Two in the morning—the hour when human physiology is at its lowest ebb, and the perfect moment for Charlotte to move.
She used the chaos of a staged "Berserker episode" from Ragnar in the living quarters to draw away a massive contingent of guards.
While the wolf-soldiers scrambled to contain the King, Charlotte hacked into the basement's biometric surveillance, inducing a momentary signal short-circuit that forced the cameras into a five-second frozen loop.
Five seconds. More than enough time for a high-tier Alpha to infiltrate.
Charlotte landed soundlessly, effortlessly ghosting past the laser sensors on the floor. She approached the safe Valeria had just left.
It was a complex beast—a hybrid lock combining ancient werewolf incantations with modern biometric security. One wrong move would trigger a Tier-1 alarm and lethal countermeasures.
She moved in perfect sync with the playback from her infrared camera. When she reached the facial recognition phase, she bypassed the system again, injecting a one-time low-level template.
[Analyzing... Template detected... 99% Match... Lock disengaged.]
Click. The heavy door swung open.
The Royal Signet lay resting on a velvet cushion.
As Charlotte's fingers drew near, the ring once dormant, began to hummed with a light, melodic vibration, sending a wave of warm energy coursing through her body.
"Old King," Charlotte whispered, her eyes stinging. "I promise, your death will be avenged."
She quickly pulled a microscopic sensor from her collar—a device forged from Edric's alloys and her own custom tech. She didn't take the ring; that would only tip her hand too early.
Instead, she expertly tucked the sensor into the crevice beneath the ring's gemstone and used her "Administrator" access to rewrite a few lines of the artifact's feedback code.
"Valeria, I'm going to make sure that the higher you climb, the harder you'll hit the pavement."
[Background command bound. Sensor operational.] A confirmation flashed on her mobile terminal.
She was halfway to the exit when the heavy thud of boots hit the floor outside.
"Lady Valeria, what brings you back so late?" a guard asked.
"I'm uneasy. I felt like someone was watching me," Valeria's low voice drifted closer, the beam of a high-powered flashlight already sweeping the far end of the corridor.
Charlotte scanned the room. The vault was a dead end with zero cover. Her eyes sharpened as she gripped the hilt of her dagger, preparing to fight her way out.
A violent explosion ripped through the air, drowning out the silence, Rowan's voice cut through the air like sandpaper.
"Get out of my way, you brainless mutts! The air here is perfect for cultivating my herbs. Who are you to stop a doctor?"
Valeria gasped, hissed a curse, and turned to run toward the entrance.
Charlotte finally exhaled, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders, and she was slick with cold sweat. She knew the men were covering for her.
Outside, Valeria burst into the hallway to find Edric and Rowan standing their ground—the perfect "good cop, bad cop" routine.
"Rowan's had a bit too much to drink. He's insisting the dampness down here is ideal for growing 'Heart-Break Grass,'" Edric explained with a charming, apologetic smile as he supported a swaying Rowan.
"Apologies, Miss Valeria. You know how doctors are—high-maintenance."
"The vaults are restricted! Guests or not, you are trespassing!" Valeria's face was livid.
"Restricted?" Rowan suddenly opened his eyes, looking terrifyingly sober. "Valeria, why do I smell... burnt flesh on you? Coming right from your fingertips. "
"As a doctor, I have to warn you—if you don't treat that, your hand is going to rot off."
Valeria's right hand curled into a fist, instinctively hiding behind her back—the exact spot where the ring had scorched her.
Flustered, she dismissed them all, completely unaware that the micro-camera in Edric's watch had already captured the injury.
An hour later, the White Wolf dark web lit up.
A high-definition photo was pinned to the top of the homepage. It showed the ghastly black scabs between Valeria's fingers—the unmistakable sign of rejection.
The caption was simple: [The Sovereign's Crown: It burns the hand of the pretender.]
"Look at that! Valeria can't even wear the ring!" "Are the rumors true? Did she kill the King? Is the ring rejecting her?"
The backlash grew exponentially.
In her quarters, Charlotte watched the engagement on her tablet, her gaze piercing.
She took Rowan's photo and used it to generate a series of deep-fake GIFs showing Valeria's "infection" spreading, fanning the flames of the digital wildfire.
"The pressure is high enough," Charlotte said, looking at the three men sitting on the sofa, all staring at her with varying degrees of intensity.
"Charlotte, I played the drunk fool for half an hour to save your skin," Rowan huffed, leaning in until his nose was nearly touching her neck. "So, how are you going to make it up to me?"
"On coronation day, I'm going to personally slide that ring onto your finger," Ragnar growled, pulling her into his lap to keep Rowan at bay. "Until then, you're staying right here."
Edric sat nearby, sipping his tea with practiced elegance. "Valeria is a cornered animal now. To save herself, she'll go to Authur to strike a deal. And that deal... well, that's where her real nightmare begins."
Valeria tore through her room, smashing every vase in sight, as the public backlash tore her reputation to shreds.
Then, Magnus pushed the door open, his eyes full of malice. "Valeria, don't panic. If the ring won't acknowledge you, then use the lives of Charlotte's loyalists to silence the dissenters. A little blood goes a long way."
On the other end of the bug, Charlotte heard the phrase "use their lives," and her eyes went ice-cold with a lethal intent.
"You want a blood sacrifice? Fine. I'll make sure you're the one who pays the debt."