The Masked Princess Bound To The King She Hates
Princess Ella walks down the aisle to marry the man who destroyed her life.
Behind her mask lies a secret powerful enough to bring a kingdom to its knees-and a revenge plan years in the making. To the world, she is a quiet and obedient queen. In truth, she is a survivor who has come to finish what war began.
But King Augustine is not a man easily deceived.
Cold, intelligent, and dangerously observant, he quickly realizes his new bride is hiding more than she shows. Instead of exposing her, he watches... waits... and begins a silent game where every glance, every word, and every move becomes a test.
As tension builds inside the palace, a survivor from Ella's past arrives-someone who can reveal her identity and destroy everything she has planned.
Now trapped between revenge and survival, Ella must decide how far she is willing to go.
Because in a marriage built on lies, one truth could ruin them both-
or bring them closer than either ever intended.
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Chapter 2
The feast seemed to lengthen out into infinity.
The great hall was filled with music, which mingled with the laughter, the sound of glasses, and the murmur of the nobles who were willing to impress their new king and queen. There were golden lights that were twinkling on the polished floors as dancers moved gracefully with their elegance concealing the tension that was just under the surface.
Queen Ella was seated next to King Augustine, and her pose was perfect, her face concealed with a mask. She had hardly taken a bite of her food. All the movements, all the words, all the glances in the hall were a play she could not allow herself to flunk.
Eat, King Augustine said to her.
She stiffened slightly. It was not an implication, it was an observation.
Yes, I am, she said, but her plate was almost untouched.
He did not argue, but she felt the slight change of his focus on her. Watching. Noticing. Always noticing.
Queen Ella took up her fork, and had to bite a little. The flavor escaped her; her thoughts were away, ever on the alert, ever on the reckoning. This wasn't a celebration. It was a battle-field. and she was encircled.
Nobles bowed their heads across the hall as King Augustine glanced over them. Power emanated out of him like a breeze, as though the whole room was at his beck and call. This was the man she was to ruin. The idea held her. She maintained her head straight, without looking directly at him.
Do you not like celebrations? he suddenly asked.
The query startled her.
No, she replied after a moment. I simply like more quiet places.
"Do you?" His voice was noncommittal, yet there was something investigative about it.
Queen Ella said nothing. She could feel the conversation veering into more perilous territory, so she stayed quiet.
After a moment, King Augustine rose to his feet. The hall quieted down immediately.
Go on, he said to the crowd, and his voice could be heard easily. It is early in the night.
But his eyes darted a moment at his new weeded wife Queen Ella, and she knew. This part was over.
The stroll back to the royal apartments was not the same. The sound of the feast died away behind them and in its place was the low murmur of their steps along the stone walks. The air was colder. Heavier. More intimate.
Queen Ella was walking beside him, all too conscious of the distance between them--and of how simply it might be lost. As they walked into the chamber the doors closed behind them with a deep, final sound. There was a silence that fell upon them, pushing against her chest.
King Augustine was the first to do so, untying the knot of his cloak and laying it aside. His gestures were very gentle and slow, as though he were perfectly at his ease. Ella stood where she was, waiting and watching.
Will you stand there all night, he said, not looking at her.
I would rather be on the safe side, she said.
That won her a look--a quick one--but that was sufficient to hasten her heartbeat.
"Cautious," he repeated. "Of me?"
Through the mask Queen Ella looked up at him. "Should I not be?"
A pause. Then, surprisingly-
"No."
The reply was too readily, too placidly. Nothing threatened her as much as this did.
King Augustine turned his back on her, and reached to the fastening at the back of his tunic. She hesitated a moment. Then she spoke.
"You were injured."
He paused, no more than a moment, but she saw.
"I've been in many battles," he said.
"That's not what I meant."
Before she could prevent it the words came out. King Augustine turned and Queen Ella went nearer, her eyes fixed on something which she had just seen as he passed. The cloth behind him had slipped. And there-a scar.
Not small. Not shallow. It made a jagged, uneven cut across his back, as though it had been struck with violence and purpose. It was old, but not forgotten. The breath of Queen Ella stopped, and her heart leaped. She knew that scar. Not by sight, by memory. Out of the tales whispered in fright. Since the night it all caught fire.That, she said, with a lower voice.
"That..." she began, her voice quieter now. Where did you get it?
King Augustine did not turn to her this time.
War, he said simply.
War. The term reverberated in her head. Her fingers were slightly curled on her sides. Because she knew better. It was no common battle wound.That scar. it was the result of the invasion of her father kingdom. That scar... it came from the attack on her father's kingdom. Since the night his army invaded the palace. Since all that she loved was ruined.
Her heart sank, and she struggled not to move.
You talk about it and I have heard you, she said, her voice very carefully checked.
Should I not? he answered.
Queen Ella looked him over.
You almost died at that, she said.
This time he whipped around, his eyes becoming more focused.
Knowest thou that?
