Chapter 3: The Price of Defiance

At the beginning of September, senior members of the Royal Council held their annual charity gala at a hotel in the capital, inviting representatives from the Crown Pack and every territorial Pack.

I hadn’t wanted to attend, but my mother insisted on taking me.

“Evelyn’s not well. If I’m looking after her alone, I might miss something. You have to come with us.”

Maybe because I was about to leave, I contradicted her directly for the first time.

“If she really doesn’t feel well, she can stay home.”

Tears immediately welled in Evelyn’s eyes.

“I know Celia thinks my divorce is shameful. But if I can’t go back to my parents’ home, where else am I supposed to go? Do you hate me this much? Do you want me dead?”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“You go to book clubs and lakeside gatherings every day. You seem to have more energy than I do. Why does every outing have to involve me—”

I didn’t get to finish.

Gavin slapped me across the face.

The sharp crack silenced the entire sitting room.

I staggered back, catching myself on the edge of the dining table before I could fall. The left side of my face burned, and tears sprang to my eyes from the sheer shock of it.

My wolf growled furiously in the depths of my mind, and my fingertips nearly sprouted claws.

But I forced the shift down.

My family was here, along with the driver and the security staff who had come to pick us up. If I lost control and lashed out in my wolf form, tomorrow’s news would only say I was unstable. No one would remember that Gavin had struck me first.

He looked at me, his eyes blazing with anger, but his voice was unnervingly calm.

“Celia, are you trying to drive Evelyn to her death?”

“Starting the day after tomorrow, I’ll have two royal etiquette officers come to your house. They will retrain you in proper conduct and report their assessment to the Mercer family.”

“When you learn how to respect other people, I’ll reconsider the wedding.”

I gripped the edge of the table so hard my fingers ached.

Who was forcing whom?

A werewolf’s healing ability made most of the swelling fade by the next day, but the red scratch left by the edge of Gavin’s ring was still visible on my cheek.

I went to the charity gala wearing that mark.

Once I entered the hotel, I found a seat in the most secluded corner of the ballroom. Groups of young women chatted in twos and threes. A few recognized me and looked as though they might come over, only to be tugged back by their companions.

They thought I couldn’t hear them.

But their voices carried with painful clarity to my werewolf ears.

“Don’t go over there. That’s the woman Mr. Mercer canceled on three times.”

“She’s twenty-two and still isn’t even registered with a partner. Stay away from her. Who knows what she’s done.”

“She looks gentle enough, but if there were nothing wrong with her, why would Gavin endure public gossip rather than marry her?”

“If I were her, I’d have left the Crown Pack long ago. The nerve, to still show her face at an event like this.”

I lowered my head and took a sip of water, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing.

I had heard worse.

I told myself not to cry, but my eyes still burned.

My dignity had been trampled underfoot again and again. Their words were like fine needles—not deep, but so many of them I could barely breathe.

I heard every single one clearly, and all I could do was keep smiling.

In a public setting like this, if I showed even the slightest sign of losing control, my reaction would just become the next round of gossip.

So I could only hold on to the last shred of my composure and sit there alone until the gala ended.