Chapter 3

Brynn Webb POV:

Over a dozen cold sword tips hovered inches from my chest.

Hiding behind the guards, Chloe pointed at my waist, her voice cracking with excitement. "Right there! That hard lump is a silver dagger! She wanted to stab His Highness during the alliance ceremony!"

I stood still inside the ring of steel, not bothering to offer a single word of defense.

At the edge of the square, an unmarked black carriage rolled to a stop. Though I couldn't see inside, the icy pine scent from earlier drifted on the wind, telling me the mysterious Alpha was still watching.

"Make way!"

A harsh female voice barked from the courtyard. The guards parted as a tall, muscular woman with a scarred face marched out. It was Martha Price, the head female enforcer of the Crown Prince's Manor, notorious for torturing offending servants to death.

Her small, cruel eyes locked onto me. "How bold of a wolfless trash to murder someone and still bring silver here!"

Martha cracked her thick knuckles and strode toward me.

"To catch a thief, you need stolen goods," I said, lifting my chin. "Which one of your eyes saw me assassinate anyone?"

"Still talking back?" Martha sneered. "Once I rip your clothes off and pull that murder weapon out in front of everyone, we'll see how tough your mouth is!"

She lunged forward, her massive hand clawing straight for the collar of my gown to tear it open in the middle of the street.

My eyes turned frigid. Instead of stepping back, I slid half a step to the side at a sharp angle. Martha's hand grazed my shoulder, grabbing nothing but air.

Throw off balance by her own momentum, she stumbled forward. Furious, she whipped her left fist around, channeling her Alpha strength to smash my jaw.

I didn't block force with force. My hands shot out like vipers, wrapping around her thick wrist. Using her own forward weight, I yanked her arm down hard and drove my right knee straight up into her stomach.

"Ugh!"

Martha grunted, her heavy body stumbling backward three steps as she clutched her belly, staring at me in disbelief.

The surrounding guards froze. In werewolf society, genetics determined everything. An Alpha or Beta warrior possessed immense physical strength, while a wolfless had the weak body of a human child. None of them could wrap their heads around how I had just knocked Martha back.

Martha's face turned a dark, bruised purple. She ripped a wide-bladed short sword from her belt and leveled it straight at my throat. "Kill her! Dead or alive!"

The guards snapped out of their daze and raised their swords to charge. Blades surged toward me from every direction, the nearest tip stopping just inches from my heart. My fingers tightened around the poisoned needles in my sleeve, ready to fight to the death—but if I killed them all here, the treason charge would stick forever.

"Halt!" A herald ran out from the main hall and shouted, "His Highness the Crown Prince orders the assassin brought to the main hall for personal interrogation!"

Martha lowered her blade, spitting blood onto the ground as she glared at me. "You got lucky, bitch. Inside the hall, His Highness has a hundred ways to make you beg for death."

I let go of my needles and smoothed down my wrinkled skirts. "Lead the way. I'm quite eager to meet my noble fiancé."

Surrounded by guards, I walked through the iron gates, leaving the murmuring crowd behind.

Esteban King POV:

Inside the black carriage, I leaned back against the velvet cushions, tapping my long fingers lightly against my knee.

Through the narrow gap in the window curtain, I watched the slender figure in the blood-stained gown walk fearlessly into the lion's den. Even with that hideous mud smeared across her face, her ice-blue eyes burned like cold stars.

Beside me, my shadow guard, Vance Sullivan, lowered his head. "My Lord, the silver poison in your veins is acting up again. Should we return to the castle?"

I raised a white handkerchief to my lips and coughed softly, suppressing the metallic taste of blood in my throat. For years, the entire Silvermoon Kingdom believed Lord Esteban was a dying cripple ruined by silver poison, unaware that the ancient Lycan bloodline in my veins was merely devouring the toxin.

"Not yet," I said, my voice low and raspy. "That little wildcat has claws. Drive to the side entrance. I want to see how my dear nephew plans to handle this."