[MAGNUS]
I recline in the bathtub, the warmth of the water enveloping me as the palace servants go about their tasks. Steam swirls in the opulent chamber, the scent of chamomile lingering in the air and my mind wanders through the labyrinth of lies spun by my detested uncle, the king.
As the palace servants meticulously wash me, their eyes averted, I stare at my own half-naked reflection in the mirror. I'm not disabled; it's a fabrication concocted by my uncle's twisted mind, fueled by his hatred and fear. The king seeks to undermine me, to strip away any sense of power or influence I might possess. He's afraid of what I could do to him. But it's time to reclaim my power, turn the tables on my enemies, and catch them off guard.
Alistair, my loyal beta werewolf, stands guard outside the chamber, a silent guardian of my secrets.
As I rise from the bathtub, the servants hastily rush to cover my body with linen. Alistair makes his way toward me before his eyes follow a servant as she walks out of the chamber.
I know the look in his eyes. It screams trouble.
I gesture for him to walk with me. The servants meant to dress me up for court follow suit, however, they halt the moment I turn. "I wish to be alone," I tell them.
Once we're in my quarters, Alistair releases his breath, knowing that it's safe to talk now. "I've found the witch for you, Your Highness," he informs me, his lips set into a straight line.
"Excellent. When can I see her?" I inquire, reaching out to grab my clothes that the servants have set out as I let the linen fall to the polished floor.
Alistair averts his gaze. "Whenever Your Highness wishes."
"Now, Alistair."
There's not a hint of surprise in the beta's voice when he replies, "Certainly, Your Highness." He bows and that's when I notice the gash on his exposed neck once again—a bitter reminder of the time he saved me from one of the several assassination attempts.
"And my uncle?" I put forward the question before he leaves to acquire the witch.
"Still very much alive."
I frown at his response, a flicker of disappointment swirling in my chest.
Moments later, Alistair reenters my quarters as I'm sitting by my desk, shuffling through a heap of scrolls. A scarlet-eyed witch trails behind him, her scrutinous gaze hovering all over my quarters. When her unblinking eyes finally settle on me, she brings forward her braided hair. I give her a charming smile, a glimmer of mischief in my gaze as I rise from my seat.
"Prince Magnus... aren't you a delight? I expected something else... Oh, how silly of me!" She shakes her head as if she has committed some error, flashing me a wide grin. "I'm Morgana," she says, curtsying as she raises the back of her hand for me to kiss. I chuckle at the audacity. But the nature of witches is known. They like to be treated well; they expect to be pampered and peppered with compliments for their beauty—which is often nothing more than just an illusion.
"Welcome, Morgana," I say in a smooth, seductive tone, pressing a lingering kiss on the back of her hand.
Alistair withdraws to a corner, and while his eyes are directed on the tapestry in front of him, his ears are glued to all the words that will pass between me and the witch.
"I must admit, I have brought you here for a rather unconventional request."
Morgana's lips curl into a curious smile. Her voice is playful when she speaks. "Pray tell, Your Highness, what is it that you desire? Strength? Courage? Do you want me to end a life? Oh, perhaps... create one? Well, what about—no, I can't say it... You're already a work of art. But if you wish to become a beauty that men and women, both, tremble to behold, I can do it for you."
I'm glad when she finally shuts up. Leaning against the desk, I lower my voice to a suggestive whisper, knowing full well the effect it has on those around me. "None of that. I seek your enchantment, Morgana, to transform me into a deformed man. Temporarily. It should wear off after I'm wed. Precisely within a week from today."
The witch's eyebrows arch in surprise, her eyes darkening under the scanty light in the quarters. "How intriguing. And may I ask what is it that you hope to achieve with such a charade, Your Highness?"
I take a step closer, closing the gap between us. "You may not."
Her eyes flicker with understanding, a spark of excitement dancing within them. "A game of manipulation and revelation. It seems you have a taste for daring, Prince Magnus."
I reach out, lightly tracing a finger along her cheek, relishing in the thrill of the forbidden. "Indeed."
Creed, my wolf, growls in warning. I choose to ignore him.
The air crackles as our eyes lock. The witch's gaze holds curiosity and a hint of desire. It's as if she's caught in a spell of her own, captivated by the audacity of my request.
