Elena’s POV
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t gasp either. I remained calm and unaffected by her already almost daily life chaos.
So instead, I sat down with grace, brought the glass of juice to my lips, and took a slow, deliberate sip. The cold liquid was a stark contrast to the heated mess standing before me. I swallowed, set the glass down on the table with a soft clink, and finally met her gaze.
“Is that the best you can do?” I asked, my voice level. “Name–calling? It’s a bit beneath a noblewoman, isn’t it? Oh wait… I forgot. You aren’t going to be one for much longer.”
Glenda’s face turned a shade of purple I hadn’t thought humanly possible. Her chest heaved, and the veins in her neck bulged as she struggled to contain the scream building in her throat.
“You think you’re so high and mighty,” she hissed, stepping closer, ignoring Zara, who bristled beside me. “You planted that invitation there! You wanted me to see it! You wanted to rub it in my face that Bryson is marrying someone else!”
“Glenda,” I sighed, leaning back into the plush cushions of the couch, careful not to wrinkle the silk of my wedding dress. “You give yourself far too much importance in my life. I didn’t plant anything. The world simply doesn’t revolve around you anymore. Actually… did it ever?”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, broke her.
It’s the last thread of her sanity snapped. With a guttural growl, she lunged.
“I’ll rip that smile off your face!”
She didn’t aim for me; instead, like a child throwing a tantrum, she aimed for the dress. Her claws were fully extended now, glinting under the chandelier light, ready to shred the masterpiece I was wearing.
Suddenly, she was far from the mighty warrior general many had looked up to her for before.
Zara screamed in panic, “Princess!”
But I was faster. I moved before she could. No… I made a manoeuvre even before Glenda finished her act.
I didn’t need to stand up. As Glenda’s hand swooped down, I simply raised my arm. My movements were precise, like a true warrior and unlike a manipulating one like her. I caught her wrist in mid–air, my grip like an iron shackle.
The momentum of her attack jerked her forward, but I held firm. She froze, her claws inches from the lace of my dress,
“Let go!” she shrieked, trying to yank her hand back, but I didn’t budge.
“You really have no manners,” I said coldly, my eyes boring into hers. “This is a custom piece. It costs more than your dignity.”
I tightened my grip, applying pressure to a pressure point I knew would hurt.
“Ah!” She cried out, her knees buckling as the pain shot up her arm.
“You barge into my private fitting,” I continued, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You insult me. You try to destroy my wedding dress. Did you honestly think I would just sit here and let you?”
With a sharp shove, I released her.
She stumbled back, losing her balance in her high heels, and fell ungracefully onto the carpeted floor. Her hair, already messy, fell over her face. She looked pathetic.
“I… I will tell Bryson!” she stammered, scrambling to push herself up, though the fire in her eyes was replaced by fear. “I will tell him you attacked me!”
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Chopta: 179
+25 Bonus
I stood up then, the long train of my gown flowing around me like water. I looked down at her, feeling nothing but pity mixed with disgust.
“Go ahead,” I challenged her. “Tell him. Heck, tell the King for all I care. Tell the entire kingdom, even. Who do you think they will believe? The Princess who saved the North, or the discarded ex–wife and uncrowned warrior who can’t accept reality?”
Glenda opened her mouth to retort, but the sound of heavy boots thudding against the floorboards cut her off.
“What is the meaning of this?”
The voice was deep, authoritative, and laced with a growl that made the air in the room vibrate.
We all turned. Deacon stood at the entrance of the fitting room, his massive frame filling the doorway. He wasn’t wearing his usual armour, but a crisp suit that made him look every bit the Royal Alpha he was. Behind him, a dozen guards stood at attention, looking pale for letting an intruder in.
Deacon’s eyes swept over the room–the overturned vase, the terrified attendants, Zara in a defensive stance, and finally,
Glenda on the floor.
His gaze landed on me last. The hardness in his eyes melted instantly into concern.
“Elena,” he said, walking over to me in three long strides. He ignored Glenda as if she were a piece of furniture. He took my hands and inspected them. “Did she touch you?”
“I handled it,” I assured him, squeezing his hand, and gave him a smirk. “Just a minor pest control issue.”
Deacon turned slowly to face Glenda, who was now trembling on the floor. She looked up at him, tears instantly welling in her eyes–a practised performance I had seen a thousand times.
“Prince Deacon… please,” she sobbed, reaching a hand out toward him. “She… she mocked me! She rubbed Bryson’s wedding in my face! I was just—”
“Silence!” Deacon commanded. He didn’t shout, but the power in his voice made the windows rattle.
He looked at the guards. “Remove this woman from the premises. If she is seen near my mate or the palace again, arrest her for
treason.”
“Treason?!” Glenda shrieked as two guards hauled her up by her arms. “I am a noble woman! You can’t do this!”
“Attacking the Princess is an attack on the Crown,” Deacon stated simply, turning his back on her.
As they dragged her out, kicking and screaming obscenities, I felt a strange sense of finality.
The room fell silent again. The attendants rushed to clean up the mess.
Deacon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, my love. I shouldn’t have let her get this close.”
I looked at the invitation still sitting on the table, which was the catalyst for all this drama.
“It’s fine,” I said, a small smirk playing on my lips. “Actually, it was perfect timing.”
“How so?”
“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go to Bryson’s wedding,” I admitted, looking up at Deacon. “But now? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
