Juliet POV

I stepped over the threshold, and the heavy oak doors shut behind me with a resounding thud that felt like a death knell.

The Queen's Audience Chamber was a blinding display of opulence. Wolf totems carved into the golden walls gleamed under the crystal chandeliers, but the air inside was suffocating. It was thick with the sharp scent of pine—Luna Queen Augusta’s oppressive aura—and beneath it, the terrifying, intoxicating smell of violent thunderstorms and dark cedar.

I didn't need to look into the shadows on the left to know Lycan King Ezekiel was watching me. My dormant White Wolf trembled, instinctively recognizing an apex predator.

"On your knees," Augusta commanded from her elevated throne.

My shattered knees hit the freezing marble floor. The impact sent a fresh wave of liquid fire radiating from the Silver barbs still embedded in my back, but I locked my jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream.

To my right, Prince Bryce sat in his wheelchair, his pale face twisted in a mixture of humiliation and dark fury.

"You dare defy a Royal decree, you wolfless trash?" Augusta’s voice was a lethal whip. Her Luna aura crashed down on me, trying to force my face back into the stone. "You humiliate my son in front of your pathetic Pack, and you think you will leave this room alive?"

I forced my head up, meeting the Queen's furious gaze. My operative training kicked in, calculating the exact angle of my defense.

"I refused a lie, Your Majesty," I rasped, my voice remarkably steady despite my bleeding throat. "Alpha Harold forged a death warrant against my mother, falsely accusing her of mating with a Rogue. He intended to use my corpse to pave the way for his favorite daughter, Charlize, to marry the Alpha Heir."

Augusta’s eyes narrowed, but her killing intent didn't waver. "Pack politics are beneath me. You still publicly rejected a Prince of the Royal Pack. For that alone, I will have you torn apart."

She raised her hand to summon the guards.

*“Hold.”*

A single, low syllable rumbled from the shadows. It wasn't loud, but it vibrated through the marble floor and straight into my bones.

Ezekiel leaned forward, the dim light finally catching his chiseled, battle-hardened face. His abyssal black eyes locked onto mine. He saw right through me. He knew exactly what I was doing—using the Royal Pack as a blade to sever my father's throat.

Instead of exposing me, a dark, amused smirk played on his lips. Suddenly, a wave of pure Lycan dominance swept through the room. It didn't crush me; instead, it effortlessly shattered Augusta’s suffocating Luna aura, allowing me to breathe.

"Let the little wolf finish," Ezekiel murmured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "She was about to tell us the real reason she couldn't marry the Prince."

My heart hammered against my ribs. Ezekiel was testing me. He was giving me exactly one chance to play my final card.

I looked back at Augusta, stripping away every ounce of my pride to deliver the ultimate, fatal truth in the werewolf world.

"I am broken, Your Majesty," I said, my voice dropping to a hollow whisper. "The years of abuse and the Silver whipped into my flesh have destroyed my internal organs. My cycles stopped years ago. I am barren."

The word echoed in the dead silence of the chamber.

In a society where bloodline and the strength of the Pack were everything, a barren female was worse than dead. She was a curse.

Augusta froze. The sheer disgust on her face morphed into something far more dangerous—a cold, calculating wrath directed entirely away from me.

"Harold Palmer," Augusta hissed, her manicured nails digging into the armrests of her throne. "He dared to offer the Royal Pack a barren, defective vessel? He thought he could insult our bloodline with a ruined Omega?"

I exhaled a microscopic breath. It worked. The target on my back had just been painted onto my father's chest.

But my relief didn't even last a second.

A sudden, horrifying gasp ripped through the room.

I snapped my head to the right. Bryce was gripping the armrests of his wheelchair so hard his knuckles were bone-white. His face had drained of all color, replaced by a sickly, ashen gray.

"Barren..." Bryce choked out, the word tearing from his throat like jagged glass.

The word had triggered something catastrophic. His eyes rolled back, flooding with manic, bloodshot red. A guttural, agonizing roar erupted from his chest—the sound of a half-dead Inner Wolf violently turning on its own host.

"Get Jobe!" Bryce screamed hysterically, his body beginning to violently tremor. "Get the Pack Doctor! Now!"

He thrashed wildly, his paralyzed legs jerking with unnatural, terrifying spasms as his wheelchair tipped dangerously to the side.

Juliet POV

Bryce's wheelchair tipped, and he hit the freezing marble floor with a sickening thud. His body violently convulsed, a guttural, agonizing sound tearing from his throat as his half-dead Inner Wolf turned on him.

I didn't think. My past life's trauma surgeon instincts completely overrode the liquid fire of the Silver still burning in my back. I lunged forward, shoving my already bloodied fingers directly into Bryce's mouth, prying his jaw open.

