Chapter 65

Amelia

The smear campaign began like all good lies, with a seed of truth, a carefully chosen sliver of reality used as the foundation for something uglier. David's team didn’t need to fabricate a scandal. They simply amplified what was already there: the optics, the rumors, the awkward silences, the looks that lasted too long. A few edited clips of Richard brushing his hand against mine in a council meeting, a still frame of us standing too close in a hallway, a blurry photo of me exiting his suite before dawn.

No accusations. Just questions. Questions that were easy to plant and impossible to uproot.

What is the role of an intern in royal policy?

Should someone with no Pack ties be influencing Pack law?

Why has the Alpha King grown so secretive?

It spread like rot through the ranks. I started noticing the shift in the way people greeted me. They stopped making eye contact. Meetings were shorter. Conversations dried up. I was no longer the intern who worked too late and brought muffins to staff meetings. I was a symbol of something unwanted, a threat to the image of power they needed Richard to maintain.

Council allies grew quiet, conversations once warm turning clipped and transactional. A few canceled meetings entirely, offering vague excuses about scheduling conflicts that didn’t hold up under scrutiny.

One influential donor, a matriarch of a high-ranking Western Pack, publicly withdrew her endorsement, issuing a statement riddled with veiled references to “moral clarity” and “appropriate boundaries between staff and leadership.” The damage rippled. Packs that had once stood neutral began sending feelers to David’s campaign, their press teams releasing carefully worded statements about the importance of tradition, accountability, and honoring Pack structures.

In private strategy briefings, Richard began to look increasingly worn. He pinched the bridge of his nose between updates. He took longer to respond.

At one point, I caught him staring down at a report for a full minute, eyes unfocused, until Nathan cleared his throat. His posture remained rigid, but the cracks were showing. No one dared name the source of it aloud, but I felt the weight of it in every glance that flicked toward me and away.

And Jenny made sure to twist the knife. Even with Elsa gone, it felt like her perfume still lingered in the air, her shadow cast across every polished surface. But it wasn’t Elsa anymore. It was Jenny who picked up the torch, passive-aggressive where Elsa had been sharp, venom hidden under layers of silk.

She filled the vacuum with ease, her voice syrupy sweet, her barbs buried in smiles. The Pack House hadn't really exhaled since Elsa left. It just held its breath while someone younger learned how to aim the same blade.

She did it with a smile. With affection, even. She’d link arms with younger council aides and say just loudly enough to be overheard, "It must be strange not knowing what it's like to shift, right? I mean, Amelia seems nice, but she doesn’t really... get what we are."

Or, "Not everyone is meant for leadership. Some people are better suited to support roles. And that’s perfectly respectable."

Sometimes she wouldn’t say anything. Just tilt her head, frown with manufactured concern, and let the silence fill in the rest.

She didn't use my name. She didn’t have to. And no one stopped her. Not Nathan. Not the council. Not Richard.

And that, more than anything, cracked something in me. It wasn’t the lies. It was his silence.

That night, after a particularly brutal strategy meeting where no one would look me in the eye, I walked until I ended up in the east courtyard. The storm had already started. Rain slanted down in cold sheets, soaking through my clothes in seconds. The sky was low and gray, and the wind carried the scent of stone and damp earth. I didn’t go back inside.

I let the cold seep into my skin. My feet bare against the flagstones. My shoulders squared against the weather. It felt cleaner than anything inside those walls.

Because out here, the rain didn’t care about politics.

The rain didn’t whisper about bloodlines.

And for the first time all day, I could breathe.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there before I heard footsteps behind me.

When I turned, Richard was already halfway across the courtyard. His hair was soaked, his shirt plastered to his chest. He looked younger like this. Less like a king and more like the man I used to imagine before I knew better.

He stopped a few feet away, but said nothing. I waited.

"You heard?" I asked, keeping my voice calm.

He nodded. "About the smear campaign. The donors. Jenny."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what are you going to do about it?"

He exhaled slowly. "I told the council the images were manipulated. That the rumors were manufactured. I promised increased security and revised media access. I said staff would be retrained."

"You gave them a script."

"I gave them what they needed to keep from bolting."

I turned fully to him now. "They think I'm sleeping with you. That I wormed my way into your favor and am using it to manipulate policy. And your response was to offer a better press strategy?"

"I was trying to stabilize the situation."

"No. You were trying to save your campaign."

His jaw clenched. Rain beaded along his brow. "You don’t know what kind of pressure they’ve put on me."

"No? Because I feel it every day. I hear it in every hallway I walk down. I see it in every look Jenny gives me."

He took a step forward. "I didn’t want to make things worse for you."

"Then why have you been silent? Why haven’t you said anything real?"

His eyes searched mine. "Because I thought if I waited long enough, I could fix it. That I could keep you close and keep you safe."

"You can't do both."

He reached for my wrist.

The moment his fingers touched my skin, I felt the pulse of something older than words.

His eyes flickered gold. His pupils dilated.

My wolf, dormant for too long, surged forward so fast I nearly staggered.

She growled low in my chest. Not angry. Aroused.

She pressed against the inside of my skin like she wanted out. Like she wanted him.

Richard let go as though burned, but then stepped forward again, breath sharp.

"I can feel her," he said, his voice raw. "I didn’t think I ever would."

I braced my hands on my thighs, swallowing against the heat spiraling through me. "She won’t stop pacing."

"Mine’s not any better."

The rain pounded harder, washing away everything except the thrum of the bond straining between us. My body buzzed with tension, my wolf practically vibrating under my skin.

"It hurts to look at you," I said quietly.

"It hurts to walk away."

"Then why do we keep doing it?"

"Because if we don’t, I’ll claim you. Right here. And that will ruin everything."

I exhaled shakily, my eyes burning. "She wants you. She keeps saying your name like it's already done."

His voice dropped, husky with restraint. "Mine's losing it. I can't even quiet him down. It's like the second he sensed yours, he stopped pretending we weren't already halfway to the bond."

And for a long time, we stood there. Wolves snarling inside us. The bond burning between us. Our bodies so aware of each other, it felt like we were already touching.

But we didn’t move. Not because we weren’t desperate to. Not because we didn’t feel it pulling at our bones, our breath, the muscles in our jaws where everything clenched tight with restraint. We didn’t move because the second we did, it would become real. Irrevocable. And we weren’t ready to be ruined by it.

I clenched my fists and focused on the rain. On the weight of it soaking through my sleeves. The pressure in my chest refused to release.

Richard’s eyes stayed locked on mine, his jaw working, like if he said one more word his wolf would take over.

My own wolf didn’t retreat. She watched him like she was preparing to pounce, her breath hot against the inside of my ribs.