She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips. He was bossy, sharp, and impossibly arrogant—but he had fought seven ard n for her last night. That image refused to leave her: his broad back gleaming under the moonlight, his bloodied fists, the way his voice had cracked when he said her na like it ant sothing.
She sighed again, softer this ti, and turned her gaze to the bedside table. The folded clothes waited neatly for her, pressed and spotless.
Daisy touched them as though they might disappear. A simple but elegant cream blouse. Dark trousers tailored for movent. Even underclothes. She flushed crimson at that thought—how on earth had he arranged this in the middle of the night? Did Fabian himself...? No. No, surely not. The man was infuriating but he wasn’t about to go rifling through won’s things. Still, the fact that soone had thought of her comfort—it rattled her more than it should.
Her eyes flicked toward the adjoining bathroom door, and curiosity pulled her there.
The bathroom was warm, steamy from a hidden vent, lined with polished black stone that glowed faintly in the morning light. She gasped when she saw the sink: set on the counter was a brand-new toothbrush, still sealed in its packet, beside an untouched bar of soap, and even a small vial of rose-scented oil. For her.
"Who even does this?" Daisy whispered, fingers brushing the bristles through the packaging.
Alpha Princes apparently did. The thought made her cheeks burn.
She freshened up, brushing her teeth slowly, savoring the simple luxury of sothing so ordinary yet so aningful after a night of running, terror, and blood. The soap slled faintly of lavender. The towel—plush, softer than anything she’d owned. Fabian’s world was suffocatingly rich, the kind of wealth that went into the details no one noticed unless they were looking.
When she was done, Daisy dressed carefully in the clothes he’d left. They fit—loose but not baggy, hugging her just enough to make her aware that he—or soone—had chosen them with intent. She smoothed the blouse down and stared at her reflection.
Her hair was a little wild, her face pale but alive, her green eyes wide with uncertainty. She bit her lip.
"Breakfast," she muttered. "Step out for breakfast."
It sounded easy enough. Except the very idea of stepping out into Fabian’s world—into his stronghold, where people surely waited, watched, whispered—made her stomach twist into knots.
She hovered by the door. One hand gripped the handle, then dropped. She paced once across the room, then back.
What if they hated her? What if they asked questions? What if Fabian—Alpha Prince Fabian—introduced her in that smug, careless way he did everything, and they all stared at her like she didn’t belong?
Which she didn’t.
She stopped at the window, pulling back the curtain just slightly. Morning had spread golden light across the courtyard below, where soldiers trained with spears and wolves padded along the stone pathways. This wasn’t just his ho. It was his stronghold. His domain.
And she—just Daisy—was about to walk into the lion’s den.
She groaned softly and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. "I could just... sneak out," she whispered.
But the mory of Fabian’s furious voice stopped her. It’s not safe. Don’t argue with .
Her throat tightened. He wasn’t wrong. Last night proved that leaving would an walking right back into danger. The n who had chased her weren’t finished. They would co again.
Which ant... she had no choice but to face him.
Daisy drew a breath so deep it almost hurt her ribs, then squared her shoulders. She had survived worse than judgntal stares. She had survived loss. She had survived running until her lungs burned. She had survived n with guns.
She could survive breakfast.
Her hand finally wrapped around the door handle, knuckles white. She lingered one second longer, then twisted it open. The hallway beyond stretched long and elegant, lined with torches and silver-etched stone. Her bare feet made no sound on the rug, but her pulse was loud enough to echo.
She tiptoed halfway down the hall, then stopped, pressing herself against the wall. Maybe she should wait until soone passed by. Maybe she should—
"Lost?"
She jumped, nearly yelping, as Fabian’s voice rolled from behind her. She turned sharply, heart leaping into her throat. He stood at the far end of the corridor, arms folded over his chest, that unreadable half-smile pulling at his mouth. His silver-streaked hair fell into his eyes, and he looked unfairly composed for soone who had slaughtered half a dozen hunters the night before.
"I wasn’t lost," Daisy said quickly, crossing her arms as if that might shield her nerves. "I was just... thinking."
"Thinking," Fabian repeated slowly, prowling closer. "That’s a dangerous habit around here."
She narrowed her eyes. "Better than brooding against walls, apparently."
The corner of his mouth curved higher. "So you noticed."
Heat pricked her cheeks. Of course she had noticed—how could she not notice him? But she shoved past the thought, trying to summon bravado. "You said not to keep everyone waiting. I was just... preparing myself."
"For breakfast?" His brows arched as he stopped just a few feet away. "What exactly do you think we serve? Poison?"
"Wouldn’t put it past you," she shot back, but her lips trembled with the beginnings of a smile.
His gaze softened, just a fraction, though his smirk remained. "Co on, Daisy. It’s just food. Not a battlefield."
"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "You already look like you own every room you walk into."
His smirk faded into sothing else then—sothing sharper, quieter. "That’s because I do."
The words sent a shiver down her spine, equal parts intimidation and attraction.
Fabian tilted his head toward the stairs. "You’ll get used to it. Them. ."
Her breath caught, though she tried to laugh it off. "Used to you? Sohow I doubt that’s possible."
His gray eyes glimred like storm clouds catching light. "Try."
And just like that, he turned, cloak sweeping behind him, leaving Daisy standing in the hall with her cheeks burning, her pulse racing, and a thousand unspoken thoughts clawing for space in her chest.
She had no choice but to follow.
This isn’t bad, she just can’t relax.
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