I take a step closer to her, closing the remaining distance. Her scent, a mixture of wildflowers and ancient magic, swirls around me, intoxicating my senses. I trace my thumb over her lower lip. "Tell me, Morgana," I murmur, "are you willing to aid me in this grand deception?"
A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she responds, her voice a velvet whisper, "Prince Magnus, I find myself unable to resist the allure of it"
I reach out to brush a strand of her raven-black hair behind her ear, my touch gentle yet charged with intent. "You possess a rare beauty and power, dear witch. Your presence alone commands attention. I can't help but wonder if your enchantments extend beyond magic."
A blush creeps up on her fair cheeks but she bites down on her lower lip. "Oh, Prince Magnus, it seems you have quite the silver tongue. But be warned, I am not easily swayed. You must prove yourself worthy of my trust."
A challenge. I enjoy a good challenge. With a playful smile, I respond, "Consider me an open book, ready to be unraveled by your skilled hands."
Her laughter rings through the room, a dangerous sound that resonates deep within me. "Very well, Prince Magnus. I accept your proposition. But remember, power can be a double-edged sword."
As the witch speaks, her voice takes on a seductive timbre, sending shivers down my spine. It's the effect of a charm she has subtly cast, but that's the most it can do to me.
With a boldness I haven't felt before, I close the remaining distance between us, my hand resting lightly on her waist. "Then let us revel in the thrill of unraveling the tapestry of lies that surrounds me. But first, a toast to our newfound partnership."
I pour two glasses of ruby-red wine from a nearby decanter, the liquid sparkling like captured starlight. I hand her a glass, our fingers brushing, and raise my own in a toast. "To the power of secrets, and the beauty of unmasking them."
She clinks her glass against mine, a smile playing on her lips. "To the unraveling, Prince Magnus."
We drink in unison, the rich wine sliding down our throats.
I invite Morgana into my embrace. There is a hunger in her gaze as I guide her toward the plush canopy bed, adorned with silken sheets and decadent pillows. Then I begin unraveling her.
My lips find hers with a fervent hunger, exploring her mouth with a tantalizing rhythm. Our tongues intertwine, engaged in a dance as old as time. The witch responds with equal fervor, her nails tracing along my back, leaving a trail of desire in their wake.
As our bodies meld, my touch is confident and deliberate. Every caress, every stroke, is designed to elicit waves of ecstasy. My hands glide along the curves of her body, knowing exactly how to draw forth the moans and gasps of delight that echo throughout the chamber.
Hours slip away unnoticed. As the final moments of our encounter draw near, my touch becomes tender, a gentle caress that lingers upon her skin.
While she's sleeping, I take the opportunity and present myself in the court—which is a lot more than my uncle ever does—however, I hear the whispers that originate from those involved in my uncle's treachery.
Ministers approach me, reminding me of my upcoming wedding as if that's something I can get out of my head. They tell me that it is my duty to make alliances with independent territories. That marrying their Lunar Crest’s beta's daughter would be beneficial to Caelondor. I don't ask them how that would work because these men work for my uncle. Now that I'm so close to getting what I want, I hold myself back, letting the anger I feel subside.
I do as I’m told. I agreed to marry a random woman. I don’t know what her name is or what she looks like. I don’t really care. Marrying her is merely a political move, supported even by my close allies. They tell me it’s beneficial to my own cause—that having one of the strongest packs on the continent by my side will aid me in the distant future. I choose to believe them because they showed their loyalty to my father even when he passed away—while the other bastards revealed their true nature.
As the moon reaches its zenith, I return to my quarters, Alistair always following closely on my trail. I see Morgana standing by the large mirror. Its ruby-clad border now sprouts wildflowers, something that did not happen before, and even though I don't like the new addition, I smile at it anyway.
“Prince… I was quite disappointed when I opened my eyes and found you gone. You’re quite warm,” Morgana says, slithering towards me. Her scarlet eyes are darkened by some strange look that I fail to decipher.
“I had some Princely duties to tend to. I must maintain the balance between work and pleasure, mustn't I?” I retort back.
“Certainly,” she agrees, circling me with her scarlet gaze fixated on my face. I barely hold the urge to roll my eyes.
