Chapter 2

But it was too late for questions.

Lysander strode into the Great Hall with the confidence of a predator who feared nothing—not even the fury waiting inside. Silence rippled through the chamber as heads turned first to him, then to me as I followed. Dozens of pairs of eyes narrowed in unison, especially the werewolves—bristling with impatience and thinly veiled contempt.

Let them stare. Let them snarl.

I lifted my chin and met their glares head-on. I didn’t come here to play nice.

From above, on the arched minstrel balcony, stood King Silvion—the elven monarch cloaked in flowing robes of silver and frost. As before, he watched like an aloof celestial being, untouched by the chaos brewing below. His lips pinched into a tight line at our late arrival, eyes glinting like chips of sapphire.

I glanced at the ornate clock behind the dais. Two minutes late.

Cry me a glacier, I thought.

Silvion cleared his throat in deliberate disapproval.

I didn’t break eye contact. Pompous ass.

“Careful, little brother,” Darius murmured beside me, his voice full of mischief. “You’re one insult away from joining his ice sculpture garden.”

I flicked a glare his way. His black hair fell into his eyes, the same amused smirk playing on his lips that he always wore when chaos was about to unfold.

“I’d rather be a statue than kiss that elf’s—”

“Five hundred gold you’ll be wearing icicles by the hour’s end,” he cut in, too cheerfully.

I flipped him off beneath the table. A chuckle slipped past his lips, quickly silenced by a jab from our sister. Nyx, ever the diplomatic one, had elbowed him without even looking his way.

Movement near the entrance caught my eye—and suddenly, the world narrowed.

Seraphina Nightclaw stepped into the hall, flanked by her guards and followed closely by her parents. A hush rolled over the werewolves. I barely registered them.

Her posture was regal. Back straight. Chin up. But her eyes… gods, her eyes. Shadows haunted them. Fatigue clung to her like a veil. Her silver gown shimmered like moonlight, and yet, she looked as if it weighed heavily on her shoulders.

And still, she was breathtaking.

Desire coiled low in my gut. I dug my claws into my palm until I drew blood, letting the sting clear my head. This was neither the place nor the time to want her the way I did.

She took her seat behind her parents, the weight of exhaustion pulling at her every movement. I nearly stood. What happened to her? But I forced myself still.

I had no right. Not here. Not now.

The elf king’s voice sliced through the stillness. “Now that we’re finally in attendance,” he said, eyes flicking to Seraphina with disdain. She lowered her gaze. My claws itched. One word—just one more insult from him—and I’d lose all diplomatic restraint.

“I have an announcement,” King Malachar said, rising from his throne.

Every creature in the hall froze. The werewolf king, Fenris, turned his head slowly toward my father, scowl deepening with every heartbeat.

“I believe you’ll want to hear what I have to say, Fenris,” my father continued calmly, never looking away from him.

Tension strangled the air. Power hummed at the edge of violence. Fae and wolves alike exchanged glances and bared teeth, seconds away from a full-blown bloodbath.

“Get on with it,” Fenris growled.

The Shadow King stood tall and unfazed. He looked to Seraphina—just for a moment—and my heart clenched in foreboding.

No… don’t do it, Father.

“For centuries, we’ve warred,” King Malachar began, voice carrying like a spell. “Fae and wolf, claw and shadow. But we now stand on the cusp of something greater—something that may change the fate of the realms.”

He paused.

I felt it in my bones.

He was going to do it.

“I hereby offer my son, Prince Lysander Malachar Shadowmere, to Princess Seraphina Nightclaw,” he declared. “As her destined mate.”

The world detonated.

Howls of protest, shrieks of disbelief, power crackling through the air as both courts erupted in fury. A guard was thrown back by an unseen force. A goblet shattered. I saw a werewolf noble unsheathe his claws and lunge—only to be tackled by two fae warriors.

Seraphina stared at my father, lips parted, frozen in disbelief. Her pale face turned ghostly.

Our eyes met.

And in that second, it was as if the chaos disappeared. As if time paused, and we were the only two beings left in the entire realm. Her gaze locked with mine—and I knew. She hadn’t known. She was just as blindsided as I was.

Then the temperature dropped.

Ice crept up the stone pillars, the floor beneath our feet frosting in a thin, crackling layer. Chandeliers dripped with icicles that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

A deadly silence fell.

All eyes turned to the source.

King Silvion’s gaze glowed like twin moons in the dark. The sheer pressure of his presence threatened to flatten the room.

“Enough,” he said quietly.

Everyone obeyed.

King Malachar turned to him, and—for the first time—I saw something strange in my father’s eyes.

A silent plea.

Silvion inclined his head slowly, then turned to King Fenris. “I believe we’re all listening now… aren’t we, Fenris?”

The werewolf king looked torn between eviscerating someone and tearing his own hair out. Queen Celeste bared her fangs in a silent snarl, her voice razor-sharp. “You dare say my daughter is mated to your son?!”

“She has not been touched,” I spoke up, rising to my feet. “We only discovered the bond at the summit’s opening.”

Seraphina flinched. Her mother’s fury turned on her instantly. “Is it true?” she demanded. “Have you mated this fae scum?”

“She hasn’t,” I said coldly. “I pursued her. She told me we could never be.”

Gasps rang out. The hall pulsed with stunned disbelief.

Queen Celeste sneered at me, but Seraphina… she looked grateful. A flicker. A breath. Then gone.

King Fenris turned to his daughter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her lips trembled. “Because I didn’t want it to be true.”

That hurt more than any insult.

But it was honest.

The elf king cut in, voice calm. “I suggest a recess. Two hours. Let tempers cool.”

My father nodded. “Agreed.”

King Fenris hesitated, then finally grunted, “So be it.”

Silvion lifted a hand. “The meeting is adjourned.”

As the nobles filed out, the murmurs swelled—gossip, fear, rage swirling into a perfect storm.

I stayed seated, gaze fixed on Seraphina.

She hadn’t moved.

But her eyes… they shimmered with something I hadn’t seen before.

Terror.

No. Not just terror.

Resignation.

Like a girl who already knew what was coming.

And that’s when I saw it—just for a breath—a flicker of darkness curling at her fingertips. Barely there. Barely real.

But it chilled me more than the elf king’s frost ever could.

Because it wasn’t wolf magic.

And it wasn’t mine.