Rose stepped into the room right behind Dodoi, her hands folded neatly over her apron.
“The King has instructed that Dodoi sleep in your quarters from now on,” she announced, her voice devoid of any room for negotiation.
“He wishes for you to grow accustomed to his presence.” Breena’s jaw dropped.
“In my room?
But—” “I am merely following His Majesty’s orders, Miss,” Rose interrupted softly, motioning toward the hallway.
Two male servants marched in carrying a pet crib, lined with plush cushions.
They set it up in the far corner of the room, gently guiding the massive jaguar into it.
To Breena’s bewilderment, one of the servants pulled a miniature silk duvet over the predator, tucking it in with meticulous care before both men bowed and exited alongside Rose.
Breena stared at the sleeping beast, completely speechless.
Is this thing an animal or royal nobility?
Unsurprisingly, sleep proved entirely elusive.
Every soft growl, shift, and low rumble from the jaguar sent a jolt of adrenaline through her nerves.
She spent hours tossing and turning across the vast mattress.
In a desperate bid for comfort, she plugged in her earphones and queued up her favorite slow R&B playlist, hoping smooth melodies would drown out the beast’s breathing.
It failed miserably.
Frustrated and suffocating under the tension, she slipped out of bed.
He really doesn’t want me to get a single minute of rest, she thought bitterly.
Seeking cool night air to clear her mind, Breena padded quietly out of her room and headed toward the rooftop access.
The villa was shrouded in heavy silence at this hour, save for a few armed guards posted at the grand archways.
None of them moved to stop her as she climbed the winding spiral staircase to the top floor.
Stepping out onto the open-air rooftop terrace, the crisp night breeze slapped against her skin, causing her to draw in a deep, shivering breath.
She walked over to the balustrade and leaned over the railing.
Below her lay the sprawling estate, surrounded by the glowing lights of distant, bustling compounds nestled at the base of the mountains.
The scale of the territory was staggering—a stark reminder of the immense wealth and power the Lycan royal family commanded.
“I could snap your neck and drop you over this edge right now, you know,” a sharp voice purred from behind her.
Breena flinched, her heart leaping into her throat as she spun around.
Joline stood a few paces away, draped in a plain, floor-length nightgown of gossamer silk.
The biting mountain air had hardened her nipples, visible through the translucent fabric, but her eyes burned with hatred.
Breena forced her shoulders to relax, smoothing down her nightshirt.
“What have I ever done to you, Lady Joline?
Our paths have never even crossed.” Joline stepped forward, her hips swaying deliberately.
Taller and visibly heavier than Breena’s delicate frame, she used her height to loom over her.
“Whatever pathetic little game you are playing in this villa, it ends tonight,” Joline sneered, her voice dropping to an icy whisper.
“Pack your things and leave before you end up in a grave.” Breena held her ground, refusing to retreat an inch.
She had survived too much in her life to be intimidated by another woman’s posturing.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Breena replied calmly, crossing her arms.
“I am here strictly as the King’s pet healer.” “What a defiant little tongue,” Joline hissed.
She stepped closer, reaching up to slowly caress her flat abdomen with both hands, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.
“If you are planning any trickery against the King, keep one thing in mind: I am carrying his royal heir.” She smoothed her palms over her stomach again.
“In fact, I am already a few hours pregnant with his child.
I will not stand by and let a mere wolf put a finger on the father of my baby.” Breena’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The woman Dronti slept with earlier.
But a sharp contradiction instantly flared in her mind.
Dronti had told her that he was still incapable of climaxing with any woman and had failed to release during their encounter.
Why was Joline claiming to be pregnant?
Was the King lying to Breena just to keep her trapped by his side, or was Joline desperately fabricating a miracle to save face?
There will be time to dig up the truth later, Breena thought.
Curling her lips into a polite smile, Breena offered a soft nod.
“Congratulations, Lady Joline.
Rumor has it the King never releases for anyone.
You must be remarkably special for him to break his streak for you.
Perhaps you are his destined mate.” Joline’s chin tilted upward, a smug sneer curling her lips.
“Of course I am.
What man could possibly resist climaxing when wrapped around a woman like me?” “You are indeed very beautiful,” Breena conceded, keeping her expression completely neutral.
“Who wouldn’t be captivated?” Flustered for a second by the unexpected compliment, Joline quickly caught herself, her brows contorting in anger.
