Chapter 12

Fiona's POV

"H-Hello, I'm Fiona Sterling. You must be the renowned Miss Green, aren't you?"

I clutched nervously at my skirt, somewhat flustered. "I'm sorry for getting the dress into such a state..."

"That's Caleb Thorne's aesthetic problem, nothing to do with you."

Evelyn cut me off coldly, her tone carrying an undisguised contempt for Caleb.

"This so-called 'Tears of Moonlight' is merely a practice piece I made three years ago—mediocre materials, tailoring reeking of nouveau riche vulgarity. It's utterly unworthy of you."

I froze.

Unworthy of me? But that was something Caleb had spent a fortune to commission...

Evelyn gave me no time to process this. She placed the enormous silver metal case on the bed and opened it with a click.

"Come, darling, try this one on!"

Inside the case lay a gown that seemed woven from the very essence of night itself.

In that instant, the room's lighting seemed to dim, every focal point converging on that single garment.

It wasn't simply black, but rather a profound, ultimate shade of midnight blue, like the most tranquil depths of the ocean in the dead of night.

The entire gown used not a single diamond or gemstone, but instead employed the extraordinarily rare stardust silk—a special fabric that could only be harvested from the ice fields of the far north, refracting delicate, galaxy-like flowing light under illumination.

The neckline and cuffs were embroidered with intricate wolf clan totems in silver thread, and these totems weren't static—they seemed to breathe and run as the fabric moved!

"This is..."

I was too shocked to speak!

"This is my magnum opus, and also my final creation."

Evelyn carefully lifted the gown, her eyes revealing the tenderness and pride of a mother gazing at her child.

"Starting tonight, I will officially close my personal atelier. No matter how much money is offered, I will never design clothes for anyone again."

She raised her head, her gaze burning into mine. "Because I have officially signed on to become the exclusive designer for the Volkov family. This dress is my gift to my new patron, and also the period I place on the first half of my professional career."

I looked at her in disbelief. "You're saying this dress... is for me?"

"Prince Alexander commanded that you be given the very best." Evelyn said matter-of-factly. "In his view, only this gown is worthy of Miss Sterling. As for Caleb Thorne..."

A mocking curve touched her lips, and with a sharp ripping sound, she tore away the hem of the dress I was wearing.

"That type of person who only knows how to pile up vanity with money doesn't deserve to possess my work."

I drew in a deep breath, feeling my heart pounding violently in my chest.

"Come, Miss Sterling." Evelyn extended her hand toward me, her eyes carrying an almost devout solemnity. "Let me dress you in it. Tonight, you should show everyone what true nobility really means."

After bidding farewell to Evelyn, I prepared to return to the ballroom under the guidance of a passing servant.

However, this ancient castle was unimaginably vast. I had intended to retrace my steps, but found myself lost in the labyrinthine corridors. The air around me grew progressively colder, and that heart-palpitating sense of oppression intensified with each step.

Suddenly, a series of dull impacts and suppressed screams came from ahead.

My heart jumped, and instinctively I lightened my footsteps, peering through the half-open carved door into the interior.

It was a circular stone-built hall, torches burning on the surrounding walls, illuminating the central scene like something from the underworld.

Three men covered in blood were suspended in midair by iron chains, beneath them a pool of shocking dark crimson.

Alexander von Volkov sat in a high-backed chair at the center of the hall, one hand supporting his chin, his posture languid yet elegant.

He toyed with an exquisite silver dagger in his hand, those deep blue eyes holding not a trace of warmth in the firelight, as though regarding livestock awaiting slaughter.

Beside him stood Cyril, who had just escorted me to change clothes.

He held a pristine white handkerchief, casually wiping dust from his glasses, utterly indifferent to the bloodshed before him.

"Still won't talk?" Alexander's voice was soft, yet carried a suffocating chill. "Who sent you? The opposition parliamentary organization? The eastern branch of the Night Clan, or perhaps those foolish uncles of mine?"

