Chapter 2: The Moment the World Shifted

Alexander's POV

For a moment, I forgot why I had come when I entered Eryndrakor's throne room.

I had never seen a place like this before. I had been raised amidst tall stone towers and halls constructed to impress visiting rulers, surrounded by the splendour of the North Kingdom's palace. It had always seemed to me to be the height of power and grandeur.

There was more to this. The very air had a life of its own.

Here, gold was more than just a hue; it was a presence. The walls glowed dimly as though the stone itself had been soaked with the fire of a thousand dragons. Massive columns, pale marble veined with silver and blue, lined the hall. Thick sapphire drapes hung between them, swaying with the slightest whisper, like silent sentinels.

I walked slowly, scuffing my boots on the shiny floor. Every stride reverberated throughout the vast room, reflecting off the life-size statues of long-dead dragon riders that bordered the room. Some wore crowns carved so sharply that they appeared to be able to draw blood, while others were shown holding broken blades. Their pride and defiance were etched in cold marble as they gazed down at me with unwavering eyes.

My breath caught again when I looked up.

The domed ceiling soared so high it seemed to scrape the heavens. Spiralling across it were dragons with wings gilded with gold leaf and painted in storm-washed skies. The illusion of movement was so real that I half expected them to escape and rush in our direction whenever the sunlight changed through the arched windows.

The scent hit me next.

Lavender. Yes. But also something warmer, richer, like citrus wrapped in vanilla. It stirred something deep inside me. My lycan bristled, pacing like a restless animal. There was something about this place—no, not the place. Something here. Someone.

I scanned the royal court. The dragon nobles were as striking as their palace—tall, lean, their features cut sharp, their silks and jewellery gleaming like molten sun. There was a natural, effortless regality in their posture, as if they were born, knowing they were closer to gods than men.

One man stood out among them.

Dorrin.

Long before today, I had heard of him. The king in charge of Eryndrakor's armies—winners of conflicts that had formed alliances between kingdoms. Although he had a legendary reputation, the stories didn't fully capture him. He had a presence that attracted everyone's attention. Sharp turquoise eyes that gleamed like polished steel, broad shoulders, and wild red curls. The type of man that everyone blindly followed. You would hesitate to cross such a man.

But I soon forgot about him.

The twin thrones, high-backed and carved from gold so finely that it appeared as though dragon fire still clung to the edges, stood at the end of the hall. Each had a deep blue velvet drape that matched the banners above. Every surface was engraved with dragons, wings unfurled, their eyes narrow, watching.

And standing beside them were the king and queen.

King Cassius looked exactly as I’d imagined the ruler of dragons would: tall, powerful, with the steady, unyielding presence of a man who’d faced down storms and conquered them. His caramel-brown hair was threaded with the barest hint of silver, and his grey eyes didn’t just look at you—they weighed you, measured you.

Beside him stood Queen Veronica. She was as beautiful as she was commanding. Her strawberry-blonde hair gleamed like sunlight, pinned up in an elegant twist, and her gown was a flowing wave of blue and silver. Her posture was effortless grace, but her gaze was sharp, a quiet strength that seemed to see more than you wanted her to.

I bowed as protocol demanded, my voice steady despite the storm stirring in my chest.

“Your Majesties,” I began. “Thank you for your warm welcome. Your palace is… breathtaking. But even among all this, nothing compares to the crown princess. Her beauty is beyond words. I now understand why the songs speak of her—but none come close to the truth.”

Queen Veronica’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “You speak graciously, Prince,” she said, her voice smooth but carrying weight. “And your compliment is kind. But that is not the crown princess.”

The words hit me like a splash of cold water.

She inclined her head toward the radiant woman standing slightly to the side. “That is my daughter, Princess Marina.”

I blinked, my gaze sliding back to the woman I’d just praised. Marina. Of course. She was stunning—tall, elegant, with golden hair arranged in perfect waves pinned by pearls. Her gown of ivory shimmered with every breath she took. Her face was the sort of beauty that bards wrote about: high cheekbones, full lips, amber eyes lined with skilful paint. She smiled, and I could almost hear the whispers of the court behind me, waiting to see if I would fall under her spell.

But then the great doors at the end of the throne room opened.

A soft gust of air swept through, rustling the heavy drapes, carrying a new scent that slammed into me like a fist.

Vanilla. Citrus.

And her.

Mira.

I didn’t know her name yet, but I knew.

She stepped inside, and the contrast between her and Marina was startling. Where Marina was polished perfection, Mira was wild and real. Her blonde curls tumbled in unruly waves, unpinned and unpainted. Her gown was plain, almost modest, and the only adornment she wore was a simple amber ring that glowed faintly in the sunlight.

She had the same amber eyes as her sister—but they weren’t the same.

Hers were alive. Untamed. They burned with something that wasn’t courtly or practised but raw, like a wildfire that refused to be contained.

When those eyes met mine, everything stopped.

My chest tightened as if I’d forgotten how to breathe. My lycan roared awake inside me, slamming against the walls of my mind like it had been asleep for years and just now realized why it existed. Her.

The scent that had teased me since I stepped into this hall was suddenly everywhere, wrapping around me, pulling me closer even though I hadn’t moved.

And then she whispered it.

“Mate.”

The word was soft, almost unsure, but I felt it like fire exploding through my veins.

“Mate”.

The same word echoed inside me, not from my lips but from the beast within. My lycan howled the word, claiming it, as if nothing else in this room mattered, as if the world had led me here for this single moment.

I couldn’t look away.

I didn’t want to.

But I hadn’t come here for this. I wasn’t looking for a mate.

And I couldn’t accept one. Not now. Not ever.