Transmigrated as the Crown Prince's Mate-Chapter 207: The Highlanders...

Two days. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

That’s all that remained until the Northern Highlands delegation arrived—and the palace buzzed with nervous energy.

Every corridor was filled with movement: scribes running scrolls to the council chambers, kitchen hands carrying trays of tasting samples, guards polishing their armour, and nobles making themselves conspicuously available in case any foreign eyes might land on them.

And at the centre of it all stood Evelina.

Focused. Efficient. Exhausted.

Her sleeves were rolled up, her hair tied back, a scroll clutched in one hand as she checked off items across three departments at once.

The council had trusted her to run point, maybe even trying to test her, and she refused to fail, even as some individuals had made it a deliberate effort to sabotage her.

Because of course, Selene hadn’t stopped.

If anything, she’d got bolder.

That morning, Evelina arrived at the central hall to oversee final decorations—only to find the entire floor carpeted with the wrong tapestries.

Red. Oakenshaw red.

Not Arcadia’s silver and storm-blue.

A symbol that, to the Highlanders, would signify loyalty to a foreign house—insulting, confusing, and politically disastrous.

Evelina’s jaw clenched. "Where’s the steward in charge of this wing?" she snapped. "Why are we having red instead of silver and storm blue?

A young man approached nervously. "Lady Selene said you’d approved it," he said quickly. "She showed us signed parchments..."

"Bring them to me," Evelina said icily.

Ten minutes later, she stood in the hall, rereading the forged approval letters. Her handwriting was mimicked down to the flourishes, and her seal was faked.

Relia growled in her mind. "She’s getting desperate. Time to take off the gloves."

Evelina didn’t argue.

She walked through the palace with a fierce look in her eyes, her anger barely held back. Finally, she arrived at the northern tower, where Selene had set up her workspace for the event.

The moment she entered the chamber, heads turned.

Advisors. Servants. Even two junior council members were present, speaking to Selene about the banquet wines.

Perfect.

Selene turned from the table, that same placid smile on her face. "Lady Evelina. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You forged my approval," Evelina said, her voice calm but cutting. "For the red tapestries in the grand hall."

Gasps filled the room.

Selene’s smile twitched. "I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding—"

"This is no misunderstanding," Evelina said, louder this time, turning to the others. "You ordered decorations that could destroy the Highlanders’ trust before they even arrive."

One of the advisors glanced at the other, already uncertain.

Selene’s expression tightened. "If someone misread an order, I’m sure we can resolve it without—"

Evelina dropped the forged letters on the table.

"I don’t care how you spin it," she said. "This is clearly sabotage. And I’m done pretending this is anything less."

Selene’s mask slipped—just for a second. Her gaze flashed with venom. "You think just because you share his bed, you’re untouchable and can talk to me as you wish?"

Evelina stepped forward. "No. I think I can talk to you as I wish because I do my job right. Because while you scheme, I serve. While you whisper, I stand in the open."

She turned to the room.

"I’ve taken your insults, your lies, your sabotage—and I stayed quiet. But this?" She jabbed a finger at the parchment. "This was nearly treason."

The chamber was silent.

Selene’s lips parted—searching for a retort, a redirect. But the eyes around her weren’t so sympathetic anymore.

Evelina’s voice dropped, deadly calm. "If you ever forge my name again, I’ll bring it to the full council. Let’s see how much your father’s influence can protect you from official charges."

Selene’s knuckles turned white where she gripped the edge of the table. "You’d drag me through the mud?"

"You already did that yourself."

With one last look around the room—just to make sure every soul had heard her—Evelina turned and walked out, spine straight and eyes forward.

Relia whistled in her mind. "Flawless. Ice-cold. That’s my girl."

—

That evening, Damian found her again—this time in the observatory tower, where she’d retreated to calm herself after the storm.

He didn’t speak. Just walked up behind her and folded his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"You told her off," he murmured.

"That was clear sabotage."

"I know. I heard."

"You’re not going to lecture me about diplomacy?"

Damian pressed a kiss to her neck. "No. Because you handled it better than I would have."

