The platform was silent.
Too silent.
The echoes of River’s last pulse of power still vibrated in the air, leaving the scent of scorched magic and fear hanging heavy.
Lord Peter was on his knees, shoulders hunched, head bowed — not in respect, but because he could no longer stand under the crushing weight of defeat. His beast form flickered, black fur retreating in patches until he was half-shifted, a grotesque and broken shadow of the man who once stood proudly beside the throne.
The court watched in stunned disbelief.
The commoners, pressed together like a sea, whispered in waves — first of fear, then awe.
It wasn’t King Paul.
It wasn’t the Royal Guard.
It was her.
The Omega.
The mate of the cursed prince.
River stood at the center of the platform, her aura slowly withdrawing l
