Emma barely slept. When dawn came, she sat in silence on the edge of the enormous bed, staring at the sunlight spilling over silk sheets. The palace was too quiet. No rattling of buckets, no barks from supervisors, no hiss of servants rushing past her with trays. Only the muffled sound of birdsong drifting through tall windows.
The door creaked open. A young woman in a crisp uniform stepped inside, carrying folded cloths. She was petite, dark-haired, with sharp eyes that softened when she spotted Emma.
"My lady," the girl said with a bow.
Emma startled. "Who… who are you?"
"I'm Mara. His Majesty assigned me as your personal maid. I'll help you prepare today."
"Prepare?" Emma echoed. Her throat felt tight.
"For your wedding," Mara said gently, as though Emma might shatter if she spoke too loud. "The King ordered that you lack nothing." She held up a white silk gown embroidered with silver threads. "This is for you."
Emma stared at the gown, her stomach twisting. "This can't be real," she whispered.
Mara gave a small smile. "It's real. Whether you want it or not."
Emma swallowed hard. Her hands trembled as Mara helped her undress and sink into the steaming bath that had been drawn. Scented oils clung to her skin, nothing like the harsh bleach and cold water she was used to. When Mara brushed out her tangled hair, Emma whispered, "You don't think this is… wrong? A servant turned bride?"
Mara paused, her voice calm. "The court will talk. They always do. But His Majesty does not make mistakes. If he chose you, then that is all that matters."
Emma let out a shaky laugh. "That's easy for you to say. They'll tear me apart."
"Then let them choke on their own envy," Mara said simply, sliding the gown over her shoulders.
The grand hall roared with whispers when Emma entered. Chandeliers blazed, reflecting off marble floors. Nobles filled the rows of seats, jeweled gowns and fine suits glittering as their wearers turned to stare. Their voices hissed around her like snakes.
"That's her?"
"Crawford's servant?"
"A slave for a Queen—unthinkable."
Emma kept her head down, fingers clutching the bouquet Mara had placed in her hands. Her legs felt weak, every step a battle not to collapse.
At the far end of the aisle, Darius waited. Tall, still, dark coat tailored sharp to his body, his golden eyes steady on her. The room hushed when he raised his head. Emma's breath caught—his gaze wasn't cruel, nor mocking. It was calm, grounding.
She reached him somehow. The ceremony began, words spoken by a priest she barely heard. Her pulse thundered in her ears. When the time came for vows, Darius's deep voice cut through the silence.
"I, Darius, King of Lycans, take Emma Lawson as my wife."
Emma swallowed. Her lips trembled, but she forced the words out. "I… I take Darius as my husband."
A seal was burned into the parchment. Applause scattered, half-hearted, mixed with murmurs of disbelief.
From the crowd, James Crawford leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped. His wolf prowled inside him, restless.
Music swelled, and Darius led Emma into the first dance. His hand was warm, firm at her waist, guiding her easily. She could barely breathe, aware of every eye watching.
"Relax," Darius murmured, his lips close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek. "They can smell fear."
She glanced up at him, startled. "How am I supposed to relax when they're all staring like I don't belong here?"
"You belong," he said simply, spinning her. "Because I said so."
Emma swallowed hard. She didn't know if that comforted her or frightened her more.
The music swelled—then the great doors slammed open.
Gasps rippled through the hall. A woman swept inside, tall and striking, her gown blood-red, her eyes glittering with venom.
"Becky," someone whispered.
Emma stiffened as the woman strode across the floor, her gaze locked on her. Before Emma could react, Becky's hand tangled in her hair, yanking her backward.
Emma cried out as Becky's palm cracked across her cheek. The room erupted in gasps.
"You low-life!" Becky spat, voice dripping with venom. "A useless human whore—climbing into power by spreading your legs for the King!"
Emma's vision blurred. Her scalp burned where Becky gripped her hair. She trembled, lips parted to protest—
But a thunderous smack cut her off.
The hall froze.
Darius's hand had swung, striking Becky so hard she sprawled across the marble floor. Silence fell heavy.
Becky lay there stunned, then lifted her gaze to him, eyes wide with tears that turned to pleading. "Darius… my love. I know I made a mistake. We all do. I shouldn't have shattered our bond. I want you back."
Darius barked a laugh, low and dangerous. He crouched to her level, golden eyes cold.
"In your dreams, Becky," he said. His voice carried through the hall, sharp as a blade. "And if you dare lay a finger on my woman again, I'll have your head served on a plate."
Gasps. A murmur of shock rippled across the crowd.
Becky's mouth twisted. "Are you threatening me because of a low life like her?" She scrambled up, her hand reaching for his arm. "You don't mean it. You still love me."
Darius pulled back as if her touch were poison. "Touch me again, and you'll lose that hand."
Becky's face crumpled into rage. "You'll regret this!" she spat.
Darius straightened and flicked his fingers. Guards rushed forward, seizing Becky by the arms. She struggled, shrieking curses as they dragged her from the hall.
Emma stood frozen, chest heaving, her cheek stinging. She hadn't moved since the slap. Her fingers trembled around the bouquet that had fallen askew in her grip.
Darius turned back to her. The music was silent, the room holding its breath. He reached for her hand, his voice softer now. "Are you hurt?"
Emma shook her head quickly. "I… I'm fine." Her voice cracked, betraying her.
His fingers tightened slightly, steadying her. "You're mine now. No one touches you."
The words made her shiver, heat and fear twining in her chest.
Across the room, James hadn't moved. His hands were fists on the arms of his chair, knuckles white. His wolf snarled inside him, clawing at his chest.
He couldn't take his eyes off Emma. The way she looked in that gown. The way she trembled under Darius's hand. The way something about her scent—faint but familiar—wrapped around him, pulling tight.
"Emma," he muttered under his breath, realization dawning slow and sharp, cutting through the haze.
His rejected mate. His drunken night. His lost chance.
The music started again, but James's gaze never left her. His teeth clenched, rage and want twisting together until his chest ached.
He had sold her. And now, in front of everyone, she belonged to another man.