Beatrice POV:
The storm showed no signs of stopping. Lightning slashed across the dark sky, casting long, sharp shadows across the courtyard. My body was trembling violently now. The cold had seeped deep into my joints. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the phantom pains echoing in my memory.
Kneeling here in the dark, my mind was forced to relive the horrors that followed my "victory" in my past life.
I remembered the day Edward and I completed our mating ceremony and moved into the East Castle. Supposed to be a day of joy. Cynthia ensured it was a waking nightmare. Just as the ceremony ended, she threw herself into the deep, rushing water of the castle moat. Edward panicked. He dove in and rescued her, holding her wet, shivering body while the entire pack watched. That night, he came to my bed reeking of the river and of her. He forced his wolf to consummate our marriage, but his eyes were empty. His mind was with the Omega in the healing ward.
Soon after, the true, patient cruelty of his nature began to show. A high-ranking Beta noticed Cynthia and announced his intention to claim and mark her as his mate. The very next morning, that Beta was found dead, drowned in the foul waste pool behind the stables. Everyone whispered, but no one dared accuse the Crown Prince.
Then, Edward and the corrupt pack Elders fabricated a new history for Cynthia. They forged documents claiming she wasn't a rogue but the lost pup of a deceased noble family. They washed away her filthy past with lies.
Months later, I finally became pregnant. I was carrying a high-tier royal pup. Edward used my pregnancy as an excuse. He said border wolves were rebelling and he needed to fight. When he returned, he brought Cynthia with him into the main castle. "You need to rest, Beatrice," he told me, his voice dripping with false Alpha concern. "Cynthia will handle the Luna duties while you grow our child." A trap. He stripped me of my power while smiling at me.
Once Cynthia had the keys to the castle, my life became a living hell. She controlled the food. A pregnant female werewolf needs massive amounts of fresh, raw meat to sustain the pup's rapid growth. Cynthia gave me cooked scraps and old bones. She claimed the winter stores were low. I was starving. My wolf was weakening.
One afternoon, I stormed into Edward's study to demand proper food. When I opened the door, they were sitting on opposite sides of the room, but their eyes were locked—glazed, unblinking, carrying an entire silent conversation that needed no words. The sickening intimacy of two souls already entwined, sharing thoughts in a way that should have been reserved for a marked bond. Seeing that silent intimacy broke something inside me. I started throwing things. I smashed his expensive wine glasses against the stone wall. Cynthia immediately threw herself to the floor, pretending I'd pushed her. "Edward, help me!" she cried, clutching her ankle.
Edward's eyes turned pitch black. He unleashed his Alpha's Command—not a weight, but a soundless concussion that struck the air around me, forcing the breath from my lungs. The force of his anger hit me like a physical blow. I stumbled backward and fell hard onto the wooden floor. A sharp pain ripped through my stomach. I looked down and saw blood soaking through my dress.
He confined me to my room after that. The healers brought me bitter medicine every day to calm my womb. I drank it, praying to the Moon Goddess to save my baby. But Cynthia had bribed the healers. They were mixing substantial doses of silver powder into my drink—enough to accumulate in my blood over weeks until it reached lethal concentration. Silver burns us. It destroys our cells. Ingesting it is a slow, agonizing death. At seven months, my pup died inside me. I delivered a silent, stillborn child in a room that smelled of blood and iron and bitter herbs.
Queen Eleanor was furious. She argued violently with the Alpha King about Edward's behavior. The stress, combined with old hatreds, caused her heart to fail. The healers whispered that the old silver scars hidden beneath her gown had never truly healed—the poison from an arrow she took decades ago had been slowly calcifying around her heart. She died a few weeks later. With my aunt gone, my greatest shield was shattered.
Later, Cynthia also suffered a miscarriage. But she didn't blame the Moon Goddess. She blamed me. And Edward believed her. He believed my family had cursed his true love.
A violent shiver racked my body as the rain poured over me. I dug my nails into my own palms until the skin broke. The slight sting of my own blood grounded me. I will never let them touch my family again. I will never let them near my womb again.
