Chapter 91

Iris

The camera flashes blind me for a moment, sending spots dancing across my vision. I freeze, one foot still in the car, my hand gripping Arthur’s.

“Iris! Over here!”

“A human mated to the Alpha President? Is this true, or a farce for PR?”

“How long have you been together?”

“Alpha President, what does this mean for werewolf-human relations?”

The questions just add to the dizzying atmosphere. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I’ve occasionally dealt with art critics and journalists, but nothing remotely close to this feeding frenzy.

Arthur’s arm wraps around my waist, steadying me as I finally step fully out of the car. He positions his body almost like a shield.

“Keep smiling,” he murmurs close to my ear. “Don’t respond to any questions. Just follow my lead.”

I manage to plaster a smile on my face as we begin our walk down the red carpet. The cameras continue to flash relentlessly. I’m suddenly paranoid about tripping in these heels, about a stray hair falling out of place, about a million little things I’ve never worried about before.

It’s not just the press, either. On either side of the carpet, behind the velvet ropes, crowds have gathered. Some cheer and wave, but others hold signs with anti-human slogans.

“Don’t look at them,” Arthur says, guiding me forward. “They don’t matter.”

But they do matter. These are Ordan’s citizens—Arthur’s citizens. And a significant number of them clearly hate the very idea of me.

The walk to the entrance feels endless, but finally, we make it inside. The grand hall is far more peaceful and elegant, with glittering chandeliers, floral arrangements, and waiters circulating with champagne. The noise level drops dramatically as the doors close behind us.

I take a deep breath, my first real one since stepping out of the car.

“You okay?” Arthur asks gently.

“That was… intense,” I manage.

He grabs a glass of champagne from a passing tray and presses it into my hand. “I’m sorry. I should have prepared you better for what it would be like.”

“Would it have made a difference?” I ask.

“Probably not,” he admits. “It’s something you have to experience to understand.” He pauses, his expression turning serious. “Iris, if you want to be with me publicly, this is what it will be like. I hope you’re prepared.”

I bite my lip, not sure what to say. I know he’s right, of course. And I want to be prepared, but it’s just… overwhelming.

“Alpha President!” A distinguished older werewolf approaches, flanked by a woman who must be his mate. “So glad you could join us tonight.”

Arthur slips seamlessly into diplomatic mode, introducing me to the couple. They’re polite enough, though I notice the male’s mate giving me a subtle once-over, her nostrils flaring slightly.

This becomes the pattern for the next hour—Arthur guiding me through a series of introductions, each couple or group varying in their reception of me. Some are openly curious, others barely disguised in their disdain.

Thankfully, a few, particularly the younger diplomats, seem genuinely welcoming. And I’m not the only human here, either. Just the only human mate to the Alpha President. I’m not sure if that makes it any better.

I drink another glass of champagne, then another, the alcohol helping to take the edge off my nerves. The ballroom is stifling hot with so many bodies, and I’m starting to feel a bit light-headed.

After about an hour, Arthur’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He checks it and frowns. “I need to take this. Will you be alright for a few minutes? I’ll be right back.”

“I’m a big girl,” I say with a smile. “Go be important. I’ll… mingle or something.”

Once Arthur disappears into a side room, I decide to explore the ballroom a bit. The venue really is impressive—all marble floors and soaring ceilings, with historical paintings lining the walls. I pause in front of one depicting the founding of Ordan, fascinated by the artistic style.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I turn to find a glamorous werewolf woman in a red dress examining the painting beside me. Her jet black hair is swept up in an elaborate style, diamonds glittering at her throat.

“Very,” I agree. “I love the brushwork. You can almost feel the movement in the scene.”

She gives me an appraising look. “You must be the human everyone’s talking about. I’m Countess Vivienne Blackthorn.”

“Iris,” I say, extending my hand. “Just… Iris.”

She takes my hand with the tips of her fingers, as if afraid my humanity might be contagious. “So tell me, Iris, how did you manage to ensnare our Alpha President? Is it true that humans have certain… techniques that werewolf women lack?”

I nearly choke on my champagne. Is she asking what I think she’s asking?

“I, um, we met years ago,” I stammer, feeling my face flush. “Before he was President.”

“Ah, an old flame rekindled,” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “How quaint. And now you think you’ll be our Luna?”

