Submission is Not My Style novel Chapter 99

“And then I see it–the throne.

Small and elegant, carved from moonstone. It’s the same one I noticed the last time I was here, the one that called to me without reason. It sits just beside the Alpha King’s larger throne.

Empty but I know it’s mine. My wolf stirs beneath my skin not to fee, but to claim. To take her rightful place.

Yet that’s not what unsettles me most.

It’s the other throne–the queen’s throne.

Its pull is stronger than the one meant for a princess. It doesn’t just call to me. It sings.

Beside me, Jack is still. Too still. I follow his gaze and see it: his eyes locked on the Alpha King’s throne.

His expression is wild, breath shallow. He sways slightly, as if the very air around him has thickened, turned to smoke.

The throne is calling him.

The thrones are calling–to both of us.

Drawing us in like magnets. Whispering truths buried deep in our bones. The world could vanish around us, and we wouldn’t notice.

Because those thrones?

They know who we are.

Jack leans closer to me, jaw tense. “Can you feel that?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, eyes never leaving the stone. “It’s like they’ve been waiting.”

Reluctantly, we turn away.

We take our seats at the far end of the hall–simple, low–backed chairs meant for guests. Not royalty.

But the silence that follows as we sit is loud. Deafening, almost. Every eye remains fixed on us, even though we pretend not to notice. Still, that throne–my throne–whispers to me like a lullaby sung from long ago.

I ignore it.

Barely.

Then the doors at the far end of the hall swing open again–and this time, all attention shifts.

The Alpha King steps into the room like a storm in human form. Heads bow immediately. Hands cross over chests. Jasmine lowers her gaze. Even Fury dips his head, his eyes clouded with emotion.

But Jack and I?

We don’t stand up from our seat or bow.

The air still as the king walks forward with slow, confident steps exuding absolute authority. He wears black threaded with gold, his cloak sweeping behind him like shadowed fire.

And me

I forget how to breathe for a moment. Because now that I know who he is, I can’t see him as just the king.

I see him as my father.

His face hasn’t changed since the first time I saw it. Still strong. Stoic. Chiseled with power and dignity. But now there’s

something else in his eyes that wasn’t there before–something older. Wearier. Sadder.

It takes everything in me not to stand up and run to him and throw myself into his arms like the little girl who once ached for a father’s love. But I stay still. Rooted.

He stops halfway up the marble stairs and turns to face the crowd, his voice strong and smooth as it fills the hall.

“Thank you all for coming. Your presence here today honors not only the crown, but the Queen herself.” His gaze sweeps the room before pausing. “She will be joining us shortly. There has been… as 11 delay.”

He doesn’t look at me, but I feel the pull–an invisible string tightening between us. My heart races. And just before he turns back toward his throne, I swear I hear it.

A breath.

A soft sigh, almost mournful, like he wants to say something but can’t. Like he knows this entire room is not the place or time.

I quickly tear my gaze away before my eyes betray

1. me.

A voice rises from the crowd bold and curious. “My King… will the Princess be joining us? Lady Celestia?”

A long pause follows. And then… nothing.

No flicker of emotion. Not even a smile.

The king’s face goes completely still. “About that there will be

Until then, please–enjoy the celebration. Eat. Drink.‘

”

special announcement made once the Queen arrives,” he says.

16

The tension is a thread pulled taut.

Then-

Boom.

The grand doors open once more.

My heart stops because walking through those doors, chin high and smile

Lady Celestia.

Venom–sweet, is her.

Wearing red. The same shade as mine.

She strides with the grace of someone who’s been trained to be royal her whole life–but I see it. The cracks beneath the surface. The desperation clinging to every swish of her gown.

And then I see it.

Around her neck.

My necklace.

My mother’s necklace.

The one I intentionally planted. The one she was never supposed to wear.

It’s glowing.

Not dimly. Not dying.

Alive. Radiant.

And it isn’t burning her.

I sit straighter, every muscle in my body tightening. Jack shifts beside me. I know he sees it too.

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