Jayce was unable to suppress his laughter at the calamity.
The music ceased, and all, including the royals, directed their attention towards him.
He encountered his father, Alpha King Elliott, whose face displayed evident anger.
“Jayce,” his father whispered sharply as he approached his son. “You are tardy and inebriated. What is your explanation?”
Jayce gazed at his father; they were approximately at eye level in height if Jayce maintained an upright posture.
“You are fortunate I arrived at all,” Jayce murmured; he perceived the wrath in his father’s gaze, yet Elliott understood it was unwise to retaliate during such a significant ceremony.
This was the ceremony intended to preserve the Royal House of Valerius. Large factions with formidable armies were dispatched to subjugate House Valerius. The sole method to preserve power was to unite House Valerius with the Warrior Eldarion Pack through matrimony.
Elliott would not compromise this matter.
Jayce, maintaining his gaze on his father, consumed the wine from the glass he held before thrusting it into the chest of a passing servant.
“If you will excuse me,” Jayce stated as he pushed past his father and approached the beautiful bride and groom.
Elsie Eldarion rose from her seat, accompanied by Ashton. Elsie, the remote niece of the Luna Queen, was the most exquisite being in the entire kingdom. No entity, whether werewolf or human, could rival her beauty; they were utterly incomparable.
Despite his affection for her, Jayce consistently perceived her as somewhat arrogant. She consistently believed that any male being would be enamoured with her at first glance. Perhaps she was not mistaken, as she undoubtedly captured Jayce’s attention.
“Brother,” Jayce remarked to Ashton, entirely disregarding Elsie’s presence. He sensed her discomfort, which elicited a smile from him. “I regret my lateness.”
A bitterness permeated Jayce’s tone.
His gaze transitioned from Ashton to Elsie, causing her to swallow with difficulty. He did not fix his gaze on her for long; he redirected his attention to Luna Queen Kamila, who was also present nearby. She pursed her lips and her body became rigid. A subtle animosity was evident in her eyes, unmistakable to anyone observant.
His wolf stirred within him, yearning for liberation to rend Kamila’s throat before all. He desired everyone to be aware of the extent of his profound disdain for this woman. She deprived him of everything, and now he sought to reciprocate by taking everything from her.
She remained silent; she averted her gaze and cleared her throat.
“Where has the music gone?” she enquired audibly for the band to perceive. “Let us continue the celebration, as this is my son’s wedding day.”
They promptly resumed playing the music. Guests were ultimately able to divert their attention from Jayce and resume their enjoyment. Servants endeavoured to rectify the disorder Jayce created in his wake.
“I will exit on my own,” Jayce murmured as he proceeded towards the grand doors.
He complied with instructions; he arrived and presented himself. He had no necessity to remain beyond that duration and preferred not to extend his stay unnecessarily.
As he retraced his steps, he remained silent and offered no salutation to anyone.
The final remark he heard prior to exiting the ballroom was Kamila’s muttering, “What a rude bastard.”
I sprinted from the rose gardens to the palace; fortunately, everyone was preoccupied with the ceremony and did not observe my presence. I am uncertain about what explanation I would provide regarding my half-naked state, covered in blood, and feeling cold. At that moment, I was uncertain of what to convey to myself.
I remained in a state of shock regarding the events that transpired. Prince Jayce assaulted me and inflicted a bite, designating me as his.
He persistently referred to me as his mate; or more accurately, his wolf designated me as his mate. However, that was undoubtedly the most absurd statement I had ever encountered. I was a werewolf devoid of a wolf, signifying that I lacked a mate.
Tears streamed down my face, and I bit my lower lip to suppress my sobs. I was unable to weep at that moment; I needed to compose myself.
I hurried into my bedroom, discarding my torn uniform onto the bed and retrieving a clean uniform from my drawers. I clumsily entered the bathroom and filled the bathtub with water that was so frigid it would undoubtedly desensitise my body.
Upon gazing into the mirror, I observed the scratches delineating my torso; they had become swollen, yet they were no longer hemorrhaging. I anticipated that my recovery would be swift; by tomorrow, the wounds would be entirely healed, allowing me to feign that the events never occurred. I wished to avoid reminders of the savage assault through the marks.