The champagne has loosened my tongue. “I don’t think anything,” I reply. “Arthur and I are figuring things out as we go. But we’re mates, and that can’t be changed.”

“If you say so.” She sips her drink delicately. “Tell me, how do you keep yourself busy? The Luna must have many talents.”

“I’m an artist,” I reply, surprised that she apparently doesn’t know since everyone else seems to know every detail about me already.

Her lips press together, as if she thinks art is a folly and not a real career. “I see. You know, Lady Selina has quite the green thumb. Her rare moon flower collection was the envy of Ordan.” She pauses, watching me closely. “Do you garden, Iris?”

“Not really,” I admit. “My apartment doesn’t have much space for plants.” I decide not to mention that I’ve killed every houseplant I’ve ever owned.

“Sorry, did you say apartment?”

I take another swig of champagne. “Yes. Is there a problem with that?”

Her eyes widen. “You mean to tell me that Alpha Arthur hasn’t provided you with a mansion yet?”

“I don’t want one. Never asked for one.” I shrug. “Besides, I recently got into a residency at Abbott Gallery, and—”

“My dear,” she cuts me off, “if he hasn’t purchased a home for you yet, then…” She gives me a pitying look, as if she sees me as a cheap whore whose mate can’t even be bothered to take care of me.

I’m about to respond when a waiter approaches with another tray of champagne. Grateful for the interruption, I reach for a fresh glass, but my hand knocks against the tray, sending several glasses toppling. Champagne splashes across the marble floor and, horrifyingly, onto the hem of her red dress.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasp, reaching for a napkin.

She steps back, looking at me with pure disgust. “This dress is couture,” she hisses. “Handcrafted by the finest werewolf artisans in Ordan.”

People around us have stopped talking, turning to stare at the commotion. I feel their eyes on me, judging, assessing. The waiter scrambles to clean up the mess, waving me off when I try to help.

“I’ll pay for the cleaning,” I offer, my face burning with embarrassment.

The woman lets out a musical laugh. “Oh, you poor thing. This isn’t about money.” She leans in close, her smile still in place but her eyes cold. “No amount of money can buy class, darling. Or belonging.”

With that, she turns and glides away, leaving me standing there with a growing audience. I hear the whispers, see the sidelong glances. My heart pounds in my chest. I need to get away.

“Excuse me,” I mutter to no one in particular, setting down my half-empty glass and making a beeline for the nearest exit.

I find myself in a hallway, following signs for the restroom. The women’s bathroom is mercifully empty when I push through the door. I lean against the marble counter, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

My makeup is still perfect, but my cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are a little watery. I look exactly like what I am: a human out of her depth.

I splash cold water on my wrists, trying to calm down. I need to pull myself together before going back out there.

The bathroom door swings open, and three elegant werewolf women enter. I recognize one of them as having been part of the group standing near the Countess earlier. They stop when they see me, exchanging glances.

“Well, well,” the tallest one says, her lips curving into a predatory smile. “If it isn’t the human who thinks she can be Luna.”

My spine straightens. “Excuse me. I was just leaving.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” another says, moving to block the door. With a flick of her wrist, I hear the lock click into place. “We want to have a little chat first.”

My heart rate picks up. “About what?”

“About your… place,” the third woman says, her eyes flashing. “Or rather, your lack of one.”

They begin to circle me, like wolves stalking prey. Which, I suppose, is exactly what they are.

“That dress is wasted on you,” the tall one says, reaching out to finger the silk of my sleeve. Her nail catches on the fabric, and with a quick motion, she tears a small hole. “Oops.”

“Stop that,” I say, pulling away, but the second woman is behind me now, her hands gripping my shoulders.

“Do you have any idea the damage you’re doing?” she hisses in my ear. “A human Luna would destroy centuries of tradition. The Alpha bloodline would be tainted.”

“Our blood is supposed to be pure for a reason,” the third adds, grabbing another fistful of my dress. “Mongrels and half-breeds have no place in our society.”

I struggle against their hold, but they’re much stronger than me. The tall one grabs the neckline of my dress, her claws extending just enough to slice through the delicate silk.

“You don’t belong here, human,” she snarls before giving a hard yank and tearing a large hole in my dress.