Serena
No!! I scream as I jolt awake from a nightmare. I feel a dull pain at my throat, my body feels like lead and my head is pounding. It takes me a second to realize that it was not a nightmare but a memory of last night. Tristan Sinclair, one of the Alpha heirs to the Nythera pack marked me. I groan as my body hit the bed. I feel soft silk beneath my fingers. This could not be the servant quarters. I blink, my vision adjusting. Moonlight filters through heavy curtains, casting long shadows and I realize I am mistaken. It is still night time. The door across the room is slightly ajar, and through it, I hear raised voices. Tristan and Thorne. “…beyond reckless, even for you.” I could instantly tell that it is Thorne because of the smooth voice, “You let your temper get the best of you…….again.” he says. Tristan’s growl is unmistakable. “She’s a slave.” “Then why are we having this conversation?” Thorne counters, and I can practically hear his smirk. “You marked her in front of the entire pack, Tristan. You made her yours.” Silence follows and my fingers curl into the sheets. I am marked. I suck in a breath, my hand flying to my throat. My skin is raw where Tristan’s fangs pierced it, a dull heat pulsing from the wound. I try to listen to my wolf, but there is no reaction, just as it has been since leaving my pack. Suddenly, the door slams open and I flinch as Tristan steps inside, his silver eyes darker than I have ever seen them. “You think you’ve won?” he seethes. “That because my brother played hero, you are something more than what you are?” “You'll never amount to anything. You're destined to be a failure.” His words sting a little but I press my lips together, refusing to show fear or hurt. Then, Thorne appears behind him, calm and composed, “You lost control, brother,” he says lazily, leaning against the doorframe. “Now, the council wants answers.” My stomach twists. The council? Tristan exhales sharply. “They think I made a claim.” “You did.” Thorne’s smirk widens. “And now you’ll have to deal with the consequences.” The next morning, I am dragged, quite literally, before the high council. The hall is cold as it was the last time, grand, lined with elders and council members, all watching with stiff expressions. At the center, Tristan and Thorne stand side by side. Tristan's jaw tightens and for the first time, he looks trapped. Thorne knows it. That’s why he’s so damn pleased. One of the elders, a broad-shouldered man with streaks of silver in his hair, folds his hands. “A public marking is a declaration of claim. You are aware of this, are you not, Prince Tristan?” Tristan’s lips press into a thin line. The elder continues. “The pack has seen it. The council has seen it. For better or worse, this bond must be solidified.” I inhale sharply. “No”, I whisper. I want to scream, yell at the top of my voice at someone to stop this, all of this but I stay silent. I am helpless, and there's no one coming to save me. “There will be a Mating Ceremony,” the elder announces. The weight of those words sinks like a stone in my stomach. I came here for revenge, not this. Tristan’s entire frame tenses, his fingers curling into fists. Thorne, on the other hand keeps a straight face. His gaze flickers to me briefly before he steps forward. “This is a wise decision,” he says smoothly. “It will show the pack that their prince is decisive.” Tristan looks like he wants to punch him but I barely hear the rest of the discussion. All I know is that by tonight, I will be bound to the man who loathes me. The sun hangs low in the sky when I step outside, my thoughts tangled in a mess I cannot unravel. It is time for the Mating Ceremony and the end for me. I barely register the presence in front of me until I nearly walk straight into him. It is Thorne Sinclair. He watches me with those sharp silver eyes, arms crossed casually. “You’re distracted.” I swallow, taking a step back. “Shouldn’t I be?” His expression softens. “I wanted to see how you were holding up.” I let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, just fine. I’m about to be forced into a bond with a man who would rather see me dead.” Thorne’s gaze darkens, and for a moment, I think I see something like regret flash across his face. Then, he exhales and steps closer, lowering his voice. “You won’t have to go through this alone,” he says. I blink. “Why are you doing this?” He studies me, like he’s weighing his words. Then, with unnerving honesty, he says with a smirk, “Because I have taken a liking to you.” My breath catches in my throat. He continues, his tone gentler now. “Tristan is stubborn, reckless. He acts before he thinks. But I,” He pauses. “I see things differently and I see you.” For a second, warmth blooms in my chest, but then reality crashes down again. This changes nothing. The