"It’s the tyrant’s mate!"
The words struck harder than the stone.
Everything stopped.
All around her, heads turned, eyes locked, voices dropped into an eerie, angry silence. The cheerful hum of the market bled out of existence, replaced by a chorus of whispers and tension that clung to the air like smoke.
"Did he send you?" a woman hissed, eyes wide with fury.
"Are you here to poison us too?"
"She’s just like him. Look at her... sa eyes, sa arrogance."
Erald’s mouth opened, but no sound ca. Her voice felt lodged in her throat.
Another stone struck her shoulder.
Then a tomato hit her boot.
"Wait!" she tried to say, but the growing noise of the crowd swallowed her voice.
Whispers beca grumbles, grumbles beca shouts.
"Spy!"
"Monster’s bride!"
The boy, the one she’d just bought the pastry for, was still standing near her, clutching the sweet. A woman rushed out of the crowd, probably his mother, and grabbed him by the arm.
"Get away from her!" she shouted. "Don’t touch her! Co!"
The boy cried out, nearly dropping his food as he was dragged away, his eyes still locked on Erald with confusion and sadness.
Erald took a step back, stunned. "I’m..." she finally tried, voice cracking. "I’m not..."
Another stone struck her shoulder.
Then a cabbage.
Another.
She stumbled and raised her hands to protect her face as the attack started. She didn’t fight back; she couldn’t. These weren’t soldiers; they were citizens, angry, hurt, and carrying the pain of years of silence. Hurting them would only confirm their deepest fears.
"Don’t shift," Viola warned. "Whatever you do, don’t shift."
Suddenly, heavy footsteps thundered down the market steps. Erald turned just in ti to see half a dozen guards in black and silver co storming through the crowd.
"No..." Erald started.
But it was too late.
The guards began to shove people—male, female, young and old—aside with brutal force. A woman was pushed into a stall, and a child was knocked to the ground. Another guard drew his staff and struck a man in the ribs without warning.
"STOP!" Erald shouted, rushing forward, but her voice was drowned beneath the chaos.
Then she felt it.
That burn inside her.
It rose like wildfire, pooling in her chest, rushing down her arms. Her hands flared with power, and when she spoke again, her voice echoed like thunder.
"I SAID ENOUGH!!!"
The sound didn’t just stop the market; it silenced the entire street.
The air went still.
Even the flas in nearby lanterns flickered like they’d been cowed.
All eyes turned to her.
She was panting slightly, her blood still dripping from the cut on her scalp, her clothes marked with dirt and bruises. And yet she stood tall, steady, every inch the Alpha she was born to be.
She turned slowly and walked through the wreckage, broken baskets, torn fabric, and fruit crushed into the cobblestones.
She moved toward the boy and his mother, who had been pushed into a fruit cart. The mother flinched as she approached.
Erald didn’t speak; She knelt beside the boy and helped him to his feet, brushing dust from his shirt.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
The boy nodded slowly.
She turned then, rising and facing the guards.
"Is this how you serve the people you swore to protect?" she asked in a low and dangerous voice. "By shoving children into the dirt? By drawing blood in front of their families?"
One guard stepped forward. "We were following orders, milady. Alpha Lucien instructed that if you were seen outside the manor, we were to retrieve you imdiately. At all costs."
At all costs.
Erald’s eyes narrowed, and her lips curled with disgust. "These people are not criminals. They are afraid. And you treat them like threats?"
The guards said nothing.
Rage burned low in her gut, like a slow and steady fla, as the guard’s word echoed in her mind.
Lucien. Of course, he had. She had once thought they were alike, two Alphas shaped by duty and survival. But now...
Now she could see the truth.
He hadn’t brought her here to understand her.
He’d brought her here to control her.
"Get the dics," she ordered the guards. "Help every person you injured. Fix every stall you overturned. Now."
They hesitated.
Erald took a step forward. "That wasn’t a suggestion."
The weight of her power hung in the air.
The guards bowed their heads and scattered quickly, obeying her command without another word.
She turned, brushing a drop of blood off her temple. The boy ran to her again, clutching her leg in a quick hug before scampering back to his mother. She smiled gently after him, placing a hand over the small stain of blood on her shoulder.
Then, with fire in her eyes and a pounding pulse in her chest, she marched toward the estate.
—
She didn’t knock.
She kicked the damn door open.
Lucien stood behind his desk, eyes widening at the sight of her: dishevelled, bruised, blood still drying down the side of her temple.
"Erald," he said, stepping forward.
"You don’t get to say my na right now."
He looked at the blood on her face, his brow furrowing. "What happened?"
"Don’t." She interrupted him sharply. "Don’t pretend you didn’t know. Don’t ask if I’m alright. You sent those guards."
His brow furrowed. "I gave orders for your safety..."
"Safety?" she shouted. "They stord the market like a damn militia. They were throwing people... children into the dirt..."
"They were only doing what was necessary—"
"Necessary?" she repeated, eyes blazing. "You think brutality is necessary? I thought we were supposed to protect our packs, not rule over them with fear."
Lucien exhaled slowly, clearly restraining himself. "You don’t understand what’s happening here..."
"Then make understand!" she snapped. "Make understand, Lucien."
He fell silent.
She laughed bitterly. "And he’s silent... again."
Lucien looked away. "There are things I can’t say, not yet. But I promise you, I’m handling it."
Erald stepped forward. "By what? Hurting more innocent people? Letting your guards run wild? Allowing your na to beco the very thing your people fear?"
"You don’t know what it’s like!" he said suddenly, louder than he’d ant.
"You’re no better than the tyrant they called you."
Lucien flinched. For a second, he didn’t say anything. Then slowly, his gaze returned to her. "Don’t say that."
"Why not?" she hissed. "It’s what they see when they look at you. It’s exactly what I see now."
He turned away and looked out the window; you could notice the tension in his shoulders.
She stepped back toward the door, then stopped, staring him dead in the eyes. "If you don’t tell what’s going on in your pack, then I’ll take it to the Council. I’ll raise a motion to have you removed as Alpha."
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