Werewolf and 60

Dallas’ p.o.v.

The room went dead silent the moment King Vaughn’s command echoed through the Council Hall. His aura pressed down on everyone present, sharp and undeniable. Even the Elders straightened in their seats, knowing full well that a Royal command bound by aura could not be ignored.

Princess Dezra froze.

Slowly, she sat back down.

Her eyes flickered toward Prince Darron, searching for reassurance, but for the first time since this meeting began, he didn’t meet her gaze.

“Captain Dallas,” King Vaughn says, his voice controlled but strained, “continue.”

I nod once and open the second file I brought with me—the one Alpha Aaron sent after sensing inconsistencies in Dezra’s story.

“Princess Dezra,” I say calmly, “you claimed you lost your child during the five years you were gone. According to Pack and Royal law, a miscarriage—especially involving a Royal—must be reported and medically verified. Who treated you?”

Her lips part, but no sound comes out.

“I… I didn’t trust anyone,” she finally says. “I was alone.”

“That’s impossible,” Elder Venetia interjects sharply. “A Royal pregnancy activates biological markers. Even without medical help, traces would remain.”

Dezra grips the armrests of her chair, knuckles whitening.

I press on.

“Doc confirmed there is no record of a pregnancy, past or present. No residual scarring. No hormonal imprint.”

Queen Eliza gasps softly, covering her mouth.

King Vaughn’s grip tightens on her hand.

“Princess,” I say quietly, “you never carried a child.”

Her breathing becomes erratic.

“That’s not true!” Dezra snaps. “You’re twisting things—”

Prince Darron suddenly stands.

“Enough.”

Every head turns toward him.

“She didn’t lie,” he growls, eyes glowing faintly. “She believed she was pregnant.”

The room erupts in murmurs.

“Explain,” King Vaughn orders.

Prince Darron clenches his jaw. “When we met—seventeen years ago, not twenty—Dezra was unstable. She had just lost her connection bond. She convinced herself she was carrying my child. I… didn’t correct her.”

Silence crashes down like a blade.

“You let her believe that?” Elder Zariah whispers, horrified.

“I was young,” he snarls. “And she was Royal.”

I turn back to Dezra.

“The aura compulsion is still active,” I remind her gently. “Tell us the truth. Why did you leave the Palace?”

Her shoulders slump.

“I wanted to be someone else,” she whispers. “Not a Princess. Not broken. I ran… and when I came back, I couldn’t admit that nothing had happened. That I had lost nothing—because then I’d have to face the truth.”

“And the truth is?” King Vaughn asks, voice cracking.

She looks up at her brother, tears streaming.

“I was never pregnant. I was never mated. I lied… because I was afraid you’d see me as weak.”

The bond in the room snaps.

King Vaughn rises slowly.

“The Council will adjourn,” he says, voice cold and final. “Princess Dezra is stripped of Royal protection until judgment is passed.”

Gasps echo through the hall.

As the guards step forward, I realize one thing with absolute certainty—

This was only the beginning.