



Chapter 4
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Golden tapestries, embroidered with scenes of vampire triumphs in threads of crimson and gold, shimmered faintly in the flickering light of crystal chandeliers, casting long shadows that danced like specters across the floor. The air hung heavy with the scent of incense, undercut by the metallic tang of blood that clung to the ancient stones — a scent that assaulted Ronan Steele’s heightened werewolf senses, making his skin prickle with unease.
He strode forward, trailing just behind his father, King Kael Steele, into the heart of this opulent yet suffocating vampire stronghold.
The herald's voice thundered through the throne room of Noctis Dominia.
“Announcing the arrival of King Kael Steele, ruler of the Silverwilds, and his son, Crown Prince Ronan Steele!”
The massive doors groaned open, revealing the commanding presence of Kael and Ronan. Kael moved with the assurance of a seasoned king, his iron-black hair streaked with silver catching the light, his deep green cloak billowing behind him like a storm-tossed forest canopy.
Ronan followed, his broad shoulders taut beneath rugged leather armor, his golden eyes sweeping the room with a predator’s wariness. Every muscle in his body was coiled, ready to spring, as he took in the gothic splendor.
At the far end of the hall, elevated on a dais, sat Queen Serafina deLacroix, her presence a chilling blend of grace and menace. Her long, curled silver-gray hair spilled over her shoulders like molten moonlight, framing a crimson Victorian gown that clung to her lithe form, its glittering rubies winking like drops of fresh blood. Her pale, almost translucent skin glowed faintly in the dim light, her eyes burning with a cold, unyielding fire.
Beside her, sprawled with casual insolence across the arm of the throne, was her son, Prince Dimitri deLacroix.
Dimitri radiated arrogance as effortlessly as the moon cast its light. Clad in a crisp white linen shirt with sleeves tucked neatly into fitted leather trousers. His straight, shoulder-length silver hair shimmered like a halo of frost against his alabaster skin, and his piercing blue eyes—sharp as shards of ice—fixed on Ronan with a mixture of disdain and something darker, something unspoken.
The slight curl of his lip revealed a flash of fang, a silent declaration of his contempt as he took in the werewolf prince’s rugged frame, the wild tangle of dark hair, and the earthy scent of pine and musk that rolled off him in waves.
Kael halted at the base of the dais and offered a measured bow. “Your Majesty, Queen Serafina. It is an honor to stand in your esteemed court. The Silverwilds mourns the trials your kingdom endures. A war with humans weighs heavily on us all.”
Serafina tilted her head, her red earrings glinting like twin droplets of blood against her pallor. Her smile was a blade wrapped in silk. “King Kael, your sympathies are as unnecessary as they are unconvincing. Our peoples have clashed for centuries—fang against claw, shadow against storm. Why do you stand before me now, draped in this veneer of courtesy?”
Kael’s lips tightened fractionally, though his composure held firm. With a subtle gesture, he signaled an escort forward, who presented a rolled parchment with a flourish.
The herald accepted it, unfurling the document as his voice rang out once more.
“By decree of King Kael Steele of the Silverwilds, a proposition is hereby presented to Her Majesty, Queen Serafina deLacroix of Noctis Dominia. To ensure mutual survival and strength against the human menace, an alliance is offered between the werewolf and vampire realms. As a symbol of this unity, Princess Selene of the Silverwilds shall be pledged in marriage to His Highness, Prince Dimitri deLacroix.”
A heavy silence descended.
Dimitri’s head tilted ever so slightly, his sky-blue eyes narrowing as he absorbed the words.
/ 'Marry me? A female wolf I never met?'
His gaze slid to Ronan, who stood rigid beside his father, an unyielding pillar of muscle and defiance.
/ 'These mangy curs think to chain us with their kin?'
The idea was laughable, yet his eyes lingered on Ronan’s form, tracing the hard lines of his shoulders, the taut strength in his stance. The werewolf reeked of sweat and earth, a wild, untamed scent that clashed with the sterile refinement of Noctis Dominia.
But there was something in it that stirred an unbidden curiosity deep within him.
/ ' So, I am marrying his siter? Would she be as tall and strong as this young werewolf? '
Ronan’s golden eyes locked onto Dimitri’s icy stare, and the air between them crackled with a silent, electric fury.
A battle of wills ignited.
Dimitri’s lip curled further, his gaze raking over Ronan with deliberate slowness, cataloging the scuffed leather armor, the calloused hands clenched at his sides, the faint scars etched into his sun-kissed skin.
/ 'A beast playing at prince,' Dimitri thought, his smirk sharpening into a predator’s taunt. / 'How quaint and interesting.'
Ronan felt the vampire’s scrutiny like a blade against his skin, and his jaw clenched tight, a low growl threatening to rumble up from his chest. He forced it down, his nails digging into his palms as he met Dimitri’s gaze with equal ferocity.
