{Third Person}
Alexander shushed her. His voice was barely a whisper, almost soothing.
Amara's struggling slowed for a split second. She hadn't wanted to at first, but the sound was so close, so intimate, yet felt wrong in every way.
His red eyes never left hers, so the pressure tightened.
Her lungs burned, and just as darkness edged into her vision, a gentle rapping brushed past her ears.
Knock
The sound was distant. Then—
Knock. Knock.
The sound grew louder, breaking through the suffocating haze. Then the pressure around her throat vanished, and she jolted upright.
Air rushed violently into her lungs as she clutched her throat, drenched in sweat. Her skin still remembered the touch.
Bright light filtered through the curtains. There was no one else in the room with her.
She placed a trembling hand over her pounding heart, attempting to steady herself as she understood it was all a nightmare. But the echo of that soft, terrifying 'Shh' still bothered her.
Just then, another series of knocks pulled her attention back to the present.
"Lady Amara," a familiar female voice called gently from outside. "Your lunch is served."
---
Several minutes later, Amara had just settled into her seat at the dining table when two female servants quietly entered to pour tea. They moved cautiously, stealing glances at her as if still unsure how to treat the human bride.
Amara looked at the food before her. Her appetite had not come back, and the memory of that nightmare still lingered on her skin.
"Lady Amara," one of the servants said gently, "the dishes were prepared fresh—"
Suddenly, the doors burst open. The sound was so sudden that both servants gasped, nearly dropping the teapot.
Royal guards flooded the dining hall, and instantly, the room shrank. The two servants stepped back in shock, their faces draining of colour as they recognized the King's insignia.
Amara stiffened. She rose slowly, though her pulse was already racing. "What is happening?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even.
The lead guard's gaze was cold. "Amara Caldwell, you are to come with us immediately," he announced, loud enough for everyone present to hear.
The servants looked at one another in alarm. "W-What has happened?" one of them dared to ask.
The guard did not answer her. Instead, he turned his attention back to Amara. "You stand accused of entering this palace under false identity."
The words hit her like a slap. 'False identity?' she repeated in her mind. First came confusion, then fear.
Just then, the younger servant covered her mouth in shock. "That can't be—" she began, but fell silent when a guard's glare silenced her.
Amara felt the ground shift beneath her as two guards stepped forward and seized her arms firmly enough to make it clear she was no longer a guest.
"Wait!" one of the servants cried out instinctively. "Should we inform His Highness—"
The guard cut her off sharply. "The King's orders outrank all."
Amara's breath came faster. 'The King?'
She did not resist as they led her away, but her heart was pounding fiercely now. She had no allies here, not one who could help her.
But who would dare accuse her of impersonation?
---
The great hall felt colder than before, larger, and more menacing as Amara was forced to her knees. This time, it seemed accusatory.
Queen Lysandra held a letter between her fingers. Her expression was furious. "We received this," she said, lifting the parchment. "An anonymous report." Her eyes burned into Amara. "It states that you are not the biological daughter of Anthony Caldwell."
Amara's vision blurred for a second. 'So… it has reached them? The truth I had tried to bury. The truth father had forced into silence.'
"Have the Humans grown so bold?" the Queen demanded as she rose halfway from her seat. "To send us a counterfeit bride?" Then her gaze swept the court as murmurs from the werewolf officials who were invited arose. "Or is this their declaration of war?"
'War?' The word slammed into Amara's chest. She could feel the blood draining from her face. This wasn't just about her. This was about two nations.
Her throat tightened painfully. She could confess and end it now. But the consequences lined up clearly in her mind.
If she admitted the truth, she would be executed immediately for deception. And the Werewolves would march under the banner of betrayal.
If she lied and was exposed later, the result would be the same. Either way, blood would follow. Her lips trembled before she could control them. Just then, the Queen's voice sharpened in her direction.
"Speak."
Amara felt that if she held firm… if her father maintained the lie, then the burden would not fall on her alone. So, she lifted her head.
"The letter is false," she said, but this time her voice wasn't as steady. "I am Anthony Caldwell's daughter."
"And where is your proof?" the Queen demanded instantly.
Amara's thoughts raced. She had searched her belongings for them while unpacking her things earlier this afternoon. Every piece of identification that could save her now—birth record, identification documents, official seals—had not been packed.
This was either a mere coincidence or someone had made sure of it. She was standing in a trap that had been carefully laid.
"The Human Parliament can confirm my identity," she said carefully. "You may request official verification."
A thin smile curved the Queen's lips. "And trust the Humans to confirm their own deception?"
The court murmured again.
Then Queen Lysandra leaned slightly forward. "And why was your arrival date moved forward?"
Amara felt every eye in the hall on her. She could not mention her attempted escape. She could not mention her father's desperation. Every answer risked something greater, so she chose silence.
Finally, the King, who hadn't said a word from the beginning, spoke, his voice deep and decisive. "Until your identity is verified, you will remain confined."
The words struck like a death sentence.
"No—" The protest escaped Amara's lips before she could stop it. "Your Majesty, please," she said quickly, her voice breaking now as her composure shattered. "I swear to you, I did not deceive anyone. I would never invite war upon my people."
Her fear was no longer hidden. "I don't know who sent that letter," she continued desperately. "But I am not your enemy."
The Queen's expression did not soften. "Take her," she ordered without hesitation.
This time, the guards pulled her up roughly. Her heart was racing so violently she thought she might faint.
She had heard stories. About how werewolves dealt with traitors. About how they extracted confessions. About how the suspects rarely left their dungeons alive.
As they dragged her through darker corridors, panic clawed at her chest. She didn't want to die here, at least not before knowing who she truly was.
---
The dungeon door creaked open, and the smell of damp earth hit her instantly.
"No—please—" the words slipped from her despite her pride. Immediately, cold chains snapped around her wrists and ankles. Then the door slammed shut, and darkness swallowed her whole.
Amara had entered this land as a political bride. But in less than a day, she became a prisoner accused of sparking war. Fear truly took hold of her now.
'Who sent the letter?' Her thoughts spiralled. 'Father? Lila? Torin?'
Or someone within this palace who wanted her gone?