#Chapter 6: Throne Games & Lipstick Lies

(Violet P.O.V) I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. Lucian—Luc—was sitting on the damn throne. Not lounging on a penthouse couch or tangled in my silk sheets, but high above me, wrapped in velvet and iron and power, with golden eyes that looked through me like I was just another case file in a pile he couldn’t be bothered to care about. My Luc was warm. Rough hands, quiet mouth. Always patient when I was cold. Always there when the bond screamed from Ronan’s betrayal. No. No, this has to be wrong...?! A murmur rippled through the room. One of the soldiers flanking the steps stepped forward, narrowing his eyes at me. “Do not disrespect the King,” he snapped. “Bow properly or be removed.” I was still kneeling, but I’d looked too long. Too directly. Lycan protocol demanded submission. Not awe. “I didn’t mean—” He raised a hand, stepping closer. “She’s new to the court,” he growled. “Let her learn with lashes—” “Enough.” Lucian’s voice cut through the chamber like a blade, lazy but firm. The soldier froze mid-step. Then bowed immediately. “Apologies, Your Majesty,” he said, stepping back quickly. “Your tolerance is unmatched. It’s rare to see a Lycan King treat a Werewolf with such kindness.” Lucian didn’t acknowledge him. He just drummed his fingers on the throne’s armrest, golden eyes flat, unreadable. I stayed quiet. There were so many questions screaming in my head I didn’t know which to chase first. It was real. He was real. The same man I’d held in my arms just days ago was now lording over me like a stranger. Like I was some petty thing to be judged, not the woman who had once whispered secrets against his skin. I blinked hard, trying to process what I was seeing—what I knew couldn’t be real. I remembered that night—the one I never talked about, not even to myself. * Three years ago. My husband, my mate, Ronan, decided to move out of the house and start living with Elara. I went to a bar with my best friend, Cathy. That day, I drank myself into a stupor. I was drunk. Raw. Angry. Lonely. "Are you okay, V?" Cathy asked worriedly, helping me as I cried drunkenly. She was furious. "Ronan is such a jerk! He’s done this to you... Why haven’t you gotten back at him? You should get revenge on him!" "I know there are plenty of call boys around here, Violet, just wait here!" After taking me to a safe place, Cathy left. Then, I saw Luc. "Are you my call boy?" Drunk, I wrapped my arms around his neck. "You look really handsome..." Luc paused for a moment, then let out a few low chuckles. "...You're drunk, Madam." * He just held me. That was the first time I kissed him like I meant it. Like he was mine. Now that same man was sitting on a throne. — A KING. My thoughts scrambled. It didn’t make sense. How does a Lycan King sell himself for money? For three years? Could this be some elaborate con? A twin? A double? Could it be a misunderstanding? “Your Majesty,” Ronan said, voice smooth as velvet. “Thank you for receiving us. I regret that my mate has caused such public disorder.” He placed just the right touch of gentle disappointment into his tone. “But I am willing to forgive her. After all, we are fated mates. A bond like ours is not so easily discarded.” For a heartbeat, I saw it again—the Ronan who used to bring me tea when I worked late into the night. The one who once traced my scars without flinching. The boy who kissed my forehead before I transformed for the first time. And then I remembered the woman on his arm. The child in her womb. The contempt in his eyes. Lucian raised a brow. “Hmm.” He picked up the leather-bound folder beside his throne—my case file—and flipped through it slowly, like it bored him to death. He didn’t look at me once. “So…” he drawled, voice laced with amusement. “You and your family tolerated this Rouge-born lady, but she couldn’t bear you a child. Then she stirred up chaos in court because your mistress—who is carrying your child—wasn’t given the throne first?” He laughed, low and cold. “That’s quite excessive.” Ronan chuckled with him, smug. “I agree, Your Majesty. Violet has been… emotionally unstable. But I’ve always done my best to keep the bond intact. She’s difficult, but I’m committed to this union.” Lucian said nothing. He turned a page. Slowly. Ronan waited for a response that didn’t come. His smile faltered. The silence dragged. The judge, who had spoken with so much arrogance earlier, now cleared his throat like a schoolboy caught cheating on an exam. He shuffled forward, eyes down. “Per the legal precedent under Pack Law 4-Alpha, subsection 11…” he began, fumbling with his notes, “Lady Violet may file for divorce… however, the following conditions apply…” He glanced nervously toward Lucian before reading aloud. “The properties to be forfeited include six real estate holdings, four jewelry vaults, title rights to the Mid-Town Alpha Block, and… access to the Emerald Safe.” My head jerked up. The Emerald Safe...?! My breath caught before I could stop it. Inside that vault wasn’t gold or power. It wasn’t even valuable in the way this court measured worth. It was just hers. My mother’s locket—tarnished silver, shaped like a wolf’s eye, with a tiny emerald at the center. Cracked. Imperfect. Mine. I used to hold it in my palm before every council meeting. Before every challenge. Before every time Ronan kissed me and I wondered if he meant it. It was the last thing she touched before she died. I’d kept it locked away because I couldn’t bear to see it every day… but I needed to know it was close. That some part of her still belonged to me. And now they wanted to hand it over to him? Ronan—who never met her. Who never even asked about her. Who once called her "the rogue who got lucky.” No. No. That pendant was the only thing I had left from the days when I still believed in love. In pack. In fate. They could take the land. They could take the titles. But not that. Not her. The judge continued. “Item 27: one locket, unappraised, known to be sentimental. Shall be transferred to Lord Ronan unless otherwise overturned by higher decree.” My stomach turned. Everything. Everything I’d built. Every part of my past, my name, my mother—gone. Lucian leaned back in his throne, fingers tented under his chin like this was the most entertaining thing he’d heard all week. Then he looked at me. For the first time. His gaze was slow. Measured. Distant. He didn’t speak, but I saw his lips move. [— Want a divorce?] Then his mouth curved into a smirk. [Beg me.]