His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 100

**Chapter 100**

**Claire’s POV**

The sensation bubbling in my chest borders on ludicrous, yet it refuses to dissipate, almost as if it has taken root within me. I silently scold myself, urging my heart to settle down before someone catches on and poses questions I am entirely unprepared to answer.

Despite my efforts, the excitement clings to me like a lively spark, a fizzy static beneath my skin, as I lean against the cool marble counter and observe the maids bustling about the kitchen with a sense of urgency.

They are in full swing, preparing for the gala as if the entire royal lineage were about to descend upon us. Enormous pots bubble away on the stove, trays of delicate pastries cool on racks, and one maid is chopping vegetables with the fierce determination of a soldier gearing up for battle.

“Are we feeding the whole continent?” I quip, my voice dancing between sarcasm and genuine awe.

An older cook, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, doesn’t even glance my way. “Gala nights demand abundance, my dear. Extravagance. Excess. Grace,” she declares, waving her spoon like a regal scepter. “And let’s not forget, the Alpha King once devoured twenty-two mini pies all by himself during the speeches, so we must prepare accordingly.”

I can’t help but snort. “He sounds like a menace.”

“An adorable one,” she mutters under her breath, returning to her pastry creations.

In the midst of the chaos, I find an odd comfort. Perhaps I needed this vibrant noise to drown out the fluttering in my stomach that refuses to settle. My fingers curl around a mug of something warm—I didn’t even bother to ask what it was—but I take a sip, grateful for the distraction.

I’m in the middle of offering a maid unsolicited advice on the perfect ratio of pepper to seasoning cube (“Trust me, it tastes better this way, just give it a shot”) when my phone vibrates against the counter.

A message from Elijah.

Ready.

Just one word, yet it ignites my entire wolf, causing her to perk up as if a window has been flung open in my mind, letting in a refreshing breeze.

I nearly drop my mug in surprise. “Okay, okay, calm down,” I murmur to myself, doing my best to ignore the bemused expressions of two maids nearby.

I quickly wipe my palms on my skirt and make a hasty exit from the kitchen, practically racing up the stairs as if they had personally offended me.

The hallway is surprisingly quiet compared to the frenzied energy below, and as I approach Elijah’s room, the sudden stillness amplifies the sound of my heartbeat, making it thud louder than I would like.

I take a deep breath, summoning the courage needed to knock on his door, and tap twice.

“Come in,” his voice calls from within, warm and casual, as if inviting me into a cozy space.

I push the door open, only to freeze in place.

He stands near the window, a towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water cascading down his shoulders. Damp curls cling to his forehead, and the soft light catches the glistening contours of his chest, every defined line almost indecently captivating.

Inside my mind, my wolf lets out a very undignified yelp.

“Hey,” he greets, completely oblivious to the chaos he’s causing in my nervous system. “Didn’t expect you here so soon.”

“Uh—I walk quickly,” I stammer, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. Goddess, please strike me down now.

His lips twitch, as if he can hear the chaos in my voice. My gaze darts to the bed, and I breathe a sigh of relief as it diverts my attention from my embarrassment.

A chaotic assortment of tuxedos, suits, embroidered jackets, and royal outfits are strewn across the bed, as if he’s preparing for a fashion show rather than a gala.

“So,” he drawls, grabbing a shirt from the pile. “Ready to help me make the most crucial decision of the night?”

I clear my throat, feeling the weight of the moment. “I should probably warn you, I have zero qualifications for this.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” he replies, stepping behind a changing screen. “You made the dress-choosing process tolerable, so this can’t possibly be worse.”

He disappears behind the screen, and I take a seat on the edge of his bed, my fingers nervously toying with a stray thread on the comforter.

The room hums with a gentle quiet, the faint sounds of his movements blending with the distant hustle of the castle.

Moments later, he steps out in the first outfit.

It takes me precisely one second to realize that the roles have officially reversed. The black-and-gold embroidery is stunning, the jacket’s cut is impeccable, and he looks as though he could effortlessly rule over multiple kingdoms.

But therein lies the dilemma… how does one tell someone like Elijah that he looks amazing without sounding like they’re on the verge of swooning?

“I like it,” I manage to say, squinting slightly. “Maybe… a lot.”

He raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Maybe?”

“It looks royal,” I assert, my voice gaining confidence. “And dramatic. In a good way. But, I don’t know… maybe it’s a touch too stiff?”

He glances at the sleeves, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Too stiff,” he repeats, clearly amused. “Noted.”

He slips back behind the screen once more.

This becomes our delightful routine for the next half hour.

He emerges in various outfits, I react—sometimes helpfully, sometimes not—and he critiques my critiques with an infuriatingly calm demeanor.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify