The scent of roses was too sweet—sickly, cloying, like death dressed in silk.
Princess Elara stared at her reflection in the tall obsidian mirror. Gold chains framed her delicate neck, and a crimson veil was draped over her shoulders like a funeral shroud. She looked every bit the royal bride. Yet no matter how fine the fabric, no matter how ornate the crown, she felt like a prisoner being led to her execution.
The knock at the door came softly. Too softly for a human ear to detect.
But Elara heard it.
She always did.
"Enter," she said, voice cold and composed.
The door creaked open, revealing her father—the King of Elmondria—his shoulders hunched under the weight of surrender. Once known as the Iron Sovereign, he now looked like a hollowed-out man wearing his crown like a curse.
"They're here," he said, not meeting her eyes.
Elara turned away from the mirror. "The Lycans?"
He nodded. "The Alpha Prince himself leads the delegation."
A muscle in her jaw twitched. Of course he did. The beast couldn't resist witnessing his prize being handed over like a wrapped gift.
"So it begins," she murmured, brushing a loose curl behind her ear.
The King cleared his throat. "Elara… you must not provoke them. This alliance—"
"Isn't an alliance," she snapped. "It's capitulation. A throne for a collar. A crown for chains."
Her father flinched.
But Elara stepped forward and took his hand gently, softening her voice. "I understand, Father. You're doing what you must to protect our people. I'll do my duty. I'll play the part."
He squeezed her fingers, and for a moment, he looked like her father again—not a broken king.
When he left, the palace maids silently approached, ready to escort her to the Grand Courtyard.
Her heart pounded in her chest, but her mind was ice.
She had waited a lifetime for this moment.
No… two lifetimes.
The Grand Courtyard was filled with soldiers in silver armor, nobles dressed in their finest silks, and curious townspeople packed behind enchanted barriers. Trumpets blared. The high priest stood by the binding altar, clutching the sacred texts.
And then… he arrived.
Alpha Prince Kael of the Lycan Empire.
He dismounted his midnight-black warhorse in one fluid motion, tall and deadly in his obsidian armor. His hair was the color of ash, swept back like a storm held in check. Eyes like molten silver scanned the crowd—and then locked onto Elara.
She felt it.
The pull. The heat.
The wolf in him recognized something.
She straightened her spine as he approached. He towered over her, but she refused to look away.
"Elara of Elmondria," he said, his voice deep and low, threaded with power. "I claim you as my mate, by treaty and by fate."
Lies. All of it.
There was no "fate" here. Only blood, politics, and ancient grudges.
Still, she forced a serene smile and bowed her head. "And I accept the bond, by law and by duty."
They touched hands over the ceremonial flame.
And then it happened.
As Kael's fingers brushed her skin, a sudden jolt shot through her—like lightning crawling under her flesh. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
She saw it—the flicker of recognition.
Not of her face, but her soul.
Somewhere deep inside him, the beast remembered.
She was not just Elara.
She was Seraphina, the fire-sorceress he had killed two hundred years ago.
And now, he had taken her hand in sacred union.
Let the games begin.
Chapter End.