Willow's POV
The First Rule of Dying: Don't.
The thing about dying?
You don't really get a warning. One second you're ranting to your big sister on the phone about emotionally constipated werewolves, and the next… you're waking up in someone else's silk sheets.
It had been three days.
Three whole days of waking up in this absurd, pastel prison of a room, covered in lace, drenched in florals, like someone's Pinterest board had violently exploded and realizing, again and again, that this wasn't a dream.
I wasn't in my apartment. I wasn't in a hospital bed. And most importantly…
I wasn't in my body.
The servants told me, reluctantly, through forced smiles and suspicious stares, that my name was Joelle.
Queen Joelle.
Human wife of the Werewolf King of Altharia.
I knew the name the moment they said it. It felt like a gut punch, like the universe was mocking me for every bitter thing I'd screamed into the void about her just days ago.
But I'd get back to that later.
Right now, I was trying to figure out how the hell I got here. What happened to me?
To Willow Alverez, the loud-mouthed, wine-sipping, feminist disaster who had tacos every Thursday with her sisters?
Where was my body?
Was I in a coma somewhere, hooked up to a machine while my family sat around whispering "she looks peaceful"?
Was Sophie still calling my name through the phone?
Was Kara, my baby sister, my college brat, crying into her textbooks, wondering why I stopped texting her weird memes?
God.
Aria.
I'd never get to see her grow.
Never watch her lose her baby teeth, or have her first crush, or scream at me when I teach her how to drive.
I'd never,
I shut my eyes, hard. My throat burned.
No.
Don't think about it.
For the past three days, I'd locked myself in this goddamn royal chamber. Curtains drawn. Doors bolted. Not because I was afraid, but because I couldn't process it. Every inch of this place felt real. From the cool marble under my bare feet to the velvet cushions that somehow smelled faintly of roses and despair. And every time I tried to "wake up," I only woke up here.
It wasn't a dream.
At least… not the kind I could escape from.
The attendants, my "ladies-in-waiting," apparently, came by occasionally. Not out of concern, no. Their tone was fake, their eyes calculating. They didn't like Joelle. And now they didn't like me either. I could feel it in the way they knocked too softly, spoke too sweetly, like sugar hiding poison. I could almost hear their thoughts aloud… well technically… since of course I'd read the damn book.
I turned them away every time.
"Her Majesty is… unwell," I heard one of them whisper once through the door.
Unwell, my ass. I was mourning. Grieving myself. My life. My family. My body. I couldn't even look at the mirror for long without getting dizzy. That wasn't me in the reflection. That was her, Joelle. All porcelain skin, soft features, and a sadness that seemed permanently stitched into her eyes.
I looked like a damn ghost.
I tried sleeping it off.
Tried to dream myself back home, back into Sophie's voice, Kara's laughter, my father's low grumbles about "goddamn feminists", which is exactly why I became one.
He taught me everything I needed to know about why men should never be trusted, and no, I don't mean he was a shitty father, he was actually a great one on the contrary, who drilled into all his children who were girls that men were worst absolute pieces of shit even before the rest of the world proved it to me.
Funny. The universe put me in Joelle's body like a twisted joke.
Maybe I was dead.
Maybe this was some cruel cosmic punishment.
Or worse… a mission.
Because on the seventh day, right as I was sitting by the window, staring blankly at the oversized moon like it might offer me a goddamn answer, it hit me.
What if I wasn't here by accident?
What if this was the universe's way of saying "you were goddamn right"?
What if I was here to finish what Joelle couldn't?
To teach Johan, the cold-blooded Alpha King, the lesson he never learned in that stupid novel?
What if this was my story now?
And I was the retribution that was needed?
Royal Bitchcraft 101
By the morning of the eighth day, I finally decided I was done mourning.
Not because I was okay.
But because I was bored.
Seriously bored.
I mean how did these people cope without a smartphone?
I was close to pulling out my own goddamn hair.
Grief is exhausting, but nothing wears me out faster than doing nothing. And I needed answers. Real ones. And that meant leaving the safe, silk-lined comfort of my plotting cave.
So, I brushed my hair, Joelle's hair, silky and entirely too tame, and stepped out into the hallway with the grace of a woman who used to wear combat boots with sundresses.
I knew what to expect. I'd read the book. Even though… my memory wasn't the best… but that's not the point!
I knew who the snakes were. I just needed to catch them slithering.
The palace was as dramatic as I remembered it being described. Everything sparkled, gilded, tall, soaked in moonlight and the kind of wealth that made your stomach twist. I walked like Joelle would, slow, soft, apologetic. My head slightly lowered. My lips twitching at the corners.
"Your Majesty," a voice called gently behind me.
I turned.
Three women approached, all in perfectly pressed uniforms that screamed silent obedience. But their eyes?
Their eyes screamed judgment.
One in particular caught my attention immediately.
Tall. Silver-blonde. Eyes like ice that's about to crack and slice skin.
She bowed deeper than the others, just enough to look respectful, but too shallow to be sincere.
Her name came back to me.
Lady Cerys.
The head lady-in-waiting. She was described in the book, though barely, always lingering behind Joelle like a bitter shadow. And her hatred? It was always there. Subtle. Like poison in honey.
And now that I was in Joelle's body… I could see it.
All of it.
"Your Majesty," Cerys said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "We saw you step out of your chambers after days. You look well. Have you recovered from your… distressing spell?"
Distressing spell.
You mean waking up in a corpse I didn't order and realizing I'll never see my family again?
"Much better, thank you," I said, letting Joelle's softness coat my voice like a veil. I gave a small, dainty smile, just enough to seem fragile. "I'm ready to resume my duties."
Her lips twitched. She wasn't expecting that.
"We're all relieved," Cerys said sweetly. "Breakfast is being prepared. We'll ensure it's exactly how you like it."