Catherine sat stiffly on the throne, her spine rod-straight, but her insides twisted like a nest of vipers. The royal hall was heavy with silence, the air too thick to breathe. The messenger's words rang in her skull, louder with each echo.
"The Beast King demands your daughter. On her twentieth birthday, she will be handed over—or there will be war."
But he did not name a daughter.
He did not know of Layla. He simply asked for *a daughter*—as payment, as tribute, as sacrifice.
Catherine's breath hitched for a moment. He wanted Felissa, no doubt. The beloved, golden daughter of the Alpha and Luna. Their jewel. The only one worth displaying to the world.
And Felissa refused.
She had cried. Screamed. "I will not go! I will not be some monster's bride!" she'd wailed, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her mother's robes.
And Catherine…
She had held her. Comforted her.
But her mind had already settled on a far more expendable option.
Layla.
The cursed child. The wolf-less burden. The girl whose existence had always been an inconvenience.
Yes. She would be their offering.
The Beast King had never met her. He didn't know she existed. He would take her, and it would be done.
Only now—Layla was missing.
It had been three days since the binding ceremony. Three long, sleepless nights. She had vanished from her cell, the silver chains left behind, shattered by some unseen force. No one had seen her flee. No one had heard a sound.
This was dangerous. This was unacceptable.
And worst of all, the Grand Ball—the Night of Emergence—was fast approaching. A night when the young came of age and proved their strength before the entire pack.
Layla was meant to be the final mockery.
The grand disappointment.
The powerless girl who could not shift, bound in front of everyone.
Catherine's fists clenched at her sides.
"I need to make sure she will not be able to shift during the grand ball," she hissed, pacing before the fire. "Everyone will see how useless she turned out to be. The disgrace of the pack. The shame of my name."
She stopped, her breathing sharp.
No more mistakes. No more surprises.
She turned sharply toward the guards flanking the throne.
"Send for Nisaba,"she commanded, her voice like a blade.
"Now."
The guards exchanged a nervous glance before one of them bowed and hurried out of the hall.
Catherine stepped toward the window, staring out into the vast stretch of forest beyond. Somewhere out there, Layla was hiding. Breathing. Thinking.
Perhaps even awakening.
No. She would not allow it.
Nisaba would fix this. Her trusted advisor. The only witch powerful enough to twist fate itself.
Catherine's voice, though soft, carried the weight of a threat:
"If Layla dares to return, I will make sure her wolf never rises again."
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