My Alpha Ordered My Heart Cut Out for His Mistress Chapter 07

My Alpha Ordered My Heart Cut Out for His Mistress Chapter 07

The heavy double doors of the Grand Council Hall swung open with a resonance that silenced every whisper. I stood at the threshold, my heart hammering against my ribs as hundreds of eyes turned toward me. The gold and black gown I wore-the Royal colors-felt like armor against my skin, its weight both burden and protection.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Elena Hamilton,” the announcer’s voice boomed through the hall, echoing off ancient stone walls that had witnessed centuries of werewolf law and politics.

I stepped forward, feeling the power of my newly discovered Royal Aura pulsing beneath my skin. King Reign-my father-walked to my right, his presence commanding respect without effort. Forest flanked my left, his usual stoicism softened by something that looked almost like

pride.

The silence in the hall was deafening. I could hear the collective intake of breath as the

assembled Alphas and their Lunas processed what they were seeing-me, the supposed rogue, walking with the dignity of royal blood.

“Impossible,” someone whispered.

“The lost Princess,” another voice murmured.

I kept my gaze forward, refusing to acknowledge the whispers. But I couldn’t miss Paxton’s reaction. His jaw had dropped, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at me from his seat in the front row. Beside him, Chloe clutched the armrests of her wheelchair, her face draining of

color.

“This is absurd,” Paxton sputtered, rising to his feet. “This woman is a convicted criminal-”

“Silence.” My father’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “You will address the Princess with the respect her station deserves.”,

Paxton’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged. For the first time since I’d known

him, he seemed at a loss for words.

I continued down the center aisle, aware of every eye following my progress. The Royal Aura around me glowed faintly-visible only to those with the sight to see it-but its power was

unmistakable.

When I reached the front of the hall, I turned to face the assembled crowd. Forest stepped forward, his expression grim but determined.

“Before we proceed with today’s Council,” he announced, “there is evidence that must be

presented.”

He gestured toward the center of the room, where an ancient stone pedestal stood. Upon it rested a crystal orb-the Projection Stone, used for centuries to reveal truths that could not be

denied.

“Princess Elena,” Forest said, extending his hand toward the stone.

I placed my palm against its cool surface, feeling it pulse with ancient magic. “I call upon the truth,” I whispered, the words of invocation rising naturally to my lips.

The stone began to glow, brightening until it cast rainbow patterns across the walls and ceiling. Then, like water flowing into a vessel, the light coalesced into images above the pedestal.

The first video materialized in stunning clarity-Paxton and Arlo in the sterile confines of the pack clinic, their faces illuminated by harsh fluorescent light.

“Once we get her heart,” Paxton was saying, his voice echoing through the hall, “Chloe will finally be strong enough to take her rightful place as Luna.”

Arlo nodded, his young face twisted with a hatred that made my heart constrict. “She deserves worse than death,” my son said coldly. “She’s nothing but a rogue.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd as the video continued, showing Paxton examining surgical tools, discussing the best way to extract a living heart.

The second video began playing seamlessly after the first-the mercenary leader strapped to a chair, his eyes unfocused from the truth serum.

“Paxton hired us to extract the target’s heart,” he stated flatly. “His exact words were ‘cut out her heart and bring it in a cooler.’ He said it was for a transplant.”

The attending Alphas and Lunas gasped in horror, several rising to their feet in outrage. The Shadow Creek pack members present in the gallery looked at their Alpha with undisguised disgust.

“Turn it off!” Paxton shouted, lunging toward the pedestal.

Forest intercepted him with casual efficiency, pinning him to his seat with a single hand. “The truth has been spoken,” he said coldly. “There is no turning back.”

I watched as the crowd’s demeanor shifted-the sympathetic nods that had greeted Paxton’s earlier accusations now replaced with suspicion and anger.

But it was Arlo’s reaction that captured my attention. My son stood frozen in the second row,

staring at the screen where his own image spat venom at me. For the first time, he was seeing himself through others’ eyes-seeing the monster he had become under his father’s influence.

His face crumpled as realization dawned, his young shoulders sagging as if bearing an invisible weight. When his eyes met mine across the room, I saw something I hadn’t seen in years-the shadow of the boy I once knew, trapped behind a mask of hatred that was beginning to crack.