Chapter 4 Chapter 4: The Woman Who Wanted My Crown

POV: ADELE

Lilith Veyra smiles at me as though she knows how my story ends.

She stands along the edge of the lower courtyard garden, surrounded by the late-blooming winter roses. Wearing a gown of soft lavender trimmed with delicate white fur, she appears as harmless as a lost bird trapped within a fortress. Several lesser Alphas and visiting noblemen from neighboring border packs surround her, captivated by her wide, innocent eyes and soft, musical laugh.

In my first life, I had watched this exact display and felt nothing but sympathy for her. She had arrived at Silver Crown as a displaced noblewoman from the fallen Duskveil Pack, seeking refuge and protection. I had opened our doors, elevated her standing, and treated her like a sister.

I had been blind to the quiet, calculated way she wove herself into our political inner circle, dropping subtle doubts into the ears of our elders while securing secret alliances behind closed doors.

I step out into the crisp air, my boots silent against the stone walkway. Cassian had informed me earlier that Lilith had spent the morning inquiring about the precise terms of the Blackthorn alliance, specifically asking whether Silver Crown’s succession laws favored the royal line over an Alpha’s decree.

She is already calculating her path to my crown, three months before the wedding vows are even drafted.

As I approach the garden path, Lilith excuses herself from the group of noblemen with a graceful curtsy. She turns toward me, her hands clasped delicately over her waist, her expression melting into a warm, practiced smile.

"Princess Adele," Lilith speaks, her voice sweet and gentle as silk. "I was just admiring the resilience of your winter roses. To bloom in such cold weather is a rare beauty."

"Resilience is required to survive in Silver Crown, Lady Lilith," I reply, stopping two paces away. "Weak things are easily crushed by the frost."

Lilith tilts her head, her dark eyes searching my face with feigned curiosity. "A fierce truth. Though I suppose with Alpha Tristan's arrival, warmth has finally returned to your court. The entire border territory is celebrating the news of your upcoming union."

"The union is a political necessity," I state calmly, keeping my posture rigid. "The borders require strength, not sentiment."

Lilith takes a small step closer, lowering her voice into a tone of quiet, conspiratorial intimacy. "A political necessity? How pragmatic. Yet, forgive my boldness, Princess... I could not help but notice how distant Alpha Tristan appears in your presence. When he looks at you, he speaks of troop counts and boundary lines. One wonders whether his proposal is motivated by genuine devotion... or if he simply seeks the strategic prize of your father's lands."

The subtle venom in her words is wrapped so tightly in soft concern that a younger, more naive version of myself would have felt deeply insecure. She wants me to doubt Tristan. She wants me to push him away in a fit of pride, creating the very rift she needs to slide into his shadow.

I offer her a slow, cold smile that causes her sweet expression to stiffen.

"Alpha Tristan's motives are his own to carry, Lilith," I say, my voice dropping into a low, lethal whisper. "But regardless of why he stands at my side, one truth remains absolute: I am the Princess of Silver Crown, and the crown of this pack will never rest on a stranger's head. I suggest you remember that before you spend another morning inquiring about my family's succession laws."

Lilith’s pale cheeks flush with a sudden, sharp heat. The innocent mask slips for a fraction of a second, revealing the dark, icy ambition beneath. She dips into a quick, rigid curtsy.

"Of course, my lady," she stammers, stepping backward. "I meant no offense. If you will excuse me, the chill is becoming quite severe."

She turns and glides quickly down the stone steps toward the guest quarters, her skirts rustling against the frost-covered grass.

I stand alone in the quiet garden, watching her figure disappear around the corner. Every line of her posture betrayed her panic. She did not expect a confrontation; she expected a timid, easily manipulated girl.

My eyes wander down toward the small, stone bench near the border wall where Lilith had been standing moments before my arrival. Nestled beneath the curved edge of a large grey stone, partially hidden by fallen leaves, sits a small leather pouch tied with a dark thread.

My wolf bristles, a sharp sense of danger spiking through my chest.

I walk toward the stone, kneeling down into the cold dirt. Drawing a linen handkerchief from my sleeve, I use the fabric to pick up the pouch without touching the leather with my bare hands.

I carefully loosen the knot and pull open the mouth of the small bag.

A pungent, bitter scent rises instantly into the cold afternoon air, a smell that burns my nose and turns my stomach into a knot of liquid fire. Inside the pouch is a coarse, greyish-white powder, mixed with dried, crushed purple petals.

My breath locks in my chest. My heart hammers violently against my ribs as the dark memory of my past death rushes through my mind, the cold marble floor, the choking gasp for air, and the agonizing burn in my throat.

I do not need a court healer to identify the crushed vegetation.

Inside the pouch is the same poison that burned through my veins on my wedding night.