Seraphina walked the palace garden barefoot, silk trailing behind her like fog on warm stone. The night was heavy with scent—blooming roses, damp moss, and the hint of storm. But none of it masked them.
She could feel both kings watching.
One from the shadows.
One from the tower.
Let them watch, she thought.
Let them burn.
Tonight, she wore a gown the color of blood roses—bare-backed, laced at the hips, the neckline sharp and low. It was not designed for comfort. It was designed for warfare.
She reached the center of the moonlit court where the fountain whispered, and she dipped her fingers into the cold water, eyes fluttering closed.
Then she spoke—softly, like a spell.
"I know you're both there."
Silence.
Then: footsteps.
Kael emerged first, from behind the rose arch. He didn't wear armor tonight, only dark formal wear—tailored and dangerous. His eyes met hers without hesitation.
"Careful," he said. "Wolves respond to whispers."
"I don't whisper to wolves," she replied. "I summon them."
Kael's jaw flexed. "You summoned me, then?"
"No," she said, stepping closer. "You summoned yourself the moment I arrived in this kingdom."
Before he could answer, another presence filled the air.
Rhydian.
He didn't walk—he prowled. Emerging from the edge of the garden like mist becoming man.
Shirtless again, skin marked with ancient sigils, silver eyes sharp beneath the moon.
The air thickened with power.
Kael turned slightly, posture already tensed.
"I didn't come for a fight," Rhydian said flatly.
"Then why did you come?" Seraphina asked, voice velvet.
"To remind you," he said, gaze fixed on her, "that I don't need a ballroom to dance."
Kael's fists tightened.
Seraphina's lips curved.
"Good," she murmured, "because I don't intend to be twirled around like a decoration. I intend to be devoured."
Kael took a step forward. So did Rhydian.
They flanked her now, both men too close, both powerful, territorial, aching to take her—to win her.
Her fingers brushed Kael's wrist.
Then slid slowly along Rhydian's chest.
She leaned in between them and whispered, "You want to claim me? Seduce me? Prove it."
Then she walked away, not waiting for an answer.
The scent of her lingered in the air like a slow drug.
And the two kings?
One growled.
The other bled.
---
The palace was quieter than usual.
Not with peace—but with anticipation.
Kael didn't attend court that evening. He dismissed his council early. He wore no crown, no armor. Only black—smooth fabric over a body that moved with silence and restraint.
Restraint was a word Kael had lived by.
Until her.
He found her where he expected: the East Tower balcony, where the full moon flooded the floor in white fire. Seraphina stood alone, hair unbound, robe tied loosely around her waist, the same blood-red silk that haunted his memory from the garden.
She didn't flinch when he entered.
"I wondered which one of you would break first," she murmured, still looking out into the night.
"I don't break," Kael said simply.
"No?" she smiled without turning. "Then what is this?"
Kael stepped behind her. Close. His breath touched her shoulder.
"This," he said, his voice low, "is me choosing to stop pretending I don't want you."
She turned now—slowly—eyes unreadable.
"You play a long game, Your Majesty."
Kael took her hand gently, lifted it to his lips, and kissed the inside of her wrist.
"I don't play games," he said. "I win them."
"Then you should know something," Seraphina said, slipping her hand free. "I'm not a trophy."
Kael's hand moved to her waist—firm, warm. "No. You're the prize they kill each other over."
She didn't pull away.
She stepped closer instead, until their bodies nearly touched, until her robe grazed the buttons of his shirt and her lips hovered near his jaw.
"You think you're seducing me?" she whispered.
Kael smiled—barely. "No. I think you want me to."
The pause that followed was thick enough to drown in.
Then Seraphina leaned up, brushing her lips at the edge of his mouth—not a kiss, not quite.
"Then don't stop."
And Kael did not.
He took her mouth like a king who had waited long enough. His hands stayed at her waist, but his mouth claimed, explored, tasted. He didn't fumble. He didn't ask.
He took—slowly, fiercely, as if memorizing her.
And when she finally broke the kiss, breath shaky, she whispered:
"Now let's see how the Lykan responds."
Then she turned and left him standing in the moonlight, lips wet with her taste, chest rising and falling like a man at the edge of losing everything.
Kael stared after her in silence.
And for the first time in years, the Alpha King felt afraid.
Because he realized—
She was never going to be won.
Only followed.
----
Rhydian hadn't slept.
The moment Kael left Seraphina's wing, he felt it.
Not in scent.
Not in sound.
But in his bones.
The bond hadn't fully formed—but something primal had stirred. The invisible tether between kings and their destined omega had tugged hard.
And he knew.
Kael had touched her.
Touched what Rhydian had waited for.
He could taste the fury in his own mouth.
But he didn't roar.
He moved.
---
Seraphina didn't seem surprised when he appeared at her door just past midnight.
She opened it slowly, candlelight flickering behind her. This time, she wore no red silk—only an ash-gray slip that clung to her like mist. Her hair was still damp from a bath, her scent softer… yet potent.
"I was wondering when you'd stop pretending," she said, stepping back and letting him enter.
"I don't pretend," he growled.
"No," she said, studying him. "You hesitate."
His jaw flexed.
She was baiting him again.
But not cruelly. Not carelessly.
Like a queen testing her soldier's sword.
Measuring what could be hers.
Rhydian stepped in close. His hand reached up—slow, deliberate—and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I don't want half of you, Seraphina."
Her breath caught.
"I don't want a kiss because you're curious. I want it because you burn for it."
"I'm not a woman who burns easily," she whispered.
"No," he murmured, "you're a fire the gods lit with their own hands."
And then he kissed her.
Not like Kael.
Not with control.
But with reverence—slow and wild at once, as if tasting moonlight, as if his entire bloodline depended on the shape of her mouth.
His hands gripped her waist, steady and warm, as though anchoring himself. Her body molded to his, and when she tilted her head to deepen the kiss, something dark and electric passed between them.
When they finally broke apart, her eyes were glowing faintly—omega power rising beneath her skin.
Rhydian stepped back, chest heaving.
"Now," he rasped, "we're even."
Seraphina's lips curved slowly. "Even?"
"No," he corrected. "Now… Kael knows he's not the only one who bleeds."
And with that, Rhydian turned and left—his scent clinging to her, his mark unspoken but deeply felt.
Seraphina stood in silence, fingers brushing her swollen lips.