Chapter 100

Amelia

The envelope was thicker than usual. It sat on the edge of the desk like it was daring me to open it, its crisp weight making the rest of the correspondence look flimsy by comparison. Emma had set it down with a frown, her eyes lingering on the network’s seal before walking out of the room in silence, her mouth pressed in a tight line like she already knew what it said.

Inside, the letter was formal and brief. An invitation to appear for a nationally televised interview. The anchor’s name was underlined twice. A woman known for sharp questions and sharper instincts. The kind who didn’t just want answers, she wanted blood. It wasn’t just news coverage,it was a performance, one I would be center stage for.

“I don’t like it,” Nathan said immediately after I read it aloud. He stood by the window, arms crossed, pacing slowly. “They want to humiliate you. Turn you into a spectacle. She’s not going to ask questions, she’s going to bait you.”

One of the elders, Alric, narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “There is no dignity in putting yourself at the mercy of the press. Especially not now. You think you’ll gain favor by stepping into a trap? You’ll look foolish. Weak.”

“It’s a risk,” another elder added. “One misstep, one poorly phrased answer, and the entire campaign could crumble.”

“But if she doesn’t speak,” Emma said from the corner, “then everyone else gets to control the story. Again.”

Richard had been silent, watching from across the room. But then he moved. He crossed the space with slow, deliberate steps and stood behind me, placing a hand on the back of my chair. “Which is exactly why she should go.”

Alric scoffed. “So you want her ambushed on national television? You think that’s wise?”

“No,” Richard said, calm but resolute. “I want her to speak because I trust her. Because the truth will land heavier than any smear campaign if it comes from her own mouth.”

My fingers tightened around the letter. I looked up at him. “You really think I should do it?”

He met my gaze with unflinching certainty. “I think if you want to speak, you should. And I trust you to do it well.”

Nathan groaned under his breath. “We need to be strategic. Every word has to be measured. Amelia, you’re walking into a lion’s den. You have to know that.”

“I do,” I said, my voice steady. “But I’m not going in to fight. I’m going to tell the truth. That’s what they’re scared of.”

Richard squeezed my shoulder gently. “Then go do it.”

The next day was consumed by prep. Nathan and Emma sat with me for hours, rapid-firing potential questions, pulling headlines, showing me public opinion polls, and trying to anticipate every curveball. They drilled me until my throat ached and my head buzzed. I went to bed with a notebook on my chest and woke up with the words still circling in my dreams.

The studio was sleek and cold, bathed in artificial light that flattened every shadow. The makeup artist worked quietly, dabbing at my face while the technician adjusted my mic. Everything felt too still. I could hear the hum of the cameras, the rustle of cue cards. My heart pounded in my chest, but I forced my breaths to stay even.

The host greeted me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’re thrilled to have you,” she said, tapping her notes. “I imagine this wasn’t an easy yes.”

I gave her a neutral smile. “Some truths are worth saying out loud.”

She nodded, just once. “Then let’s give you the space to do it.”

The moment I stepped onto the stage, the air shifted. The lights brightened, the cameras rolled into place, and the audience, small but watchful, fell silent. I sat across from her, my back straight, hands folded in my lap, every muscle alert.

“Tonight, we’re joined by Amelia,” the host began smoothly. “A wolfless woman whose relationship with our Alpha King has sparked passionate debate across the kingdom. Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for having me.”

Then the questions came. Rapid-fire. Purposeful. She asked if I had ever used my connection with Richard for personal gain, if I had ever influenced policy behind closed doors. She asked about my upbringing, my wolfless status, the rumors about favoritism. She asked if I was in love, and whether love was enough to make me belong.

I answered each one. I told them about the Pack offices, the nights I stayed late sorting files no one else wanted to touch, the days I shadowed leaders with no expectation of recognition. I talked about my past, about growing up in the orphanage, about Jenny, about betrayal, about heartbreak.

And then, when the questions turned to the uglier whispers, the host leaned in with a softer voice. “One of the more common criticisms,” she said, “is that you’re not much more than a... distraction. A plaything to a powerful man. How do you respond to that?”

I didn’t flinch. I turned toward the camera, inhaled, and let the silence settle around me.

“I know what people say about me,” I said. “I know what it means when they call me wolfless. When they call me unworthy. I’ve heard them all.”

I paused, letting my words settle.

“But I have never been anyone’s plaything. Not Richard’s. Not the Pack’s. Not anyone’s.”

I sat forward, voice steady.

“I wasn’t born with a wolf. That’s true. But I’ve lived every day of my life here. I’ve served, worked, and given everything I have to this kingdom. And I’ve survived in rooms that didn’t want me. I’ve stayed soft in a world that wanted me hardened. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

“I chose Richard. Not because I needed power or protection, but because he sees me. Because I see him. Because despite everything that’s been thrown at us, we keep choosing each other.”

I felt my voice tremble. But I held on.

“I don’t want to be a queen. I don’t want titles or crowns. I want truth. I want a future where no one has to be born into a certain bloodline to be worth something. And if being honest about that makes people uncomfortable, maybe it should.”

The segment ended. The cameras dimmed. The crew moved quickly to reset. But no one spoke to me.

Until I walked backstage and saw Richard.

He was already standing, already moving toward me. The moment he reached me, his arms went around my waist and pulled me close.

“You were perfect,” he said, voice thick with pride. “You were more than perfect.”

I exhaled into his chest. “It felt like falling off a cliff.”

He cupped my face. “And you flew.”

We didn’t stay for photos or handshakes. We went straight home.

That night, we curled up on the couch and watched the footage together, surrounded by silence except for the sound of our breathing. Across every network, pundits debated. Some sneered. Some applauded. But the polls crept upward. Viewers trended supportive. The kingdom was listening.

I looked at Richard. He looked at me. And something shifted again.

This was not the end of a scandal. It was the beginning of a life. One where I wouldn’t be whispered about behind closed doors. One where I wouldn’t be apologized for. One where I could finally be seen, fully.