Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 265

Chapter 265: Bath Salt Soulmates & Bad Bitch Affirmations

CRACK.

More white light flashed above her, so bright the afterimage branded itself onto her retinas.

She hit stone on her side with her full weight and no warning. Shoulder first, then hip, then skull bouncing off the surface that turned the world into static and ringing.

The angle of the fall drove the dagger into her side before she could adjust her grip. She felt the edge slice through fabric, through skin, through the thin layer of nothing between her and a wound that announced itself with white-hot fury.

"Oh, you STUPID—" she gasped through clenched teeth because she had literally stabbed herself with a weapon she’d confiscated from a hallucinated pregnant woman in a corridor.

This was somehow the dumbest thing she’d done all week, which was really fucking saying something.

She pulled the blade free. White-hot pain lanced through her side with such violence her vision went grey at the edges. Blood bloomed through her shirt in a dark, spreading flower that had no business being poetic and was going to be her problem for the foreseeable future.

She slid the blade across the black stone like she was divorcing the bastard mid-argument. The steel skittered, spun, and quit six feet away, painting a messy red trail behind it.

Her hand pressed against her side. Wet. Warm. Deep enough to be a real goddamn issue and shallow enough that she probably wouldn’t die from it.

That’s when she noticed her shirt was on backwards. In her defense, she got dressed in a hurry.

All down the front were dried blood spots from her lashes.

This was what Draven had been looking at. This was why those two men were on high alert. They thought she killed someone and were probably wondering where the body was.

"Outstanding optics, Guinevere. Really peak shit."

She pushed herself upright and took in the room.

"What the hell?"

This room was the brown room.

Same layout. Same proportions. Slightly different furniture.

But the colors were wrong.

White paneled walls and bookshelves. Navy accents. No brown or tan in sight.

Her brain stalled hard, kicked over once, then quit. Either the room was wearing a good looking decor disguise or she was straight-up tripping balls.

She sniffed. Deep. Searching.

No scents she recognized. It smelled brand new, never lived in and that brown room had seven men living in it.

"The room is not Kael’s room, Guinevere. You have verbally processed that. Now you are going to focus."

A mirror caught her eye. More accurately, the disaster staring back did. She looked like absolute hell. Worse than hell. She looked like the before painting in a ’don’t do drugs’ campaign that went too far.

Red-rimmed eyes swollen from obvious crying. The bruises on her face had healed enough to go green instead of purple. Green was uglier by a mile. The purple at least carried her face.

The rest of her body looked worse than she felt, which was a genuine accomplishment considering she felt like she’d been a piñata at a child’s birthday party with Cassian’s temperament.

The only net positive was her hair somehow looked good. The last holdout.

Then she did a double take so violent her neck cracked.

For one split second, the room was brown with glass on the floor.

She spun around.

White shelves. Navy accents. The room she was standing in.

She turned back to the mirror.

Navy.

She stared at her own reflection for ten full seconds.

It didn’t happen again.

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