He clamped down hard. The bone-crushing pressure sent a fresh wave of agony up my arm, blood welling around his teeth, but I held firm, keeping him from biting off his own tongue.

"Bryce!" Augusta shrieked, abandoning all her Luna Queen composure. She dropped to her knees, her hands grabbing his violently thrashing legs, trying to use her high-ranking strength to pin them straight.

"Stop!" I barked, my voice echoing with absolute, unquestionable authority. "Let him thrash! If you force his legs straight while his muscles are spasming, you'll snap his femurs!"

Augusta froze, her eyes wide with shock at being commanded by a wolfless Omega. Before she could retaliate, the heavy doors burst open. Jobe, the head Pack Doctor, rushed in with his medical kit. Within moments, he administered a heavy sedative. Bryce's spasms slowed, and the royal guards quickly carried his limp body into the adjoining Inner Chamber.

I stayed on my knees, pulling my mangled fingers to my chest. The grand Audience Chamber fell into a suffocating silence.

"Where does a wolfless Omega learn to handle a frenzied Inner Wolf?"

The low, rumbling voice vibrated through the marble floor. Ezekiel leaned forward, the shadows retreating from his chiseled, battle-hardened face. His intoxicating scent—violent thunderstorms and dark cedar—washed over me. Deep inside, my dormant White Wolf trembled, an instinctual reaction to an apex predator.

I lowered my head, carefully masking my eyes. "When you are beaten as often as I am, Your Majesty, you learn basic first aid just to survive."

Ezekiel didn't say a word. He just stared at me. His abyssal black eyes seemed to strip away my flesh, dissecting my lies. He knew I was hiding something, and the dark amusement in his gaze meant he found his new prey fascinating.

Augusta paced back to her throne, her chest heaving. "Jobe," she commanded as the doctor stepped out of the Inner Chamber. "Verify her claim. Now."

Jobe approached me, his face tight with disdain. He grabbed my wrist, his Pack Doctor senses flaring as he checked my pulse. I didn't flinch, calmly detailing how the Silver toxicity had ravaged my internal organs and stopped my cycles years ago.

Jobe released my wrist and turned to the Queen. His expression was grim. "It is true, Your Majesty. The Silver has completely destroyed her womb. She is barren. She will never bear a strong pup."

Augusta's eyes darkened, but the lethal killing intent was no longer aimed at me. It was aimed squarely at the Palmer Pack. Harold had tried to trick the royals with a defective vessel.

Jobe picked up his kit, turning back toward the Inner Chamber.

I had to make my move. Surviving wasn't enough; I needed to become indispensable to this Pack if I wanted their protection.

"Wait," I called out. Jobe paused, glaring over his shoulder. "His Inner Wolf's frenzy will relapse. If you use gold needles to puncture and bleed the specific acupoints on his ear, it will soothe the nerve pathways and calm the beast."

Jobe's face turned a mottled purple. The sheer insult of a wolfless Omega instructing the head of the Royal Hospital was too much for his pride. "You dare instruct me?" he snarled, his aura flaring. "You ignorant, wolfless trash! You want to stab a Royal Prince with metal?"

I instantly dropped my operative facade. I shrank back, my shoulders trembling, and let a perfect sheen of terrified tears fill my eyes. "I-I'm sorry," I stuttered, my voice breaking flawlessly. "I just read it in an old book... I didn't want the Prince to be in pain anymore."

My pathetic display worked perfectly. Augusta's desperate maternal instincts flared. She snapped her gaze to Jobe. "Is it possible? Answer me, Jobe!"

Jobe’s face contorted, his Pack Doctor aura flaring with the bitter scent of antiseptic herbs. "Your Majesty, this is absolute madness," he spat, glaring at me as if I were a diseased rat. "She is a wolfless Omega who cannot even sense an Inner Wolf! Puncturing the Prince’s flesh with unidentified metal could sever his wolf’s remaining ties to his body. It will kill him!"

Augusta’s eyes darted between us, her expression conflicted before her maternal paranoia won. "Enough. The risk is too great." She turned her venomous gaze back to me, clearly needing an immediate target for her frustration and fear. "You," she snapped. "You will not touch my son with your peasant superstitions. Your very presence is a curse upon this palace." Her Luna aura crushed down on me again, heavier with her renewed hatred.

I kept my head bowed, playing the frightened victim perfectly.

The prince's condition would worsen, and when it did, my knowledge would be the only currency that could buy my life. From the corner of my eye, I caught movement in the shadows. Ezekiel was watching me. And on his lips was a dark, knowing smirk.