pragmatic. Diplomatic.”

Each word was a lash I knew she’d recognize. I let them hang so she’d know I’d heard her, every time she used them. That I’d chosen to hold my tongue then, but not now.

Tilting my head, I dropped my voice lower still. “One would think you’d be bold enough to tell a youngling as little as I exactly what you think of her, instead of resorting to condescension and vague insinuations. I suppose you ought to learn that boldness from me.”

Her vivid blue eyes narrowed, and for the first time, her composure slipped. It wasn’t much, just a slight shift in her posture and the clenching of her sharp jaw. But it was enough. For the first time, she looked at me not as an inconvenience, not as a pawn, but as a rival.

“You have spirit,” she said finally, quieter now. “Perhaps too much.”

I tilted my head further, my smile a mirror of her earlier mockery. “And you don’t know what it means to have spirit, or you’d never suggest there could be too much of it.”

Her lips twitched in restrained annoyance. Then, with a sweep of her robes, she turned on her heel, her attendants trailing like silent shadows.

“We shall see, Lady Celeste,” she said over her shoulder, her voice soft as silk and sharp as a blade.

I watched her retreat, my jaw tight, my nails pressing crescents into my palms. Fine, Loreleia. We will see.

A soft hum of amusement drew my attention. Devon stood beside me, his arms crossed, watching me with a look I couldn’t place.

“What?” I asked sharply, ready to argue if he criticized me for standing up to her.

But before he could answer, my mother stormed forward, her voice slicing through the tension. “You foolish girl!”

It was the last thing I expected from my mother, but my father stepped in and placed a hand on her shoulder before I could respond. “Saffron,” he said quietly. “This is not the place to address this.”

She glanced at Devon, then back at me, her eyes flashing with an unspoken reprimand.

A few onlookers still lingered around the courtyard, watching with thinly veiled interest. They didn’t even have the decency to pretend they weren’t thrilled with every moment of the unfolding drama.

“Maybe we should do this somewhere private,” I suggested, and it took every ounce of effort not to roll my eyes at the absurdity of everything.

“Before we leave, I must commend you,” Devon said suddenly. “You didn’t just stand your ground.” He paused, his lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. “You built it. Well done.”

I turned fully to face him, narrowing my eyes, trying to gauge whether he was mocking me or genuinely impressed. “Don’t patronize me.”

His almost-smile deepened, the barest trace of mischief flickering in his gaze. He didn’t reply, just stepped back slightly, giving me space I didn’t ask for and didn’t particularly need. Infuriating. The man had a talent for keeping me perpetually anxious.

My mother, meanwhile, was still fuming. Her glare levelled at me again before she turned it on Devon next, no doubt seeing him as the root cause of everything. “Do not encourage her foolishness, Alpha Devon,” she snapped. “She might as well just declare war with the Great Houses and the council while she’s at it.”

I sighed, rubbing my temple in frustration. “Would your advice have been to let her condescend to me uninterrupted?”

Her sharp glare returned to me, a clear warning to drop the subject. “My advice,” she said coldly, “would have been to use tact, something you clearly lack.”

“Oh, tact,” I muttered under my breath. “Yes, because that’s what the supreme eminence was showing me—tact.”

Before I could dig myself into a deeper hole, her focus swung back to Devon, her anger narrowing to a fine point. “We’ll continue this discussion,” she said through gritted teeth, “in Morinpar tomorrow.”

Devon gave me a sidelong glance and I saw the mischief in those stormy eyes, only because he didn’t bother to hide it from me. His head inclined ever so slightly toward my mother, the perfect balance of respect and restrained defiance. “As you wish, Lady Saffron,” he said politely, and just insincere enough to make my lips twitch.

Apparently satisfied, or at least too angry to argue further, she turned away, her fury trailing behind her like a cape set aflame. My father lingered, and his eyes held mine for a beat too long, as if he was searching for a version of me he could reconcile with this moment, before he silently followed her. The carriage door slammed with enough force to rattle the windows, and the sound vibrated through the courtyard like the punctuation on a very dramatic declaration.

I didn’t bother hiding the smirk that curved my lips as they rode off. For once, Lady Saffron’s ire wasn’t entirely focused on me. Small victories, but victories nonetheless.

The buzz of whispers started almost immediately, soft murmurs weaving through the onlookers around us. Nosy council members, opportunistic nobles; every single one of them was eating this up. I could see the headlines forming in their minds. The Supreme Successor defies Sovereign authority! Alpha Devon claims her as his mate! The rumours would be dissected and twisted before the sun set, reshaped into whatever version of scandal Wridel’s elite found most palatable.

“Are you alright?” Devon’s voice pulled me from my spiralling thoughts. His hand settled lightly at the small of my back, its warmth sinking through my robes with an ease that felt far too intimate for public decency. The touch was casual, but also possessive enough to send a ripple of heat dancing along my spine.

I barely had time to formulate an answer before he leaned in closer, his breath grazing my ear, stirring a shiver I couldn’t suppress. “I felt your excitement when I scolded the Sovereign,” he murmured.

Heat flared at his words, frustration rising to clash with the uncanny rush of excitement his nearness stirred. I bristled, glaring at him from the corner of my eye. “Excitement is a strong word,” I whispered as sharply as I could while my pulse was doing laps.

His chuckle was warm and maddening, a sound that wrapped around me and made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t want to think too much about. “I suppose there are a few matters we need to” handle tonight,” he continued, his tone making the word handle sound positively indecent. “Before you return here tomorrow. Or pay your parents a visit.”

I turned to him fully, my gaze lingering on his lips for a fraction of a second too long. Gaia, help me. Why did his proximity make rational thought feel like an impossible luxury? “You have a talent for making everything sound like a proposition.”

“And you,” he said, his smirk deepening, “have a talent for pretending you’re not interested.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, although I couldn’t stop my traitorous lips from twitching at the corners. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re transparent,” he countered, stepping even closer, and his presence overwhelmed me in a way that made my breath hitch.

I gritted my teeth and resisted his electric pull. “Gaia, give me strength,” I muttered under my breath, peeling myself out of his gravitational field. I turned toward the waiting carriage, throwing a pointed look over my shoulder. “Are you coming, or would you prefer to stand there, revelling in your own infuriating existence?”

His laughter followed me as he fell into step beside me. “Lead the way, my Luna.”

Smug. Arrogant. Impossible.

And yet, my cheeks burned the entire way to the carriage.