Mateo's POV
I watched from the upper balcony as Madeline walked away from the garden bench, hips swaying like she'd just won a war she started. Violet stayed seated, back straight, staring after her with that new, quiet fire in her eyes, the same fire she'd shown on the dance floor when she spoke of "unity" loud enough for half the room to hear.
My fingers tightened around the stone railing until I felt the edges bite into my palms.
Madeline had gone too far. I'd told her to behave, to keep the performance clean. Rubbing our supposed "history" in Violet's face wasn't part of the arrangement. It was personal. Vindictive. And it had worked. Violet's scent had spiked with hurt before it hardened into rage. She was definitely growing, nothing like the crybaby that walked into here few days ago.
I should have stopped it. Should have dragged Madeline away the second she opened her mouth. But I didn't.
Because part of me, the weak, cowardly part wanted Violet to hate me. I wanted her to stop looking at me like I was the better option. I liked her, but I didn't have the courage to start a war I couldn't win with Mark. It was best to forget about her, but how could I do such a thing when she was all I ever thought about.
I turned away from the railing and headed down the side staircase. The pack house corridors were emptying now, dusk bleeding into night, most guests gone or retired to guest wings. I needed to find Madeline before she did more damage.
She was in the east parlor, pouring herself a glass of wine like nothing had happened. The moment I stepped inside, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled that practiced, glittering smile.
"Darling," she purred. "You look tense."
"What the hell was that in the garden?" My voice came out lower than I intended, edged with growl.
Madeline set the decanter down with deliberate care. "Exactly what it needed to be. A reminder."
"To who?"
"To her." She turned fully, glass in hand. "And maybe to you. Violet is Mark's now. She wears his mark. She sleeps in his bed. If you keep staring at her like a lost puppy every time she enters a room, people will notice. My father will notice. The council will notice. And then your little game of playing the dutiful second twin falls apart."
I stepped closer. "This isn't a game."
"Isn't it?" Her brows lifted. "You asked me to stand beside you tonight so the elders would see a stable alliance. You let me put my scent on you so no one would question why you're still unmated at your age. I'm the one saving you from a lot of humiliation. Don't act surprised when I use the privilege I've earned."
I clenched my jaw. She wasn't wrong. I'd asked for the performance. I'd let her kiss my neck in the shadowed alcove before the ball started, let her laugh too loudly at my jokes, let her cling. All to keep eyes off Violet. All to keep Mark from suspecting how badly the bond still pulled at me.
Madeline was an ally I couldn't risk losing. Her father wasn't a fan of Mark, and he'd promised to back me should I try to overthrow my brother through war. But I had no intention of doing that, at least not anytime soon.
"She didn't ask me to marry her," I said quietly. "She never did."
Madeline tilted her head. "Didn't she? In her eyes, maybe. In the way she looked at you tonight, like you were the only safe thing in this entire viper pit. You think I didn't see it? You think Mark didn't?"
My wolf snarled low in my chest. The thought of Mark sensing even a fraction of what I felt for Violet made my blood run hot.
"Stay away from her," I said. "No more garden visits. No more barbed little comments. You play your part, smile, dance, look devoted. But you don't speak to her again unless I say so."
Madeline studied me for a long moment, then gave a small, mocking shrug. "As you wish, Alpha Mateo. But remember if you hurt me, my father's warriors walk away. And you'll be left standing between your violent brother and a mate who's already learning how to twist the knife."
She brushed past me, wine glass still in hand, leaving her floral perfume hanging in the air like an accusation.
I stayed in the parlor long after she left, staring at the dying fire.
The bond hadn't quieted since the introductions. If anything, it had grown louder every time Violet held Mark's gaze without flinching, every time she spoke with that new, measured calm. She wasn't crying tonight. She had grown so much in very little time. And gods help me, it made the pull worse.
I took a deep breath, hoping to steady myself before I could lose my mind.
"Perhaps you should have a drink." Alfred suggested, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
I nodded, settled down on one of the seats while he poured me a cup of wine. "I think I'm losing my mind, Alfred. It's like I'm drunk on something I haven't even tasted, how can I be losing my mind over a mere woman?"
"That one, she's everything but mere." Alfred answered calmly. He was probably right, there was something about her that I couldn't really figure out yet. Something that made every part of my body ache desperately for her. Was this how every mate bond felt, or was I being overly dramatic?
"Do you think it's possible? Do you think it will work?" I asked, unsure why I even did so in the first place. I shouldn't be thinking like that, Violet was Mark's already. I respected my brother very much, yet all I could think about every single time was how to steal his wife.
"It's hard to tell." Alfred started slowly as he lowered his own glass to the table. "It's clear that they're yet to consummate their marriage. If you really want her, then you have to bed her before Mark."