The Rejected True Heiress (Liora and Callum) novel Chapter 530

“There,” he said. “Now you’re almost ready for our wedding night.”

Bianca laughed, a high, delighted sound that bounced off the stone walls.

I didn’t say a word. My jaw locked so hard it ached, and my nails bit half-moons into my palms deep enough to leave marks. Soon, I told myself. The second my wolf came back, the second I had teeth again, I was going to remember exactly how this felt. I was going to make very sure they did too.

“You should thank him,” Bianca said, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her own skirt. “Not every girl gets a groom who takes such an interest.”

“I do try,” Ambrose said, handing the shears back to her. I knew they wouldn’t leave them for me to use later. Because deep down, they were still afraid of me. We all knew it. “I’ll see you at the altar, sweetheart. Try not to keep me waiting.”

He left first. Bianca lingered a moment longer in the doorway, looking me over one more time, that same satisfied little smile on her face.

“Smile tonight,” she said. “It’ll be the last thing half this kingdom remembers about you.”

Then she was gone too, the door clicking shut behind her, the lock turning a second later.

I stood there for a long moment in the ruined dress before I made myself move. The same guard from last night knocked and said it was time to take me down to the salon for my hair. He barely looked at me.

I let him lead me out, the cut silk gaping open at my chest, and didn’t bother holding it shut. Let them stare. I had bigger things to think about than modesty at this point.

We were two turns from my room when I saw my father standing at the end of the corridor in his ceremonial coat, hands folded behind his back, a pair of guards a few steps behind him. I knew that posture. He saved it for portraits and state dinners, for moments when he wanted to look like nothing in the world could touch him.

I stopped walking. The guard at my elbow hesitated, glanced toward the King’s men, and didn’t pull me forward.

“My chambers. The window seat—there’s a board underneath that lifts. She’d want you to have it.”

Before I could ask what he meant, that brief moment of clarity drained out of his eyes so fast it was like watching a window suddenly slam shut, his shoulders squaring back into that stiff, official posture, his jaw smoothing out into nothing.

By the time I blinked, he was back to his usual self. Or rather, back to the spellbound version of himself, which wasn’t really him at all.

His mouth curled into something thin and cold, nowhere close to a smile.

“You’re still standing here,” he said, his voice flat again, eyes already sliding past me toward the window. “I’d have thought a bride would be more eager to reach her own wedding.”

He turned and walked away without waiting for an answer, his guards falling into step behind him, his boots echoing down the corridor until I couldn’t hear them anymore.