"Morgana, I leave at dawn. Perform the spell now," I say, failing to keep the sense of urgency out of my voice. Maybe I can't really conceal my emotions as well as I think.
Her lips quiver and I see a look of hesitation cross her eyes, but she does not ask for her payment before. Witches never do.
With a wave of her hand and an incantation spoken in a language long forgotten, she casts the spell upon me. For a moment I feel Creed howling inside of me as an invisible hand grips my heart. My wolf never approved of this decision. In fact, he has approved of very little since our mate died.
I can feel the magic course through my veins, altering my appearance, and reshaping my features into something unfamiliar.
One of my feet feels unbelievably heavy. The length of my left arm shortens, ending in a stout. The transformation is startling.
"If you remind yourself that it's an illusion, you will not feel any of the changes," Morgana informs me, a smirk forming on her face.
I look upon my reflection, seeing a distorted version of myself staring back. The once handsome prince is now marred by scars, a twisted visage that would surely evoke pity and revulsion.
"How do I revert?"
She giggles, the sinister sound of her laughter echoing in the room. "True love's kiss of course!"
I laugh, but dread fills my heart as Nyra's face flashes in my mind. "Then I suppose I shall stay like this for the rest of my life."
Morgana reaches me, her finger tracing one of the scars along my chest. "Kiss the woman you are marrying, and she'll see the true handsomeness of you, Prince Magnus."
[ELARA]Outside my chambers, I can hear the loud beating of drums and the occasional whistle of a flute. I’ve seen over half a dozen human bards and female dryads that have been invited over to entertain the royal company. When I scurry over to take a look from the window, I can see what seems like half the continent gathered in the courtyard of Mistral Hollow’s packhouse. Over the last few days, I’ve seen my father glued to Alpha Zander’s side. He has been making sure that the wedding ceremony is a grand success—leaving no stone unturned to appeal to the King of Caelondor.But the previous morning, a raven arrived from the royal palace, informing us the King would be absent from the ceremony. He’s at war with the kingdom of Wyvern, and has been for several weeks now. The disappointment on my father’s face upon hearing the news was contagious. And moreover, the invitations can not be withdrawn. Nobody seems to care about the Prince. Even though he is the most important person in the
As I stand there, my hand still pressed against Magnus's lips, I feel a lot of things. Confusion, astonishment, and yes, even a hint of attraction to the man who just went through an incredible transformation. I can't help but be mesmerized by his newfound beauty, but my initial anger and betrayal still linger beneath the surface.I feel mocked. And humiliated. But no one’s laughing at me. I spot Alina among the crowd and her jaw is practically on the floor. She looks furious and beside her Celeste seems to be grinding her teeth. I see Alina say something to Celeste as she stomps her feet like a stubborn child. Although only for a moment, I feel satisfied. I feel good. I want to laugh at them despite being the one who was tricked. Their evil plan has backfired. The girl I treated with love all my life betrayed me just so she won’t have to marry an ugly man. But Magnus is anything but ugly. At least on the outside. I can't ignore the bad things I've heard that he's done.My father a
I find out soon enough the kind of man my husband is. He’s truly a wicked, two-faced bastard! Few hours ago at the break of dawn, we started our journey back to Caelondor. I was made to sit inside a carriage covered with feather-filled pillows—the royal treatment, truly. But I’m not allowed to talk to my handmaids. Or anyone, really. In fact, ever since we left Mistral Hollow, Magnus had not even spared me a glance. It’s like for him I don’t even exist. He was charming during the wedding, kissing my hand like I expected a prince would. But it was all a facade. I should’ve known it, but as always I was a fool. I feel lonely already, away from my homeland—the place I grew up in. I’ve never been away from Mistral Hollow or my pack for more than a few days and now I'm going to spend my life in a foreign land. With the constant pain of having my mate by my side. Alec has kept his distance from me. I don’t know how he does it, because here I’m going crazy. I keep thinking of all the m