The question was more of a blow than it ought to have been. Queen Ella froze. There was a moment of silence between them. Dangerous. Too dangerous.
I--, she was about to say, when she checked herself. "It looks severe."
King Augustine gazed longer this time, as though he were weighing her words, trying to find something under them. Then he came slowly nearer.
The heart of Queen Ella fluttered.
You see better than most, he said to himself.
His voice was not accusatory, though conscious. And that was worse. Queen Ella struggled not to withdraw, not to respond, not to show anything.
I see what I see before me, she said.
"Do you?"
Another step. Too close now. Her breath was caught, yet she stood her ground. Augustine glanced a moment at her mask, and then at her.
And what have you seen. my queen?
The question hung, ponderous. Queen Ella could feel it rubbing up against her, and it was a challenge to her control. She raised her head a little.
That thou art not as thou seemest.
She could not help saying the words. A mistake. She was aware of it at once. Something had changed in his face--a little, but there was no mistaking it. Interest.
The silence which followed was not the same. Charged. Alive. King Augustine read her as though she had just told him more than she meant to.
You talk with caution, he said finally.
"I try to."
And yet, he said, with a lower voice, you say things that are to the contrary.
The heartbeat of Queen Ella was beating in her ears. She had gone too near the truth, and he had observed. Of course he had. This was no man to be easily fooled.
You are wrong, she said.
"Am I?"
He called out in a sudden. Queen Ella drew a breath, but his fingers, rather than falling on her face, ran delicately along the sewing of her sleeve. A mere gesture, but it was intentional. Controlled.
"You are full of contradictions," he murmured.
Her breath caught.
And you are full of secrets, she thought before she could restrain herself.
Another mistake. Another silence. This time, heavier than ever. King Augustine never took his eyes off her--not a moment.
Be careful, he said.
It was not the word of warning, it was the promise. Queen Ella shivered. As at that moment she knew something. It was no ordinary marriage. Not just a game. It was a fight of consciousness. And she wasn't the only one playing.
Queen Ella stood by the window again, her mind troubled, later when the candles burned low and the palace was quiet. Everything came back to her: the scar, what he said, what he looked at. He knew something. Not all, but enough to be hazardous.
She heard movement behind her--slow, deliberate. She didn't turn, but she spoke.
You continue to watch me.
A pause. Then-
"Yes."
Her breath stilled.
And why not? she said.
It was answered after a moment--quiet, sure.
Since you are not what you pretend to be.
The heart of Queen Ella sank. The room was still--heavy, unforgiving. And then--King Augustine spoke, this time lower, nearer.
So say me. who did I marry just now?
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9.1
Julian Laurent was known as the most notorious playboy in Rivermont, changing girlfriends as often as he changed his clothes and treating marriage like a joke.
Clara Sterling, on the other hand, had always been the most quiet and obedient daughter of the Sterling family. Raised as the heir since childhood, she had been flawless in every word and every gesture.
A family-arranged marriage forced these two complete opposites into the same life.
On their wedding night, Julian openly made out with a young model at a nightclub.
For the first time, Clara cast aside her propriety, slapping him and demanding a divorce on the spot.
But before the next day was over, their families had forced them to remarry.
This time, Julian managed to stay faithful for a month before he cheated again.
Clara filed for divorce once more, cutting ties with him completely.
However, that very same day, it was revealed that Clara was not the real daughter of the Sterling family, and she was thrown out.
At her lowest point, Julian found her and solemnly promised to protect her from then on.
They remarried again, and from that day forward, the scandals surrounding Julian ceased.
Everyone said Clara was lucky. Even her best friend insisted that Julian had truly settled down, and Clara believed it.
Until she saw him in a hospital corridor, holding her best friend's hand, his voice strained with deep emotion, "I never liked her. You're the one I've always loved!"
It turned out all of his tenderness had been a lie.
This time, she walked away and never looked back.
And the man who had once treated her as disposable only realized after she was gone that he had long since drowned in her quiet love, unable to escape.
9.1
Cora crash-landed her escape pod on a brutal alien planet, only to be immediately hunted by a massive six-eyed beast.
A colossal black wolf dropped from the canopy and crushed the beast's neck to save her. But before she could even breathe, the wolf transformed into a towering, naked primitive man with glowing gold eyes.
He hauled her back to his savage tribe, where she was instantly treated like garbage. The women sneered at her fragile human body, and the men eyed her like fresh meat.
The tribe leader's jealous daughter even handed her a waterskin laced with a terrifying alien breeding drug, hoping to turn Cora into a mindless spectacle of lust in front of the entire settlement.
"Drink. You look like you're dying," the daughter sneered, waiting for Cora to lose her mind.
Cora was terrified and completely out of her depth. She didn't understand why this lethal Alpha warrior looked at her with such dark, consuming possessiveness, or why he was willing to slaughter his own people just to protect her.
How was a stranded human supposed to survive in a terrifying world where every plant, beast, and local wanted her dead?
