Chapter Sixteen — "The Wolf Beneath His Skin"
The great dining hall of Denyrus was alight with golden chandeliers, the long mahogany table set as it was every morning. Silverware gleamed. Plates of roasted meats and freshly baked bread were being passed around by quiet maids in deep blue uniforms. The air smelled of cinnamon and roasted apples.
But when Esterphania walked in, every scent, every sound, every shadow dimmed—at least for Alexander.
She wasn't dressed extravagantly. Just a simple grey silk robe tied at her waist, her silvery hair swept to the side in a casual braid, leaving her neck bare and sharp in the morning light. Her face was calm, unreadable—but she didn't need to speak for his heart to quake like a battlefield drum.
He stopped cutting into his meat.
His gaze found her as if his entire body had aligned toward her presence. He wasn't even aware of how miserable he looked until Melody, sitting beside him, leaned close and whispered.
"Are you alright?" Her gentle voice was filled with concern. "You look like death just proposed to you."
He blinked, quickly cutting his eyes away from Esterphania. "Nothing is wrong."
Melody studied him. "You're twitchy. And you've salted your eggs three times."
He glanced down and saw the mound of salt forming a white mountain. He muttered a curse and pushed the plate away.
Melody sighed but didn't press further. She was used to the men in her life being emotionally constipated.
Just then, the heavy oak doors creaked open, and a young maid rushed into the hall with urgency dancing in her steps. She bowed and held out a sealed envelope.
"For Lady Melody, from the Lower District."
Curious, Melody opened the letter and scanned it. And then, her face broke into sunshine.
"Oh! It's the old man I helped last month—his daughter is getting married!"
The table stirred with murmurs.
Melody, glowing, turned toward the table. "You remember him, don't you? The one I met when I went out for my birthday gown?"
They all shook their heads—but Alexander remembered. Because he was the one who had to double the guards that day due to her insistence on walking through the crowded streets without a proper escort.
Her mind wandered briefly, the joy in her face melting into reflection. A warm, faded memory returned…
Flashback
She'd been excited about her birthday ball—of course she had. Melody loved dresses, especially new ones for occasions where she could charm everyone with her smile and a twirl. That day, she had been picking a gown of deep lilac velvet when she bumped into a frail old lycan with a dirt-stained cloak.
He had begged forgiveness for getting in her way, bowing so low it nearly broke her heart. She apologized back with her usual sincerity. It wasn't until minutes later that she realized her pouch of gold had vanished.
Her guard had caught the thief, and to everyone's surprise, it was the same old man.
"You're lucky she's kind," her guard had growled.
But Melody had demanded to know why he did it. And the story spilled out like old wine.
Two hundred years ago, the old man had been a respected merchant—one of the richest among the Eastern lycans. His best friend, a man he had treated as a brother, falsely accused him of treason and money laundering to cover up his own debts. The council believed the lies. Overnight, the old man lost everything—his family, his home, his name. His wife fell ill from heartbreak. His children, hunted by bounty seekers, vanished in the wilds and were presumed dead.
He was ruined.
And yet… no one helped. The world moved on, leaving him in tatters.
Melody had paid his debts. She bought him clothes, gave him a place at the edge of the southern vineyard, and arranged for one of the farmer's widows to take him in as family.
End Flashback
Now, his letter read: "My new daughter is getting married. She insists you attend as our honored guest."
Melody smiled and stood, folding the letter. "I should go. I wouldn't miss this for the world."
She left the hall humming lightly, and soon the conversation around the table picked up again.
But Alexander barely heard it. His head was bowed, fingers clenched, eyes occasionally darting—betraying his real focus.
Across the room, Esterphania had taken her usual seat, legs crossed neatly, expression distant and unreadable as she sipped from a glass of lemon water. She wasn't even looking his way.
But Alexander? His soul was writhing.
He couldn't eat. Couldn't sit still. Couldn't breathe without the memory of her standing so close to him in that cursed chamber yesterday, her voice in his ear like smoke and fire, her presence like a poison that felt too good to leave behind.
And now she acted like nothing happened.
He left the hall before he lost his composure.
---
He paced at the foot of the stairs leading to Esterphania's chamber.
To any passerby, he looked like a man preparing to launch a coup. His hands were behind his back, shoulders tense, brow furrowed like he was calculating troop movements.
But truthfully?
He was debating whether to storm her room or die trying to resist.
He didn't even realize he had frozen mid-step until one of the guards briskly passed by and started climbing the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Alexander barked.
The guard bowed. "Apologies, Your Highness. A message from the carriage that just arrived—Prince Felix of Nyrus requests to speak to the Princess."
The words struck Alexander like a gut punch.
Felix. The cursed wolf prince.
Before the guard could proceed, the grand doors at the entrance creaked open again, and in walked Prince Felix —all muscle, smugness, and that infuriating wolfish smirk.
Alexander turned.
"What are you doing here, wolf?"
Felix didn't even blink. "I'm here to see my fiancée."
"She hasn't accepted your proposal. She's just considering it."
Felix's lips twitched into something dangerous. "Crowned Prince Alexander, with all due respect, this matter is between your sister and me. You don't have a say."
That did it.
Alexander's eyes flared molten gold. His hand clenched. The prince might as well have taken a blade to his chest. "She's not your fiancée," he growled.
"She's not yours either," Felix said coolly.
Alexander took a step forward, ready to knock the wolf out of his fur—when a familiar voice cracked through the rising tension.
"Alexander, what are you doing?! STOP!"
Her voice struck like lightning. He turned to find Esterphania, halfway down the stairs, arms folded across her chest, her eyes hard as flint.
"Sheathe your temper," she added, descending slowly. "He is my guest."
"He has no right to be here."
"He has every right," she snapped in a whisper, stepping close to him. "You do not get to dictate what I do, Alexander."
His jaw clenched. "Why are you so damn stubborn?"
"Why are you so impossible?"
Their voices stayed low, barely audible, so Felix wouldn't hear. But their proximity… their breaths mingling… it burned like wildfire under their skin.
"Leave," she said coldly.
He stared at her for a long moment—eyes burning, lips parted, fury vibrating beneath his skin. But her face remained unmoved.
So he turned and stormed off—but not before casting a death glare over his shoulder at Prince Felix.
The prince raised his brows with a smug grin.
And Esterphania?
She stood there, torn between satisfaction and something else. Something that stirred in her chest when Alexander walked away, even though she had been the one to send him.
Something she didn't want to name.