The initial beams of dawn emerged over the horizon, spreading a golden light over the majestic towers of the palace. However, well before the sun was completely up, an eager crowd had gathered at the grand steps. Murmurs spread among the pack members like a breeze through parched foliage, with curiosity, discomfort, and expectation bubbling just beneath the surface.

Within the throne room, Jeanne strode with tightly controlled anger, the edge of her gown sweeping across the shiny marble floor like a specter. Her defined features shimmered in the gentle early light, each motion reflecting the turmoil inside her.

Lycan Ardor observed her with clenched lips and disapproval, his eyebrows furrowed. “Jeanne, please take your place,” he instructed, his tone soft yet authoritative, indicating the vacant throne next to his.

Jeanne's gestures were rigid and resistant as she sat, her shoulders set with steadfast determination. Ardor moved closer, whispering softly. “You summoned the entire court over a stolen necklace? Isn’t that a bit beneath you?”

She gave no answer, just a murmur, her eyes fixed ahead, the corners of her mouth tight with quiet vengeance. This wasn’t about jewelry. It never had been.

The heavy palace doors creaked open, and the murmuring ceased. All eyes turned toward the royal entrance as Lycan Ardor’s parents swept into the room, regal and commanding. The crowd bowed low, the weight of their presence settling like fog.

The King and Queen took their seats on the high dais, and the court session began, the silence that followed thick with expectation. Jeanne sat straighter, her heartbeat pounding. She had built her moment carefully, one lie at a time, and now, she would wield it like a blade.

Jasmine awoke to chaos.

The dim tranquility of her room shattered as two guards burst in, their armored hands seizing her without warning. She cried out as they yanked her from the bed, her bare feet scraping against the icy stone.

“Where are you taking me?” she gasped, panic flaring. Her bruises still ached from the last beating. Dread coiled in her gut. Was this the end?

“I’ll do anything,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please… just don’t hurt me again.”

But the guards were silent, their grips unrelenting.

As they neared the throne room, the growing noise of the crowd turned her blood cold. Dozens of eyes bore into her as she stumbled through the doors, thrown to her knees before the throne. Gasps and murmurs spread like wildfire at the sight of her battered frame.

Beside her stood another breeder—tall, poised, and cruelly beautiful. Her smirk curled like smoke, delighting in Jasmine’s shame.

“Here is the culprit, Lycan Ardor,” one of the guards announced. His voice echoed across the chamber.

Jasmine raised her head with effort, her gaze landing on the woman who had orchestrated it all—the same woman who had ordered the guards to beat her senseless. Her stomach twisted.

The breeder stepped forward, putting on a carefully shaken tone. “It happened the night before last,” she began. “I left my heirloom necklace in my chambers, a family treasure passed down through generations. When I returned, it was gone. And the only one seen near my room…” She turned sharply. “Was her.”

She jabbed a finger at Jasmine, eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

“She’s nothing but a thief,” the breeder declared, louder now. “A lowly breeder with no rank or respect, who thinks she's above others just because the King once looked at her kindly.”

Jeanne leaned forward, her eyes shining with triumph.

“She has been disrespectful, insubordinate—and now she’s stolen from me,” the breeder pressed on. “She must be punished.”

Jasmine’s throat was dry. Every inch of her screamed to stay silent, to disappear. But something inside her fought back.

“I didn’t steal anything,” she croaked, barely above a whisper. “I went to her chambers to fetch her for kitchen duty… That’s all.”

“Silence!” Jeanne’s voice cracked like thunder.

She rose from her throne, fire in her eyes. “You dare lie in front of the royal court? You were caught red-handed and still spew these pathetic excuses!”

She turned to the guards with venom in her voice. “Let her punishment be a warning to all. No one steals in this palace. You are nothing, Jasmine. Nothing to the King. Cut off her hand!”

The crowd froze. A murmur of disbelief rolled through the hall.

Jasmine’s breath caught in her throat. Her vision blurred. The guards stepped forward—blades half drawn.

“Wait!”

The voice was deep, thunderous, and commanding. Lycan Ardor’s father rose slowly from his throne, the authority in his voice silencing every whisper in the hall.

“Jeanne,” he said, tone sharpened by disappointment. “You summoned this court claiming justice. Yet you’ve passed sentence without hearing from your King—or from me.”

Jeanne’s face faltered, her rage flickering into frustration. “Father, I simply wanted this handled properly. Ardor’s too lenient—”

“This punishment is excessive,” the elder Lycan snapped. “You will not maim her over an accusation.”

The guards hesitated. Their swords dropped slightly.

Jeanne’s fists clenched at her sides. Rage trembled in her bones. This was her moment—her spectacle, ruined.

Lycan Ardor’s mother spoke then, her voice like velvet over steel. “She will be confined to the dungeons,” she decreed. “Until a full investigation reveals the truth.”

The finality in her tone crushed any further protest.

Jasmine’s head drooped. Relief mingled with despair. She would live—for now. But the dungeon held horrors of its own. Chains. Darkness. Isolation.

As the guards stepped forward, Jasmine glanced up—her eyes finding Ardor’s.

He didn’t flinch. His face was unreadable, distant. He wore the mask of a leader. And yet… for the briefest moment, something flickered behind his eyes.

But it was gone.

As she was led away, the marble floors echoing with every step, Jasmine was swallowed by the silence that followed—a silence heavy with judgment, fear, and the haunting truth that her story was far from over.