/ 'Arrogant, bloodsucking leech,' he seethed inwardly. 'I’d rip that smug look off his face if I could. Why should Selene marry to such a hateful cold corpse? '
Serafina’s expression flickered with disgust as the herald’s voice faded, though she masked it swiftly behind a tight, insincere smile. “King Kael, your… ingenuity does you credit. Such a proposal demands deliberation. I will consult my council before rendering an answer.”
Kael inclined his head, his face a mask of neutrality. “Of course, Your Majesty. We await your wisdom.”
“Until then,” Serafina purred, rising from her throne with serpentine grace, “allow me to offer my hospitality. Join us for lunch.”
Kael nodded courteously, though Ronan’s brow creased with unease. The invitation felt like a trap, a gilded cage closing around them, but he held his tongue.
As the group was ushered from the throne room, Ronan’s eyes met Dimitri’s once more, and the tension between them snapped taut, a live wire humming with barely contained energy.
Dimitri’s stare was unrelenting, dissecting Ronan with cold precision. Muscular, brutish, a walking affront to civility, he mused, though his thoughts snagged on the werewolf’s raw power, the wildness that simmered beneath his surface.
It was repulsive, but ... intriguing. How did he live a court life?
Ronan glared back, his golden eyes blazing with defiance.
/ 'Keep staring, leech,' he thought, his blood simmering. 'I’ll show you what this ‘beast’ can do.'
Neither spoke, yet the air thrummed with their mutual loathing, a volatile clash of fire and ice poised on the edge of explosion.
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The great hall of Noctis Dominia awaited them, its towering ceilings adorned with chandeliers that bathed the long mahogany tables in a warm, deceptive glow. Portraits of vampire lords lined the walls, their painted eyes tracking the newcomers with silent judgment.
Kael and Ronan were guided to seats near the head of the table, the servants’ movements eerily silent. Ronan’s skin crawled under the weight of unseen scrutiny, his senses screaming that he didn’t belong in this shadowed den.
They sat in taut silence until the grand doors swung open, heralding Queen Serafina’s arrival. She swept in, her crimson gown trailing like spilled blood, with Dimitri at her heels.
His gait was languid yet deliberate, his blue eyes snapping to Ronan with an intensity that set the werewolf’s teeth on edge. Kael and Ronan rose, bowing stiffly, but Serafina waved them down with a flick of her hand, settling at the table’s head.
Dimitri claimed the seat to her right, his gaze lingering on Ronan a heartbeat too long before he reclined with that infuriating smirk.
“King Kael,” Serafina began, her voice cutting like glass, “it seems humanity’s threat has sparked a rare burst of imagination in the Silverwilds. A marriage proposal, no less.”
Kael remained unruffled. “Desperation breeds ingenuity, Your Majesty. Unity may be our salvation.”
As the royals spoke, Dimitri and Ronan waged their silent war.
Dimitri’s eyes drifted to Ronan’s chest, noting the way his leather armor strained against his muscular frame. The scent of pine and earth wafted toward him, crude and invasive, yet it carried an untamed vitality that piqued his interest.
/ 'A creature of dirt and howl,' he thought, ' I wondered how that feels like. '
Ronan tried to ignore the vampire’s piercing stare, he could sense his interest toward him, like a preditor looking at their prey. He repulse the idea of Selene being his Luna, or as vampires called it, vampire bride - even the name irrated him!
/ 'A pretty shell for a soulless parasite,' he sneered inwardly, undermined by an irritating awareness of the vampire’s striking presence.
Servants arrived with trays, momentarily disrupting the standoff. Bowls of dark, viscous blood were set before Serafina and Dimitri, the iron scent sharp and nauseating to Ronan. Before him and Kael, a platter of roasted venison and fresh bread appeared, its hearty aroma a fleeting comfort.
As they ate, Serafina’s voice wove through the air, dripping with veiled barbs. “An alliance is more than a marriage, my son. It’s a tapestry of fates. Do you not agree?”
Dimitri dabbed his lips with a napkin, his tone laced with mockery. “Oh, certainly, Mother. Though one wonders if such knots are worth tying. Some alliances weigh more than they lift.” His eyes flicked to Ronan, daring him to react.
Ronan’s grip on his fork tightened, his knuckles whitening. Keep talking, bloodsucker, he thought, fury simmering. The vampire’s every word stoked the fire in his chest, urging him to lunge across the table and wipe that smirk away.
The meal ended with stiff pleasantries, and the group moved to the grand entrance, where a carriage awaited. Dimitri leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, his smirk unrelenting as he watched Ronan climb aboard.
/ 'So much rage,' he mused. 'It’ll burn him out, but make him more interesting to be teased.'
Ronan shot him a final glare, his hands balled into fists. That leech won’t touch my sister, he vowed silently, the image of Dimitri’s taunting face seared into his mind.
As the carriage rolled away, Ronan muttered, “Father, this is a mistake.”
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