"Your... Your Highness... we really were just doing a job for money..." one of the men wailed with his dying breath.

"Just doing a job for money?" Alexander laughed lightly, that laugh filled with mockery. "Attempting to assassinate a prince with such crude methods—do you think I'd believe such nonsense?"

He slowly rose to his feet, walking step by step toward the man. His towering figure loomed over them, radiating absolute dominance.

"Since you refuse to speak, then let your souls provide the answers."

Before the words had fully left his lips, the dagger in Alexander's hand slashed out viciously. No fancy techniques, only swift, precise, and ruthless execution.

"Ahhh—!"

The piercing scream cut off abruptly. The man's throat was severed with surgical precision, blood gushing forth.

Alexander didn't even furrow his brow, allowing the corpse to fall like a discarded sack.

The remaining two men were frightened to their very cores, yet couldn't produce a single sound.

"Clean this up." Alexander casually tossed the dagger to the ground, his tone as indifferent as if ordering someone to take out the trash. "Hang their heads on the Red City walls."

"As you command, Your Highness." Cyril smiled as he tucked away his handkerchief, a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes.

Guards swiftly moved forward to drag away the corpses. I pressed my hand firmly over my mouth, not allowing myself to make the slightest sound.

This was Alexander—the rumored cold-blooded and merciless Arctic Wolf Prince.

That scene just now had been cruel and violent, yet also carried a kind of authority that made one tremble.

Those three men must have been the assassins who had ambushed him yesterday.

Each bore the death warrior totem on their chests—that was the most formidable assassination force among the werewolf clans.

They recognized only money, not people.

To escape from under the noses of such powerful killers through his own strength alone, and to have captured and brought them back in just a single day—

I could scarcely imagine how powerful Alexander truly was!

The guards dragged away the corpses, and the hall returned to deathly silence.

I saw that Cyril hadn't left immediately, but instead walked to Alexander's side.

He pulled out a tablet from his coat, his fingers swiping rapidly across it several times before presenting it to Alexander.

"Your Highness, although these were death warriors, I found this on them just now."

Cyril adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, his tone becoming serious. "This is an encrypted communicator that's been circulating on the black market recently. Although the data was destroyed, I recovered some fragments."

Alexander took the tablet, glanced at the contents, and a cold gleam flashed in his eyes. "The West Siberian branch cousin's clan? It seems my suspicions were correct."

"It's not just the branch family." Cyril lowered his voice, his gaze sweeping almost imperceptibly toward the doorway. "Your recent 'conciliatory policy' toward human society has caused extreme dissatisfaction among the conservative faction within the clan. They believe you're bowing to weak humans, sullying the honor of the wolf clan. Especially your plan to open the northern mining fields for cooperation with human enterprises—that directly threatens the interests of those who've built their fortunes on smuggling and plunder."

Alexander gave a cold laugh, tossing the tablet back to Cyril. "A bunch of fools clinging to old rules. Times are changing. If the wolf clan continues to remain complacent, sooner or later we'll be wiped out by humanity's heavy weaponry."

"Everyone understands the logic, but interests are eternal." Cyril sighed. "That cousin of yours has always coveted the prince's position. This time he's allied with several old diehards in the council, hoping to use this assassination to force your abdication, or at least make you lose composure at the Coexistence Council negotiating table."

"Since they enjoy playing these shadowy games so much," Alexander walked to the washbasin, methodically cleaning the blood from his hands, "then let's play along. Cyril, spread word that I'm severely wounded and need to recuperate. I want to see what other tricks these rats will pull when I'm not present."

"Understood." Cyril revealed a fox-like cunning smile. "And this Miss Sterling who's suddenly intruded..."

"She's an accident." Alexander turned off the faucet, and as he turned around, his gaze met mine directly.

A powerful force wrenched the door open with a crash, and I practically tumbled and crawled my way inside!

"I-I'm sorry, I got lost."