Evelina leaned back into him with a tired sigh. "What if this ruins the peace with the Highlanders?"

"It won’t," he said. "You fixed it. They’ll arrive at a hall that reflects Arcadia’s strength and unity—and a woman who stood her ground. That’s what they’ll remember."

She didn’t reply right away.

But her hands relaxed.

Her heart slowed.

Selene had pushed her limit, and she’d drawn the line.

Slowly, she turned to face him, planting a kiss on his cheeks. "Thanks for having my back."

"Anytime. Now want to go inside and have a shower with me?"

With a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, she replied, "I thought you would never ask."

—

The Highlanders arrived under a cloudless sky.

Trumpets sounded from the eastern towers of Arcadia, while banners waved in the wind—blue and silver flowing like rough seas.

The delegation entered with pride, their horses covered in warm furs, and their armor shining with the engraved symbols of the mountain clans.

At the head of the procession rode Lord Caelen of Highridge, a towering man with braids woven through silver-streaked hair. His expression was hard but intrigued as he scanned the gathered Arcadian nobility.

Damian stood proudly beside Evelina at the gates. His hand found hers just before the first Highland banner passed through the archway.

Behind them, council members lined up with carefully rehearsed courtesy. Servants bowed low, musicians played soft welcome melodies, and tables groaned under the weight of northern dishes cooked in southern styles.

Everything was working.

The tensions of the last weeks—the games, the sabotage, the whispered doubts—melted under the glow of celebration.

King Lucien stood atop the grand steps of the palace’s central court, flanked by his sons and senior council members, his cloak billowing in the mountain breeze.

Behind him, guards lined the columns with silver-plated halberds at attention.

"Lord Caelen of Highridge," Lucien called out, "Arcadia welcomes you with open arms and steady swords. May this meeting mark the beginning of peace and prosperity between our peoples."

The Highlander lord dismounted with a heavy thud, removing his riding gloves before stepping forward. "Arcadia stands proud," he said in a gravel-rich voice which carried across the courtyard. "It is an honor to stand here again. Let the past stay buried in snow and ash."

A cheer went up from both Highlanders and Arcadians alike.

Evelina stood beside Damian, dressed in midnight-blue robes with silver embroidery that shimmered like falling stars. She bowed her head respectfully as Caelen’s sharp eyes met hers.

"You are the one they speak of," Caelen said with an unreadable gaze. "The wolf with fire in her blood."

"I serve Arcadia," she said simply.

He nodded. "Let’s hope your flame stays lit."

Selene, standing not far off in a gown the color of pale winter roses, smiled thinly. "Our honored guests have long memories. But perhaps the banquet will soften even the coldest of them."

She gestured toward the great hall, where tables glittered with crystal goblets and fine steel cutlery. Lanterns glowed softly above, bathing the room in golden light.

King Lucien took his place at the center of the head table, with Lord Caelen to his right and Damian and Evelina to his left. Selene sat beside her father, barely a breath away from the wine decanter she’d personally ensured was the Highlanders’ favored vintage.

As courses arrived and musicians played, the evening began to unfold in a rhythm of careful diplomacy. Speeches were made, toasts offered, and a sense of balance returned.

Evelina allowed herself one breath of relief.

Until it came.

A low, primal sound—faint, at first. Almost like wind whistling through the mountain trees.

Then another.

And another.

A chorus.

Howls.

The music faltered.

Conversation stilled.

All eyes turned toward the high windows at the far end of the banquet hall—where the forest beyond the outer walls lay hidden in deepening dusk.

Relia stiffened in Evelina’s mind. "I don’t think we added warning howls to the list of entertainment."

As if on cue, a soldier burst through the lower doors, panting, armour half-fastened.

"Sire!" he shouted. "Howls from the southern tree line. Too many to count."

King Lucien rose immediately. "What’s the meaning of this?"

Another howl, closer now—louder. Echoing between the stone walls like thunder through a canyon.

Evelina grabbed Damian’s arm as the guests stood, confused and murmuring. "This doesn’t feel like a scouting pack."

"It’s not," Damian said, eyes already glowing faintly with Storm’s presence. "I think... we might be under attack."