"BEEP! Critical Warning! Liquid contains high concentrations of alien aphrodisiac herbs," her implanted AI assistant suddenly echoed in her skull.
Looking at the hostile tribe and the fiercely protective Alpha shielding her, Cora silently activated her tech interface. She wasn't just going to be a helpless pet in this savage world.
9.2
When Alma's father stood in front of the bulldozers to protest, the energy company's thugs beat him half to death in the mud.
Instead of arresting the attackers, the police handcuffed her bleeding father and threw him into a cruiser.
"Stay back, kid," the officer barked, shoving Alma away.
Her father was denied bail and framed for assaulting an officer. The corrupt mayor just smiled and told her not to cause a scene. Meanwhile, the company mailed her weeping mother a severance check that barely covered a month of groceries.
Alma was forced to watch her family be completely destroyed by men with money and power.
Kneeling in the cold dirt where her father's blood had spilled, she didn't shed a single tear. The panic in her chest died, replaced by a cold, absolute hatred.
She realized that crying wouldn't do anything. In this world, justice didn't exist for the weak.
Years later, Alma stepped onto a prestigious Ivy League campus, her cheap backpack slung over her shoulder.
She was surrounded by the arrogant children of the very executives who ruined her life.
She lowered her head, hiding her dead eyes, and put on the perfect mask of a timid, helpless charity case.
Undergrad was just a training ground, and these elite kids were just her practice dummies. The hunt was officially on.
8.0
For six years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Wall Street titan Francis Castro. I suffocated my own ambitions to fit into his conservative world.
But while I waited alone at a Michelin restaurant, a news alert popped up. My husband had just dropped millions on an aquamarine diamond necklace for his "muse," Chanelle.
The real nightmare began when I rushed home to find our five-year-old son in severe anaphylactic shock. I frantically called Francis from the ambulance, but he manually rejected my calls. He couldn't leave the bidding war for Chanelle's PR launch.
When he finally arrived at the ER, Chanelle was right beside him, wearing that blinding multi-million-dollar necklace. He didn't ask about our dying son.
"Why weren't you watching him?" he demanded, his voice hard and accusing.
And when my son woke up, hazy from the drugs, he rejected my touch and reached for Chanelle instead. Francis just stood there, praising Chanelle for knowing exactly how to calm him down.
I stared at the three of them looking like a perfect, happy family. Six years of swallowing my pride, only to realize my husband would let our son choke to death just to buy another woman's smile.
The last thread of my heart snapped. I handed him the divorce papers, demanding zero alimony. Then, I drove to a hidden Brooklyn loft, cut off my hair, and unlocked my safe.
It was time to resurrect my true identity—the legendary fashion designer, Ember.J. I am going to burn her empire to the ground.
8.3
Half a month into our cold war, I, Claire Parker, found an abortion procedure slip tucked inside Daniel Carter's suit pocket.
The patient's name belonged to the fragile little childhood sweetheart he had always protected so fiercely-Sophie Bennett.
I folded the paper calmly and slipped it back where I had found it.
Daniel noticed the movement immediately. His eyes flicked toward me through the rearview mirror, resignation coloring his voice.
"What are you overthinking now? Sophie was just keeping a friend company at the hospital. She accidentally left it there."
I turned toward the window and said nothing.
This was Sophie declaring war on me, yet the man who could crush competitors without mercy in the business world believed her completely.
The silence inside the car grew suffocating until Daniel finally stopped outside an upscale jewelry boutique.
He reached over and ruffled my hair with easy familiarity, his tone indulgent and affectionate.
"Come on. Pick out a ring. Your birthday's next month anyway, so we might as well register our marriage too."
I bit down hard on my lip as tears fell soundlessly onto the back of my hand.
What he still didn't know was that I wouldn't live long enough to see next month.
8.6
Today was my father's grand second wedding, but for me, it was the anniversary of my mother's death.
My new stepmother, Marley, who was only four years older than me, cornered me. To establish her dominance as the new Luna, she ordered her servants to force me to my knees and violently ripped my late mother's necklace from my neck.
It was the only memento my mother had left me. Marley sneered, threw it to the ground, and shattered the gems. When I scrambled to pick up the broken pieces, she dug her high-heeled shoe into the back of my hand, mocking me as dirty trash. No one stepped in to help. My father was too busy celebrating his new marriage under the dazzling lights, completely erasing my mother's memory and leaving me to be abused in my own pack.
My heart was full of grievance and despair. Why did my mother's lifelong devotion end with her grave desolate and her daughter humiliated? I swore I would never become a weak, discarded she-wolf whose life depended on a man.
Desperate to escape the suffocating wedding, I ran outside and stumbled right into the chest of a terrifying stranger.
"No one should ever touch what is precious to you."
His golden eyes blazed with fury as sparks instantly shot through my veins. He was Kade Blackwood, the ruthless Alpha of the feared Blood Moon Pack—and my fated mate.