That night, Bradley was quiet.

He sat on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. He was angry, but he was containing it. He needed Fiona. He needed her money, and now, he needed her silence.

Fiona sat at her vanity, removing her earrings.

"Bradley," Fiona said softly. "I've been thinking."

He grunted. "About what? How to terrorize my son?"

"About my health," Fiona lied. She turned to face him, letting her shoulders droop. "I'm... I'm overwhelmed. With the foundation, the transition of my family's assets is a massive undertaking. Someone needs to manage the public-facing duties, especially with Jimmie. I don't think I can do it alone."

He looked at her, suspicious. "What are you saying?"

"I'm suggesting you need help," Fiona said. "I'm proposing we bring on a 'Special Advisor' to the foundation. Someone to help with the social calendar. Someone Jimmie trusts."

Bradley stopped moving. His hands froze on his shirt.

He was processing the political implications, the way this could be spun to the media. He saw the trap, but he also saw the opportunity.

"Who did you have in mind?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"Duchess Icy," Fiona said.

His eyes widened. He dropped his shirt.

"Icy?" he repeated. "But... she's your friend."

"Exactly," Fiona said, forcing a smile. "She is so good with Jimmie. And she knows the protocol. If she moved into the East Wing temporarily... it would look like a unified family front, showing how we all support each other during my 'illness'. It would take so much pressure off me."

Fiona stood up and walked over to him. She took his hand. It took every ounce of her willpower not to recoil.

"I just want you to be happy, Bradley. I know I'm not... enough."

A slow smile spread across his face. It was the smile of a man who thought he had just won the lottery.

"Fiona," he said, squeezing her hand. "You are... incredibly generous. Are you sure?"

"Yes," Fiona said. "Call her."

He didn't wait. He kissed her cheek-a dry, perfunctory peck-and practically ran to the balcony to make the call.

Fiona turned away. She walked to the bathroom and locked the door.

She grabbed a wet wipe and scrubbed her hand. She scrubbed until the skin was red and raw.

Come in, Icy, she thought, staring at her reflection. Come into the light where I can see you.

Her earpiece buzzed.

"Inviting the wolf into the sheep pen," Demian's voice drawled. "Bold strategy."

"She's not a wolf," Fiona whispered. "She's a parasite. She needs a host to survive. I'm just changing the environment."

"And what happens when she tries to take your place?"

"I'll let her," Fiona said. "The throne is electric, Demian. If you sit on it wrong, it fries you."

The next day, Icy arrived.

She came with a caravan of Louis Vuitton luggage and an entourage of assistants. She wore a white sundress and a wide-brimmed hat, looking every inch the innocent angel.

Fiona met her on the front steps. The press was there, of course. Bradley had tipped them off.

"Fiona!" Icy squealed, rushing up the stairs.

She hugged Fiona. Her perfume was cloying-gardenias and ambition.

"Thank you so much for inviting me," she whispered in Fiona's ear. "I promise, I'll take good care of Bradley."

The threat was clear.

Fiona pulled back and smiled for the cameras.

"Welcome home, sister," she said.

Fiona led her to the guest suite she had prepared. It was luxurious, filled with flowers.

And in the base of the large potted fern in the corner, hidden under the moss, was a high-fidelity listening device.

"I hope you're comfortable," Fiona said.

"Oh, it's perfect," Icy said, spinning around. She flopped onto the bed. "So close to Bradley's study."

"Yes," Fiona said. "Very convenient."

Fiona left her to unpack.

As she walked down the hall, she heard Icy lock the door.

Fiona tapped her earpiece. "Is the feed live?"

"Crystal clear," Vane's voice replied.

Fiona smiled.

Welcome to hell, Icy.

Fiona needed air. The palace felt contaminated with Icy's presence.

"Yana, walk with me," Fiona said.

They headed toward the stables. It was the furthest point from the main house, a place Bradley rarely visited because he hated the smell of horses.

As they neared the old hay barn, Fiona heard a sound.

Crack.

Then a whimper.

Crack.

"You filthy little rat!" A man's voice.

Fiona signaled Yana to be quiet. They crept around the side of the barn.

In the dusty clearing, Lenny, the head of palace security-and Bradley's personal thug-was standing over a boy.

The boy was curled into a ball on the ground. He couldn't have been more than seventeen. He was skinny, dressed in rags, covered in stable muck.

Lenny raised a heavy leather belt and brought it down.

The boy didn't cry out. He just shuddered.

He looked up.

His eyes.

They were amber. Golden, like a wolf's.

Fiona's breath hitched.

She knew those eyes.

In her past life, two years from now, a rebel leader known only as "Wolf" would rise from the slums. He would lead the riots that nearly toppled Bradley's regime. He was ruthless, brilliant, and unstoppable.

And on the night Fiona died, as the car sped toward the cliff, she had seen a motorcycle chasing them. The rider had tried to shoot out the tires of her car to save her. It was him.

He had tried to save her then.

Now, he was just a stable boy being beaten to death.

Lenny raised the belt again. The buckle glinted in the sun.

"Stop!"

Fiona stepped out from the shadows.

Lenny froze. He turned, seeing her. He lowered the belt, but he didn't look scared. He looked annoyed.

"Your Highness," he grunted. "This doesn't concern you. Just disciplining a thief. Caught him stealing horse feed."

"Stealing feed?" Fiona looked at the boy. He was starving. "He's eating oats?"