[ELARA] Hours likely passed since I narrowly escaped being murdered by a water demon, but my fury refuses to settle. Magnus' harsh words keep coming back to me. My maids insisted on changing me out of my soaked wedding gown. Initially rejecting their help, I soon realized how the wet fabric clung uncomfortably to my skin. Now, I find myself in a plain blue robe adorned with a silver border. The tent lacks the grandeur of the wedding ceremony—simple, unadorned, with dim lanterns casting a soft glow, creating an uncomplicated atmosphere. Seated on a basic bed, my thoughts are consumed by Magnus. He's not just a distant husband; he's orchestrating an elaborate game. Caelondor has never been favored among the independent wolf packs. That changed when news of King Eldric seeking an alliance reached us. Witnessing the Alpha's desperation was a rarity, sparking confusion within our pack. How would an alliance with a distant kingdom benefit us? Our pack has never been weak. Despite the ske
[MAGNUS] The night unfolds along the riverbank, the candlelit table casting a warm glow on the faces of the gathered ministers. They dine on the delicacies that are brought in — a roasted boar, its succulent flesh still sizzling — golden carrots, ruby-red beets, and emerald-green asparagus—arranged artfully on silver platters. Plates of venison flank the boar, the meat tender and juicy. They are accompanied by bowls of honey-glazed root vegetables—parsnips, and turnips glistening in the candlelight. A spread of artisanal bread, crusty and warm, sits alongside an assortment of cheeses and honeycomb. Flaky tarts stuffed with spiced fruits and nuts, their edges dusted with powdered sugar. The clinking of tankards and the hum of conversation fills the air, but I keep my ears glued to the sound of anything going amiss. “The Prince never fails to deliver a feast!” calls out Lord Reynard, laughing as he raises his glass of wine. He’s already quite drunk, barely keeping himself on the c
[ELARA] The shriek that cuts the air makes me shiver. One moment, I’m stomping towards the tent and the next I’m frozen in place. I look from where the commotion around the fire settles, to Magnus. He has his hand on the sheath of his sword, ready to draw it as he covers the distance between us. “Stay right here,” Magnus commands before his eyes find someone in the crowd that is now rushing towards us. “Alistair, protect her.” The beta werewolf is by my side in an instant, but I can’t help focus on the restless feeling that settles in my chest. Then after what feels like an eternity, Lila speaks to me. ‘Find Alec. He’s in trouble,’ she warns me. And I kick off my feet, running in no particular direction. The mate bond gnaws on my inside. I can feel Alec calling out my name but there’s something else. I can feel the bond begin to fade. Not break — like it does when you reject a mate, but actually fade. Until I can’t sense Alec anymore. The thought of his death overwhelms me. And th
[ELARA] Everytime I close my eyes, the unblinking eyes and still face of Kayla haunts me. So I keep myself awake, despite the exhaustion I feel. I woke up earlier — still in the arms of Magnus — but we weren’t in the tent where he had tried to get me to sleep. We were in the carriage I was traveling, surrounded by the same feather-filled pillows, lined by golden embroidery. I curled up the moment my eyes opened, finding my neck and face covered in sweat. He held me closer for a moment, providing me with a strange sense of comfort I wasn’t expecting from him. His golden eyes stared at my face as he moved the slick strands of my hair obstructing my gaze. I wondered if it was pity he felt for me. Maybe he was capable of that. For a moment I thought he was not the cold, cruel man he tried to portray himself as with his sharp words at me. Perhaps I could find something soft in him after all. But then his gaze turned distant and he moved me from his lap, his finger digging into my sho
[ELARA] There’s no wedding night, of course. I never held my breath for it. Magnus doesn’t even bother to come back into the room that is supposedly his for the rest of the night. I toss and turn on the soft bed all night, instead, watching the netted fabric hanging from the bedposts flutter along with the wind. I see the sky turn darker and quieter until the sun takes over, casting a warm glow inside the chamber. Kayla’s face never leaves my mind. And my last words to Alec haunt me. ‘Go, Alec. Get out of here! You’re a guard. You should know your place,’ I had yelled at him. While the human maids helped me around during the day to adjust to this new, strange place, I didn’t have it in me to strike any indulging conversation. The only question that has been plaguing me is: what happened there, after I left, that turned Alec into a rogue werewolf? Rogueness is complicated but it can be as easily triggered. We werewolves are supernatural creatures, our abilities and senses heigh