Kyllian turned to look at Lyra.
The arena hall quieted slightly.
Lyra stood beside the king and looked down at Garrick.
Erin stared at her sister.
No.
Surely not.
Lyra knew nothing.
Lyra could not possibly know what this meant.
To her, Garrick was only a heroic soldier.
She had no idea that he had spent years touching Erin in shadows, whispering promises to her, swearing that after the war, he would ask for her hand.
Her hand.
Not Lyra’s.
Lyra lowered her gaze to Garrick.
“Gamma Garrick has made us proud.” Her voice carried across the hall, clear and steady.
Erin stopped moving.
No.
“He put his life on the line for his people,” Lyra continued.
“He showed courage, discipline, and loyalty when the kingdom needed him most.”
Garrick looked up at her and smiled.
“If my hand is what he desires,” Lyra said, “then my hand he will have.”
“Are you kidding me?!” Erin’s voice rang out.
This time, everyone heard her.
Erin stood in the aisle, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on Garrick.
Her face was hot.
Her hands trembled.
She wanted to march up there and slap that lying face so hard the Silverhowl Pack would need another alpha.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Garrick?!”
Garrick’s smile vanished.
Lyra turned sharply.
Kyllian looked toward Erin, brows drawing together.
“Princess Erin…” His voice dropped.
“I called for you, but you were nowhere to be found.”
“I was with this son of a bitch!” Erin snapped.
Garrick rose slowly to his feet, acting innocent.
“Princess Erin—” His jaw tightened.
“You are making a scene.”
That one sentence nearly sent her over the edge.
“A scene?” she repeated.
“You asked for my sister’s hand in marriage, and I am making a scene?”
Kyllian stepped down from the platform.
“What are you saying, Erin?” he asked.
Erin looked from her father to Garrick.
“I was with him! Talking about out future together!”
A silence dawned on everyone gathered around.
“What are you talking about?” Lyra demanded.
Erin stood in the aisle, chest heaving, her face hot with humiliation and fury.
Garrick stood near the platform, still half-turned toward Lyra, his jaw tight, his expression already rearranging itself into innocence.
The way he could look wronged so quickly broke Erin.
“Okay, enough!” Kyllian barked.
“We should discuss this somewhere else.”
But Garrick stepped forward.
“Your Majesty…” he said, voice heavy with wounded dignity.
“I don’t think we should.” He placed one hand over his chest as if honour lived there.
“Princess Erin has just slandered me in the presence of all the soldiers in the territory.”
“Slandered you?” she breathed.
“You son of a bitch!” Erin launched herself at him.
She ran straight for him like a woman possessed by rage and madness.
Her palm cracked across Garrick’s face.
Erin hit him again, then shoved at his chest, then kicked his shin.
Garrick stumbled back, raising his hands as if he were the victim of some tragic misunderstanding.
She swung again.
This time, Lyra descended from the platform with terrifying calm, crossed the space in a few long strides, and lifted Erin clean off her feet from behind.
Erin kept kicking.
“Put me down! Lyra, I swear—”
“Compose yourself, for goodness’ sake, Erin!”
“Get away from me!” Erin spat, twisting against her sister’s grip.
Unfortunately, Lyra was built like Kyllian.
She held her older sister off the ground with humiliating ease while Erin’s heels continued slicing at empty air.
Lyra’s face burned with anger now.
“What do you think you are doing, embarrassing Father like this?”
Erin’s gaze flew to Kyllian.
Her father stood at the edge of the platform, unmoving.
He was looking at her.
The disappointment on his face was naked.
It stole the fight from her.
Erin stopped struggling.
Lyra lowered her carefully, though she kept a firm hand around her arm, because she did not trust Erin not to lunge again.
Erin’s throat tightened.
She was no longer furious.
She felt small, exposed.
Like a child, caught doing something shameful in front of the entire kingdom.
Then Garrick spoke.
“Princess Erin…”
Her body went rigid.
The bastard had found his stage.
“I know you have had a crush on me for a long time.”
Erin turned slowly toward him.
No.
No, he would not.
He could not stand there, in front of everyone, and rewrite three years of plans made in the dark into some childish crush she had invented in her head.
But Garrick continued, his face arranged into sorrowful regret.
“I tried not to encourage it. Truly, I did. I respect you deeply, Princess Erin. But I have always had eyes for your sister. I’m sorry if this hurts you,” Garrick finished.
Another soldier stepped forward.
Erin recognised him from the barracks.
One of Garrick’s close men.
He cleared his throat.
“Your Majesty… if I may.”
Kyllian’s gaze shifted to him.
The soldier lowered his head.
“Gamma Garrick has spoken of Princess Lyra often. Many of us knew of his admiration. He has always been respectful, but it was clear.”
A murmur began.
Another soldier nodded.
“That’s true.”
Then another.
“He spoke of wanting to be worthy of the Crown Princess.”
The whispers multiplied, moving through the hall.
All this time.
All this time while Erin had been planning a future with him, Garrick had been planting another story.
Enough crumbs scattered across the barracks that now, when he lied, people could mistake the trail for truth.
Erin looked at him and the man she had loved seemed to shift before her eyes.
A climber.
A strategist.
A bastard.
Shame descended on her like an itchy cloak.
It crawled over her skin.
Every gaze in the hall felt like fingers pointing.
She could hear the whispers.
Poor Princess Erin.
Imagined too much.
Wanted a man who wanted her sister.
How embarrassing.
How sad.
How unstable.
Her face burned.
Garrick lowered his eyes, completing the performance.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“You are one giant piece of shit,” she muttered.