MAEVE'S POV
There were quite a few things I never thought I'd have the privilege to see. Lydia Cross being extremely terrified was one of them.
All it had taken was for me to pull out a dagger—and then dish out a half-assed threat—to get the job done.
I watched her eyes widen with fear—a reflexive reaction to the tip of my dagger pressed against the papery skin of her throat.
She tried to move away from me, but her legs were way too swollen—hindering her movements.
It gave me great pleasure to conclude that the Alpha Queen was royally screwed. A burst of excitement fluttered through my stomach at the thought.
"H-How dare you? I am y-your Luna," she stuttered, trying to hide her terror with a huff of indignation. "You would never make it past the gates if you try. Ivan would surely rip your nasty throat off."
"When are you going to come to the realization that I don't give a damn about what you say? Sorry to break it to you, but you no longer call the shots." I pinned her with a sharp, reprimanding look. "Perhaps you need me to show you just how far you've fallen from your shiny horse of power."
I angled even closer, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, my dagger still pressed against her throat.
This time, I took things a step further. I jabbed the dagger's tip deeper into her flesh. Not enough to draw blood—but enough to sting.
"Don't," Lydia wheezed, trembling with the effort it took to hide the depths of her fear. "D-don't hurt me."
"What was that?" I preened, my eyes shining with amusement. "We've stooped to begging now, have we?"
"I'm not begging," she swallowed the thickness in her throat, grappling with her fast-diminishing sense of pride.
It was ludicrous how she could still care so much about her pride, given the way she looked.
I doubted anyone could take her seriously looking like this. Sick. Pale. Deranged.
"I'm merely trying to stop you from throwing your life away," she continued, trying to find the right words to dissuade me. "Because that's what you'll be doing if you kill me."
"You know, Lydia," I taunted, wiping every trace of humor from my voice. "Given the awful things you've done, I'm surprised how much you seem to fear dying. What does a bitter old hag like you still have to live for?"
"Think about Asha. You'd be putting him in danger if you do this."
Lydia gasped in shock when I suddenly pulled my dagger away from her throat and began to run its tip along the skinny contours of her shoulders, and then down the length of her arm.
"Here's the first thing—you're going to leave my son's name out of your scheming little mouth," I stressed, giving her a warning look. "Second of all, you're in no position to make demands from me. The balance of power has shifted, whether you like it or not, and I am no longer the naïve little girl you used to know."
"Indeed, you're not," she spat at me, looking disgusted. "I can see you're a murderous slut now."
"A murderous slut," I smirked at her. "Oh Lydia. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now. I guess you could say I enjoy having your life in the palm of my hand—more than I enjoy the thought of you dead. For as long as I can remember, you've always had the power. Now, you finally get a taste of what it's like to be a victim."
"I am nobody's victim. Definitely not yours. I'd rather die first than be your victim."
"It's not up to you. And to prove that, I'm going to cut your hair off."
"What?" Lydia inhaled sharply. I didn't realize it was possible for her to grow paler, but she did. "You're joking."
"No, I'm not. I'm going to cut off every last strand of your hair, Lydia. Now hold still."
I raised my dagger to the silky strands of her hair. It was the only thing about her that still seemed to glow.
Lydia took one look at my descending dagger and began to scream her lungs raw.
"No! Get away from me! You bitch! I'd much rather die than have my hair cut off!"
She flailed her arms, intent on putting up a fight.
Before things could get out of hand, I tightened my hold on the hilt of the dagger and rammed it against the side of her head—knocking her out cold.
She fell backwards, her neck lolling against the pillows. Much better.
A shot of adrenaline coursed through my veins as I gripped a handful of her hair and began cutting it all off.
I made quick work of the greying, lush strands. Within minutes, the Alpha Queen was bald.
It was the first step in my personal revenge against her, and it felt fucking good.
I hid my dagger back inside my underwear and pulled out a herb knife, planting it at the foot of the mattress.
Just then, there was a sudden knock on the door. It startled me.
"Maeve? Mother?" The knock came a second time, louder, and my heart skipped a beat.
Ivan.
What the hell was he doing here this early in the morning?
Pitting or not, I never would've pegged him as the type to pay a morning visit to the Alpha Queen's rooms.
Unless—he wanted to catch me in the act of doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing. That had to be it.
When the knock came a third time, I pulled myself out of my spiral and rushed to unlock the door.
Ivan stood on the other side, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
He was just as tall as the last time I'd seen him. Dressed in all black—a black cashmere turtleneck tucked into tailored slacks—radiating that same dangerous, alluring mystery.
He looked like he had just stepped out of the shower. His hair was still damp, strands hanging loosely over his brows.
He looked mouthwatering.
And Goddess, he smelled amazing—spearmint soap mixed with musky cologne.
I noticed, rather belatedly, that he didn't look happy.