All Chapters of Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

[ELARA]The council chamber takes me by surprise the moment I first step into it. The very air here feels different — it’s heavy, and it stinks of schemes and twisted betrayals. As I watch the painted ceiling with awe, depicting history spanning centuries, I wonder how much of it is real, and how much is glorified. Eldric sits at the head of the table, his face twisted with fury, his eyes locked onto Ruelle. Around him, the council members murmur amongst themselves, their voices low but pointed. Lady Celia sits on the far end, her gaze fixed on her lap, while Queen Seraphina stares blankly ahead, seeing nothing, but hearing it all. My gaze shifts to the right end of the table, where a massive sand clock sits atop an ornate pedestal — newly installed, by the look of it. The sand inside isn’t the usual pale golden hue but swirls of deep purple that shimmer as they fall in a slow, measured cascade. It’s strange and beautiful, almost hypnotic. I wonder if it’s meant to symbolize time sl

[ELARA]The light seeps through the cracks in the curtains, and I watch the sun rise higher into the sky. I haven’t slept. Not a blink. The hours have passed in silence, but my mind has been loud — too loud. I’ve spent most of the night wrestling with myself, trying to make sense of this knot of anger, grief, and blame I’ve tangled myself in. I keep circling back to the same thoughts, and it’s all centered around Magnus, as if fighting with him in my head will give me answers.But I know the truth. I’m not really angry with Magnus. He didn’t kill Alina. He didn’t put the dagger in her chest. Still, the fury sits just beneath my skin, restless and aching. I should be grieving for my stepsister. Instead, I’m searching for someone or something to blame.It wasn’t the right decision.Those words keep echoing in my mind. I can’t stop them. I replay everything over and over, hoping for a different outcome. If I’d done something different, would Alina still be alive? If Magnus had refused to

[ELARA]The garden is bathed in the soft, golden light of morning. Each dewdrop clings to the grass like a delicate jewel, reflecting the sunlight in a way that almost makes it seem as if the earth itself is alive, breathing under the warmth of the day. The air is crisp and clean, filled with the gentle fragrance of blooming flowers. On any other day, this would feel like a sanctuary—a peaceful refuge far from the burdens of the castle and the weight of its secrets. But not today. Not with everything that has happened.As I walk towards the gathering, my feet feel heavier with each step, as if some unseen force is pulling me down, keeping me tethered to the ground. I spot Lady Celia, Queen Seraphina, and Ruelle standing near a patch of irises. Not just any irises—the glowing purple ones, rich and vibrant, their petals shimmering in the light like something otherworldly. They remind me of the irises Beatrice once wove into my hair, the same deep, mystical purple that hinted at secrets

[MAGNUS]The words I spoke to Elara this morning play over and over in my mind, like a song that refuses to stop, growing louder with each passing hour. They were true, every word, but now I wish I had kept my mouth shut. I should have turned around the moment I realized she was bathing. Creed, my wolf, growls in agreement, though he’s as conflicted as I am.But my heart didn’t listen to reason. I stayed. And for the first time in a long while, I let myself be completely vulnerable.I spoke. I gave voice to everything I’ve been holding back, and now I can’t stop thinking about how foolish it was to break the silence I’ve kept so carefully guarded. I let my walls down — walls I’ve built and reinforced over the years, since the day I lost Nyra. Nyra.Creed howls her name in my mind, stirring the old grief that I’ve learned to keep buried. I promised myself I would never forget her. She was my mate, my first and only love. How could I let myself think, even for a moment, that Elara coul

[MAGNUS]As I add the final strokes to the canvas, Alistair steps forward, his voice cutting through the quiet air of the gallery. “Lady Celia has arrived,” he informs me in his usual calm tone.I pause, setting the brush down with care. I step back, my gaze fixed on the painting in front of me, trying to soak in what I’ve just done. It feels strange — almost foreign — to stand here and look at something I’ve created with my own hands after all these years. A heavy sigh escapes me as I take in the finished piece. It is perfect, almost a replica.I can already picture Elara’s reaction. She will be pleased. She’ll smile — a smile I’ve rarely seen directed toward me, but one I’ve longed for more than I care to admit. And the thought of that smile, of seeing her light up with joy, stirs something inside me that I’ve kept buried for far too long.Happiness.It’s been so long since I’ve dared to pursue it. But now… now it feels like something I’m ready to bet on. Something I’m willing to ri