The wedding reception was buzzing with people who looked like they belonged on magazine covers. Everyone was dressed to impress—sparkling jewels, sharp suits, flowing gowns that shimmered under the chandeliers. The air felt thick with expensive perfume, quiet laughter, and the low hum of power. Different kinds of shifters, different levels of importance, all mixed together in one glittering room.
Suri felt tiny in the middle of it all. No familiar faces. No friends from university. Just a sea of Lycans who stared at her like she was some rare animal on display. She kept her back straight anyway, fingers wrapped tightly around Ragnar's arm. He was still terrifyingly tall, silent, and radiating that icy calm, but at least he was the one person here who had brought her into this chaos. Her back throbbed with every step, the whip marks burning under the fancy dress. She told herself she just had to get through tonight. Then she could collapse into bed and sleep like she'd been hit by a truck.
As she and Ragnar stepped down from the small podium where they'd been announced, people immediately closed in around them like water around a stone.
Nana appeared first, her face glowing with happiness. "Welcome to the dynasty, Em," she said as she squeezed Suri's free hand.
Suri managed a real smile and nodded politely. A little stab of guilt twisted in her chest that she was lying to Nana about this marriage. Nana was the only person who had been kind to her since she arrived. No cold stares or whispered comments about her being a werewolf or wolfless. The maids who dressed her earlier had been super judgey, their eyes full of "ew, a werewolf," but Nana treated her like a queen.
"Congratulations, Your Grace," came a smooth voice next.
A stunning redhead in a deep emerald gown glided up. She smiled perfectly at Ragnar, then flicked her eyes toward Suri, just one quick glance. That glance alone said more than words could say.
Suri pretended not to notice.
Then a younger man approached, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, tall and broad like the rest of them, with a cocky grin that screamed trouble in the best way. "Hello, cousin," he said to Ragnar.
Ragnar's expression didn't change at all. "Kai. What are you doing here?"
"I invited him," Nana said cheerfully from beside them. "It's your wedding, darling. Everyone's invited."
Kai's eyes slid to Suri, and his grin grew wider, slow and appreciative. "I heard she was pretty. But nobody told me she was goddess-level beautiful." He held out his hand. "Hello, beautiful."
Heat rushed to Suri's cheeks. A tiny, surprised smile tugged at her lips as she placed her hand in his. Kai bent low and pressed a light kiss to the back of her knuckles.
"I see why you managed to steal His Grace away from all the other females," he murmured, voice teasing, "especially Ru—"
Connor moved like lightning. He grabbed Kai by the collar and yanked him back with a friendly-but-firm shove. "Take your goofiness somewhere else, man."
Suri's smile stretched a little wider. Okay, she already liked this guy. He was cheeky and fun in a room full of frozen statues. But she couldn't help wondering—who was "Ru"? She glanced sideways at Ragnar. His face was stone-cold again. No flicker of amusement, or any hint of jealousy. Just that blank mask he wore so well. The only sign anything had touched him at all was a tiny muscle ticking along his jaw.
Suri couldn't resist teasing him. She tilted her head toward him, voice sweet and polite, but with the tiniest spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. "Does your cousin always introduce himself with quite so much enthusiasm, Your Grace?" she asked. "Or is it a family tradition saved for special occasions, like weddings, perhaps?"
Whatever reply Ragnar might have given died on his tongue the moment a middle-aged man stepped into their path. This man gave off such a bad vibe that Suri felt sick to her stomach. Ragnar's fingers tightened on her arm, just a small squeeze, but enough to make her glance sideways at him. Who was this person? Why did Ragnar's whole body go stiff? A younger man walked beside the older one, dressed in a sharp navy blue suit. He had the same smug look, but his was sharper, more dangerous, like a blade hidden behind a smile.
"Your Grace," the older man said, completely ignoring Suri's existence.
"Uncle Crane," Ragnar answered, voice flat and empty.
They looked alike in a way that made Suri's skin crawl; same thick brown hair, same piercing amber eyes that seemed to cut right through you. She silently prayed that was where the similarities ended. This Uncle Crane already gave her the creeps.
"I suppose congratulations are in order," Uncle Crane said, turning a smile toward Suri. But the smile felt fake, oily, like it had been painted on. "My nephew is a very lucky man to have you in his life."
Suri had no idea how to answer that. The words felt wrong coming from him. She could sense the thick tension crackling between the three men, something ugly and old simmering just under the surface. She dipped into a small, polite bow and said nothing. Uncle Crane clapped a hand on Ragnar's shoulder, then moved on without another word. The younger man stepped forward next.
"Hello again, young coz," he said, stretching out his hand with a lazy grin. "I never thought I'd live to see the day Ragnar Wolfe actually got married—"
"Save the performance for the cameras, Brian," Ragnar cut in, voice low and sharp like a warning growl.
Brian chuckled, not at all bothered. "Solid advice from the man putting on the biggest show of the night. We all know how sudden this wedding is. Makes a person wonder if it's even real."
Ragnar regarded Brian with the same glacial calm he might have used to study an insect pinned beneath glass. "I have nothing to prove to you, Brian," he said quietly. "The performance is over. I know how badly you wanted the starring role, but the script has changed. Focus on being a good husband instead. My throne isn't a seat you need to worry about keeping warm anymore."
For one tiny second, Brian's wolfish smile cracked. Then he covered it up fast. "Enjoy your throne. Enjoy your woman." His eyes flicked to Suri for the first time. "I hope she's as real as you want everyone to believe."
"Enjoy the view from second place, Brian," Ragnar replied without missing a beat. He turned his head just slightly toward Suri, as if he'd only just remembered she was standing there, then gave the smallest nod toward the crowd. "Come," he said to her, voice flat once more. "We have more congratulations to endure."
He guided her forward without waiting for a reply, his grip on her arm steady but no longer quite so impersonal. If she glanced up at him, she would see nothing in his expression to explain the sudden chill that had settled over the air.
Guest after guest came up to them to offer their congratulations. Every single one smiled brightly at Ragnar, kissed up to him, and barely glanced at Suri. It felt like acid slowly burning in the bottom of her stomach. As Ragnar steered her through the glittering crowd, her back screamed with pain. Every step felt like fire licking across the whip marks. She could sense dozens of eyes on her, especially the women. They watched her every move, studying her dress, her posture, her face. Some of them kept staring openly at her stomach, as if trying to guess whether the king had married her because she was already pregnant.
Finally, thankfully, she found a moment to slip away. She escaped to the nearest bathroom, closed the door behind her, and leaned against the cool marble sink. She wanted nothing more than to climb into a hot shower and let the water wash everything away. She needed sleep. She needed quiet. But the best she could do was scoop cold water from the tap and splash it over her face. The shock of it helped a little. She took deep breaths, checked her phone (no signal, of course), and tried to pull herself together.
When she stepped back into the corridor, heading toward the ballroom again, a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth from behind. She was yanked hard into the shadows before she could even scream.