Aphrodite sat in the dungeon, unmoving, waiting for whatever would come next.
The cold stone beneath her didn't bother her. The darkness didn't either.
She had already learned—
silence was safer.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Slow.
Measured.
Familiar.
Queen Alaria.
The door creaked open, and the queen stepped inside, her presence filling the small space effortlessly.
"Oh, Aphrodite," she said smoothly. "I thought I told you to know your place. Not to draw attention to Sylvara. To simply do what is required of you."
Aphrodite lowered her gaze.
"I was going to help her," she said quietly. "She attacked me… unprovoked. I was going to do what she asked."
The queen tilted her head slightly.
"Aphrodite," she said, almost amused, "Sylvara does not strike without reason."
A pause.
"What did you do?"
"I did nothing," Aphrodite whispered. "She was just mad at me."
The air shifted.
"It's your majesty, peasant."
The words snapped through the room.
Aphrodite flinched.
Queen Alaria smiled.
Cold. Controlled.
"It seems you have learned nothing," she continued. "You still think of yourself as something you are not."
She stepped closer.
"Do I need to remind you?"
Tears filled Aphrodite's eyes.
"Please… don't, your majesty," she said softly. "I won't make mistakes again. I'll do what I need to."
A moment passed.
Then—
Queen Alaria laughed.
"I suppose," she said lightly, "I will let it go this time."
She turned, unlocking the cell.
"Go. Return to your room. Wait until Sylvara calls for you."
Aphrodite didn't hesitate.
She stood and slipped past her, moving quickly—quietly—back toward the only place she was allowed to exist.
Her room
She had barely settled when the door opened again.
Sylvara.
But this time—
she wasn't angry.
Not exactly.
"I need my bed made," she said, her tone almost casual.
Aphrodite nodded.
"Yes."
She followed her without question.
An hour passed in silence.
Then—
everything changed.
Whispers spread through the castle like wildfire. Servants rushed through halls, voices low but urgent, eyes wide with something between fear and disbelief.
Aphrodite overheard them.
She wasn't meant to.
But she always did.
"Did you hear—?"
"They're dead—"
"Both of them—"
"Attacked—"
"No survivors except—"
Prince Nikklaus.
Aphrodite froze.
His parents…
dead?
The words didn't make sense.
They didn't fit.
But the whispers continued.
Not random attackers.
Not humans.
Something else.
Because Prince Nikklaus—
was not just a prince.
He was a werewolf.
The heir to a pack. A kingdom hidden beneath another truth. One built on secrecy, on survival—on staying unseen.
To the world, he was royalty.
To those who knew—
he was something far more dangerous.
And now—
his parents were gone.
The last anyone had heard—
he had escaped.
Alive.
But in hiding.
Eagle Crest Kingdom went into lockdown immediately. Guards doubled. Gates sealed. No one entered. No one left.
Fear spread quickly.
Because if it could happen to them—
it could happen here.
Aphrodite said nothing.
She kept everything she heard to herself.
Like always.
Later, she sat on her balcony again, staring out at the lake, the mountains beyond, the world that suddenly felt much larger—and much more dangerous.
Waiting.
For Sylvara.
For orders.
For something—
anything—
to change.
As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, nothing did.
As she grew older, the punishments grew worse.
The rules tightened.
The walls closed in.
Freedom became a memory she wasn't allowed to touch.
She moved less. Spoke less. Became less.
But she was still expected to be seen.
At events.
At gatherings.
At moments where perfection mattered more than truth.
As long as she looked presentable—
she was allowed to exist.