"He's a stray," Lenny spat. "No ID. No name. Just a waste of space."

"Put the belt down," Fiona said.

Lenny sneered. "With all due respect, Princess, security is my jurisdiction. Go back to your tea party."

He turned back to the boy.

Fiona didn't think. She moved.

She walked up to Lenny. He was a foot taller than her, a wall of muscle.

She swung her hand and slapped him across the face.

The sound was like a gunshot.

Lenny stumbled back, dropping the belt. He touched his cheek, staring at her in shock.

"You..."

"I am the future Queen," Fiona said, her voice low and dangerous. "And you are a servant. If you ever raise a weapon in my presence again, I will have your hand cut off."

Lenny's face turned purple. He wanted to hit her. She could see it in his eyes. But he knew the penalty for striking a royal.

"Get out of my sight," Fiona ordered.

Lenny spat on the ground, glared at the boy, and stomped away.

Fiona turned to the boy.

He was staring at her. There was no gratitude in his eyes, only suspicion.

"Can you stand?" Fiona asked.

He didn't answer.

She reached out her hand.

He flinched, expecting a blow. When none came, he looked at her palm. It was pale, unblemished.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out. His hand was rough, calloused, and dirty.

He grasped her fingers.

Fiona pulled him up. He was surprisingly heavy, dense with hidden muscle.

"What's your name?" Fiona asked.

"Don't have one," he rasped. His voice was unused, rusty.

"Then I'll give you one," Fiona said. "Wolf."

His eyes widened.

"You work for me now, Wolf," Fiona said. "Not the Palace. Me. Do you understand?"

He looked at Lenny's retreating figure, then back at her.

He nodded once.

High above, a tiny drone buzzed silently, recording everything.

In the Regent's Estate, Demian watched the screen.

"She's building an army," he murmured, a smile touching his lips. "Clever girl."

Fiona brought him to her private study. It was the only room Bradley didn't have a key to.

Yana was cleaning the cuts on Wolf's back. The alcohol stung, Fiona knew it did, but he sat like a statue.

Fiona was reading a personnel file she had pulled from the archives.

"Lenny is your father, isn't he?" Fiona asked.

Wolf's head snapped up. The pain in his eyes was sudden and raw. "How did you know?"

"Blood type," Fiona said, tapping the paper. "And the fact that he kept you here, hidden, instead of handing you over to the police. He hates you because you're proof of his infidelity."

Wolf looked down at his hands. "He said I was garbage."

"One man's garbage is another man's weapon," Fiona said.

She slid a piece of paper across the desk.

"This is an employment contract. Orozco Security Firm. It's a subsidiary of my family's company. If you sign this, you are no longer a squatter. You are a private security contractor."

Wolf looked at the paper. He couldn't read well, Fiona could tell, but he understood the intent.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I need someone who hates them as much as I do," Fiona said. "I will give you a life, Wolf. A name. A purpose. In exchange, I own your loyalty. Until death."

He didn't hesitate. He picked up the pen and scrawled an X.

"Done," he said.

The door banged open.

Bradley marched in, Lenny trailing behind him like a whipped dog.

"Fiona!" Bradley shouted. "Lenny tells me you assaulted him and stole a prisoner!"

Fiona stood up. She didn't look at Bradley. She looked at Lenny.

"Yana," Fiona said. "Call the lawyer."

She picked up a document from the printer.

"This," Fiona said to Bradley, "is a draft of a lawsuit. The Crown vs. Leonard Smith. Charges: Child endangerment, violation of labor laws, and assault on a minor."

She threw the paper at Bradley.

"Lenny has been keeping an undocumented minor on palace grounds for five years. Enslaving him. Beating him."

Bradley scanned the paper. His eyes flicked to Lenny.

"Is this true?" Bradley asked.

"I... he's my son, sir, I can do what I want-" Lenny stammered.

"You idiot," Bradley hissed.

Bradley looked at Fiona. He saw the trap. If this went public, the 'Humanitarian Prince' would be ruined.

"You want to protect this... boy?" Bradley asked her.

"He is my employee," Fiona said. "Touch him, and I sue."

Bradley clenched his jaw. He turned to Lenny.

Slap.

Bradley backhanded Lenny.

"You're fired," Bradley said. "Get out. Before I have you arrested myself."

Lenny gaped. "But sir..."

"OUT!"

Lenny fled.

Bradley turned back to Fiona. "You're pushing it, Fiona."

"I'm just cleaning up the mess," Fiona said sweetly.

Bradley stormed out.

Fiona turned to Wolf. He was looking at her with something new. Awe.

"Go to the Regent's estate," Fiona said, handing him a slip of paper with an address. "Tell the man at the gate 'The serpent sends the wolf.' Vane will be expecting you. Train. Come back when you can kill a man with your bare hands."

"Yes, Mistress," Wolf said.

He left.

Fiona sat down, exhausted.

Her phone buzzed. An email from Icy.

Subject: Gala Schedule :)

Fiona opened it. It was a minefield. Icy had scheduled herself for the opening speech, the first dance, the toast. She had relegated Fiona to "greeting the elderly."

And at the bottom, a note: Special toast at 9:00 PM.

Fiona smiled.

9:00 PM. That was when Icy planned to drug her.

Fiona looked out the window. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold.

Tomorrow, the garden would be a battlefield.