Joelle of Netharia was no warrior.
She was gentleness wrapped in royalty, soft-spoken, well-mannered, a creature of kindness raised inside ivory walls. When she married the Alpha King of Altharia, the world called it peace. A union between beast and beauty. A promise that blood would no longer stain the borders between werewolves and humans.
But in truth… it was surrender.
King Johan was the embodiment of calculated cruelty. Cold, ruthless, and tragically beautiful, he saw Joelle not as a bride, but as leverage. A treaty signed in flesh. On their wedding night, he left her untouched and shivering while he spent the evening in the arms of Grace, his beloved concubine.
Joelle loved him anyway.
She bore his cold stares. She endured Grace's venom. She wept in silence while the court talked about their "fragile human queen." And when, by a cruel twist of fate, she ended up pregnant after a drunken, careless night in Johan's bed… she didn't even know.
Neither did he.
Not until it was too late.
Once her latent powers awakened, an ancient magic buried in her blood, Johan saw potential, not love. He trained her like a weapon, harshly and without pause, demanding she harness her strength for his reign.
He pushed her. Broke her. And somewhere in that storm of pain and power…
The child she never knew she carried was lost.
That was when they both realized. That there had been life.
And now there was grief. Joelle finally broke. For the first time in her life, she screamed. Called him a monster. Ran from the palace and into the hands of those who hated Johan just as much as she did.
And yet, in the end… she returned.
Joelle helped him win a war. Stood by him. Loved him again. And when he wept, whispered heartfelt apologies, and held her like she was his salvation, she forgave him.
Just like that.
They lived "happily ever after."
...
SLAM.
Willow snapped the book shut, her eyes blazing like twin wildfires. Her apartment was dim, the only light coming from the cheap desk lamp beside her bed and the glow of her phone screen filled with rage-points she would tell to her followers on tiktok about this godforsaken novel.
"What the actual fuck was that?" she hissed, tossing the book across the bed like it had personally offended her.
She sat up, running a hand through her tangled dark curls, hazel eyes wide with disgust.
"He murdered her soul for two years straight, and she just… accepted a fuckin' 'my childhood was hard' apology? That's it? No groveling? No slow-burn redemption arc? And Joelle, goddess save her, even SpongeBob has more backbone that that."
Willow was 26, chronically unimpressed with men, believed the only thing good about them was their good looks for her own personal pleasure and even that too was a stretch for her. She campaigned for men's downfall and was deeply allergic to stories that rewarded cruelty with love.
"This is why women are stuck in cycles of emotional labor," she muttered, slipping on her jacket and grabbing her bag. "They read shit like this and start romanticizing men who need therapy, not wives."
She was halfway to the door when her phone buzzed.
SOPHIA:
Pick up, drama queen. You better be close.
Willow rolled her eyes but smiled. "Here we go."
She picked up the call as she slammed her door shut. "Yeah yeah, I'm on my way. You and your hormonal cravings can chill."
"Willow," came the familiar exasperated voice of her older sister, Sophia. "I forgot the teether. The giraffe one. Aria's been screaming all day without it."
Willow groaned as she trudged down the stairs. "Again? That child's six months old and already has attachment issues."
"She gets it from her aunt," Sophia replied sweetly. "Now please, I beg you, just grab it from the store next to your place. And don't take forever, I want to stuff my face with tacos before I have to go back to being the mature one."
"Okay, first of all, I'm mature in my own way. And second, ugh, fine. I'll get the giraffe."
"You're a sweetheart. I love you."
"Eww. Don't be gross. I can see through your act."
"You already said yes."
Willow sighed dramatically, pushing the building door open. The night air hit her face and she began walking, phone wedged between her shoulder and cheek. "Okay but before I forget, you need to hear about the literary disaster I just finished."
"Don't spoil it yet," Sophia laughed. "Save it till we sit down. I want the full dramatic breakdown."
Willow was already halfway into her rant. "No, I need to let this out or I'll scream. He left her on their wedding night to be with his concubine, Sophie. And even when his wife was being bullied under his nose, he ignored it. And then, wait for it, when he discovers she has powers, he trains her like a weapon and accidentally makes her miscarry and that's when he starts catching feelings?"
"Jesus."
"Right? And she forgives him. No real consequences. Just a sad boy monologue and a dick appointment."
Sophia was laughing softly on the other end. "You get way too emotionally invested in these books."
"I have to! It's like watching women get brainwashed with glitter and call it love.
"And don't even get me started on Grace. This bitch was abusing the queen, and she gets a tragic villain backstory? I swear to God if I wrote this, "
Willow shook her head, stepping onto the crosswalk, still animated. "On daddy's amputated left leg, if I ever meet a Johan in real life, I'm castrating him with a spoon."
"That's horrifying," Sophia said. "Don't traumatize Aria with that energy."
"I'll buy her a glittery spoon. For feminism."
Sophia was about to respond when a blaring horn sliced through the night.
Willow turned her head, just a little too late.
The headlights were too bright. The trailer was too close.
She froze.
"Willow?" her sister's voice echoed through the phone, confused. "Hello? What's that sound?"
There was no time to move. No scream. No breath. Just a thunderous crash and,
Darkness.
When her eyes opened again, she wasn't in a hospital. She wasn't on the sidewalk. She was… somewhere else.
Something soft clung to her skin. Slippery sheets. A canopy bed above. Her limbs were sore. Her throat dry. She blinked, slowly sitting up, confusion thick in her chest.
Outside the window, the moon glowed large and low, unnaturally close.
Someone knocked at the door.
"Your Majesty?" a voice said gently. "Are you well?"
Willow frowned.
Your Majesty?