Derek looked at her steadily. Something in his expression acknowledged the performance, and for a moment, Ruby thought she had won.

"If you’re bored, Ruby, go to town," he finally said, his voice flat.

Ruby’s jaw hit the ground.

"Go visit the other packs, or try playing some games at The Central’s night market. I went there recently, and honestly, it’s much more fun than a bunch of women sitting around drinking tea and judging each other’s jewellery."

Ruby was stunned into silence for a moment, her brain working. The night market? The King of Dravengard was suggesting she go to a common human street fair? The realisation hit her like a physical punch—Kira had taken him there. Kira was the reason for this absurd suggestion.

"You’re choosing her," Ruby whispered, her voice thick with venom. "You’re choosing a werewolf—the daughter of the man who killed your mother—over me?"

Derek went very still, the images of that night flooded him.

He could relive the image of his father’s severed head on the floor. The image of Jasper Veyle, who had taken a sword to his heart for him.

The images of countless Lycans who had lost their lives in that brutal ambush, but the one that haunted him most was the image of his mother’s body being violated to death by multiple men, while he stood and did nothing.

He hated any reminder of that.

Derek leaned forward, his presence suddenly becoming very heavy, very royal.

"Regardless of who her father is, Kira is the Queen of Dravengard. Her needs come first, and her official duties will always take priority over your social calendar.’

"It’s a charity event, good for the pack’s image. I don’t want the two preparations clashing. Move your luncheon to the following week."

The anger in Ruby’s chest boiled over, but she was smart enough to know when she had overplayed her hand.

She took a deep breath, forcing her face into something normal, and stood up, smoothing the wrinkles out of her midnight-blue trousers.

"I’ll adjust my plans accordingly," she said, her voice perfectly pleasant and completely empty of everything that was actually happening inside her chest.

She picked up her folder, turned, and crossed to the door with the unhurried stride of a woman who refused to be seen storming out, even when she was absolutely storming out. She pulled the door open.

As she stepped out, she nearly collided with Kai, who was just about to enter.

"Whoa! Watch the paintwork, Ruby!" Kai joked, stepping out of her way.

Ruby didn’t even look at him. She stormed past him without a word, her red hair flying behind her like a streak of fire, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor.

Kai watched her go, then turned back to the study and stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He looked at Derek with an expression caught between amusement and something more cautious.

"What did you do to the queen bee? She looked like she was ready to shift and bite someone’s head off."

Derek exhaled. "She’ll be fine. She’s just throwing a tantrum because I asked her to move her luncheon. Kira’s charity event is on the same Friday."

Kai’s mouth curved, and he dropped into the chair Ruby had just vacated. "Ah." He was quiet for a beat, then said, "Bold of her, honestly. She wants you to ask the Queen to move her own event?"

He drummed his fingers once on the armrest and looked at his cousin with an expression that had lost most of its humour. "She looks like she is throwing more than a tantrum to me. She is furious and that fury isn’t good."

Derek looked at him. "Ruby has always been—"

"I know who Ruby has always been," Kai said simply. "You should keep a close eye on her though. I mean it. Never underestimate the power of a scorned woman."

Derek said nothing. But long after Kai had moved on to lighter conversation, the words sat at the back of his mind, quiet and stubborn, refusing to be dismissed entirely.

***

Friday finally arrived, with pale light filtering through the bedroom curtains. Kira woke up slowly, feeling very reluctant to get out of bed, and with a heaviness in her chest she had refused to acknowledge.

She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, then turned her head. Derek’s side was untouched. Cool and smooth, the pillow undented, the sheets exactly as they had been the night before.

She had not heard him come in at any point, which meant he either hadn’t come to bed at all or had been so deliberate about not disturbing her that he had slipped out before she could register his presence.

She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face.

Today was her day. She had worked too hard and too long on this event to let anything, including a brooding, emotionally inconsistent Lycan King, take up space in her head.

She needed to be sharp, present, and fully herself today. The charity fundraiser had taken weeks of planning, weeks of phone calls and coordinating with vendors, curating a guest list and managing the very specific politics of who sat next to whom at an event attended by both Lycan nobility and werewolf students. She had done all of it, and she was proud of it.

She picked up her phone from the nightstand and typed out a message to Derek.

The event is today. It starts at six. I need you there. You know what your presence means for the attendance.

She set the phone down and went to get ready.

The truth was, it wasn’t just his name on the guest list that she needed. She had watched Lycan students’ membership enquiries to her charity triple the moment the announcement had gone out that King Derek Wolfe would be in attendance.

She understood politics well enough to know that his presence tonight was not personal; it was strategic, it was the difference between a successful inaugural event and an extraordinary one.

She had already reminded herself of that several times over the past few days, whenever she caught herself wondering if she should be obsessing about his presence at the event.

Because the other thing, the thing she had been refusing to examine too directly, was the distance he had put between them ever since they returned from their night out at The Central. Something had shifted after that moment in the alley.

After the almost-kiss, the actual kiss on the dance floor, the walk home with her hand in his. She had gone to bed that night feeling something new and tentative and genuinely frightening in the best possible way.

And then he had simply retreated. Back behind the wall, back to the early morning disappearances and the late returns, back to passing her in the corridors with a nod instead of stopping.

She had lain awake more than once, wondering if the kiss had been a mistake in his mind. If he had looked at it in the cold light of the next morning and decided to undo it by sheer force of absence.

She was not going to think about it today.

She dressed carefully, in a rich burgundy dress that was professional and elegant without being stiff, her hair styled back, her chin set with the quiet determination of a woman who had learned a long time ago to put her feelings in a box and perform when performing was required.

She packed the main dress for the event, picked up her bag and headed downstairs.

The air smelled of butter and something warm and savoury, which was unexpected for this hour, and even more unexpected when she pushed the door open and found it was not Ishita standing at the stove.

Derek stood there in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow, and his back to her. The morning light caught the line of his shoulders, the defined muscle of his forearms as he moved the pan.

Her breath caught. What was he doing in the kitchen, standing by a stove?