“Do not try to flatter your way out of this!
I know far more about you than you think, human.
And you do not deserve to draw another breath.” Before Breena could react, Joline lunged forward.
She slammed Breena backward against the low rooftop railing, her fingers balling tightly into the collar of Breena’s nightshirt.
Breena’s upper body pitched dangerously backward over the six-story drop.
Below them, the sharp stone pavers of the courtyard gleamed under the moonlight—one hard shove, and Breena would be a shattered corpse on the pavement.
Breena’s hands clamped around Joline’s wrists, her muscles straining as she tried to leverage her weight.
“Why do you think I don’t deserve to live?” she gasped out, meeting Joline’s bloodthirsty gaze.
“You know exactly why,” Joline spat, her arm muscles flexing as she prepared to haul Breena back slightly before hurling her over the ledge.
“Now rot!” Suddenly, a erratic, high-pitched giggle echoed across the rooftop.
Joline froze, her grip loosening just enough for Breena to gain her footing against the rail.
Both women turned their heads toward the shadows near the terrace entrance.
Delpon stumbled out into the moonlight, his arms swaying rhythmically at his sides, a bizarre, unhinged grin stretched across his face.
“What…
what…
what kind of fun game are we playing up here?” Delpon asked, his voice melodic and strangely childlike, matching the lunatic persona Dronti had described earlier.
He clapped his hands together excitedly.
“Can I play too?
Please?” Breena stared at him, her brows furrowing in deep confusion.
He wasn’t speaking like a madman when he walked into my room hours ago.
Joline shoved Breena away in frustration and rounded on the giggling man.
“You fool!
What are you doing sneaking around up here at this hour?” Delpon smiled sheepishly, sticking his thumb into his mouth before pointing a trembling finger at Breena.
“Did you hear that, pretty lady?
This mean lady…
she just called you…
a fool!” Joline scoffed, rolling her eyes in disgust.
Deciding the moment was ruined, she turned on her heel and swept past him, her dress fluttering as she vanished down the stairwell.
Breena let out a shaky breath, adjusting her crumpled collar.
That had been far too close.
She turned her sharp gaze back onto Delpon, who was still swaying on his feet.
“Stop playing games,” she said, her voice dropping into a stern tone.
“I know you aren’t insane.” Delpon stopped swaying.
He squinted his eyes, leaning his face uncomfortably close to hers as if trying to piece together a broken puzzle.
“Who are you, pretty lady?” he murmured, his voice laced with confusion.
Breena rolled her eyes.
Having treated countless mad patients in her clinic, she recognized performance when she saw it.
He had recognized her identity perfectly fine earlier today, and now he was acting as if they had never met.
“I am Shirleen,” Breena said smoothly, testing his reaction.
Delpon showed no sign of recognition.
Instead, a sudden wave of intense emotion washed over his features.
His lower lip trembled, and before Breena could step back, he opened his arms wide and wrapped her in a tight, crushing embrace.
He buried his face into the crook of her neck, his arms locking around her ribs so tightly that the air was forced straight out of her lungs.
Breena squirmed, her hands pressing against his broad chest, but his supernatural strength held her completely immobile.
Then, she felt wet tears soaking into the fabric of her shirt, accompanied by quiet, chest-heaving sobs.
Breena stilled her struggling.
The raw grief vibrating through his body was undeniable; he wasn’t acting anymore.
This was a man drowning in unmanageable sorrow.
“You aren’t Shirleen…” Delpon whimpered against her shoulder, his voice cracking with unbearable pain.
So he really is faking the madness, Breena thought, relaxing her posture slightly.
“You’re Annabel…” he sobbed softly, clutching her even tighter.
Breena’s eyes widened in shock.
Annabel?
Who on earth is Annabel?
Before she could ask, the heavy footsteps of two towering Beta guards thundered onto the rooftop.
They grabbed Delpon by his arms, wrenching him away from Breena with practiced efficiency.
Breena stumbled back against the railing, clutching her throat as she gasped for fresh air.
She watched in silence as the guards pinned Delpon’s arms behind his back, while he mumbled incoherently, tears streaming down his face.
“Who is Annabel to him?” Breena called out, her voice echoing across the terrace as they dragged him toward the door.
One of the Betas paused at the threshold, casting a somber glance back over his shoulder.
“She was his mate,” the guard replied quietly.
“She died three years ago.
He hasn’t been in his right mind since.”