ceremony is happening, whether I want it or not. Still, as Thorne reaches out, brushing his fingers lightly over my wrist, I feel things that I should not be feeling. “I’ll be there,” he murmurs. “No matter what happens.” The moon is high, casting an eerie glow over the gathered pack. Two guards escort me towards the gathering, and on the way I see Sylvaine. I am about to greet her when she passes by me without even acknowledging me. I pause, worried and a little offended, but I choose to ignore it as I have more pressing matters to attend to. Like the silent crowd waiting and watching. I stand at the center, my heart a frantic mess against my ribs. Tristan stands before me, rigidly and looks everywhere but me. Thorne is in the crowd, his eyes locked on me. The elder’s voice cuts through the stillness. “Alpha Prince Tristan Sinclair, you have marked this woman before the eyes of the pack. Do you claim her as your mate?” A breathless hush falls over the gathering as Tristan meets my gaze. He steps forward, his eyes stony and cold, and with a voice that echoes through the night, he speaks. “I Tristan Sinclair reject you, Serena as my mate”.Serena.The wind stills. The forest holds its breath. “Welcome home, child of Seraphine,” the hooded man says, his voice smooth as silk laced with steel.I can’t move. Not even when Kaelion’s body tenses like a bowstring in front of me, his hand hovering protectively near his dagger.I know that voice.Not from now. From before. From the dream-memory. My mother’s memory. That quiet moment when she whispered to someone unseen, asking him to watch over me if she didn’t return.The man pulls back his hood.And there it is, the same eyes as mine, only older, darker. Lined with grief. His hair is long and braided loosely, silver streaks glinting at the edges like moonlight caught in shadow.“My name is Vaelen,” he says gently. “I’m your uncle.”Kaelion doesn’t relax. “Prove it.”“I don’t owe you proof,” Vaelen snaps, then looks at me. “But I owe her everything.”I swallow hard. “You knew my mother?”“She was my sister.”Kaelion stiffens even more.Vaelen lowers his voice. “When Elira died,
Serena.Kaelion’s hand hangs in the space between us. Open and waiting with eagerness. “All you have to do,” he says softly, “is say yes.”The silence thickens. My heart beats so loudly I’m sure the guards above can hear it.“Yes,” I whisper. The word is so small, so fragile. But it shatters everything amd makes even me shiver.His fingers close around mine, warm, firm, real. A promise, not a command.He moves quickly after that. The cell door creaks, the torch hisses in the stale dungeon air. I grab the thin cloak he brought and slip it on, pulling the hood low over my face. My legs shake as I follow him through the dark hallways of the manor’s underbelly.We don’t speak.This is the part of the palace where no one goes unless they’re sent to die. No guards patrol here, not unless ordered to. Which is why I know it won’t be empty for long. Kaelion’s pace quickens, and I match him, ignoring the ache in my limbs.We reach a narrow side corridor, and he pulls back a tapestry revealing a
Serena.Time has no shape in the dungeon. The air hangs like chains, damp, metallic, clinging to my lungs with every breath. The stone walls have leached warmth from my body, layer by layer. The silence? It’s loud here. Deafening. Pressing against my ears until my own heartbeat sounds foreign.They’ve left me down here too long. Not as an oversight. This is Queen Aliyah’s design. A slow, psychological game. She knows I’m not afraid of pain, I’ve endured worse. But isolation? Doubt? The fear of not knowing what tomorrow holds? That’s her real torture.There has been zero interrogations. No whips. Just cold meals, quiet guards, and the threat of vanishing without consequence.A message only I can hear “I’m still in control”.Still, I do not break, but the mind is a traitor in solitude. On the fourth night,maybe fifth, time blurs, I dream.She appears like smoke becoming flesh. Seraphine, my mother.Her features are a mirror of mine, only older. Wiser. Softer in sorrow, but sharp around
Serena.There’s something off in the air today. It’s not the crispness of winter crawling over the manor’s stones or the stiff glances passed between servants. It’s deeper, like the walls themselves are bracing for impact.It begins when I step into the west courtyard with a tray of rare fruits meant for the council guests. The sun splits through the arches, and there he is standing tall like he belongs here, or anywhere.Kaelion Vey. The Queen’s nephew.Tall, dark-haired and dressed in a fitted onyx tunic threaded with silver. His face is sculpted and remote, like he was carved to be admired, not approached. But his eyes… his eyes are the color of moonlit frost.And they’re on me.“Careful,” Isabel whispers at my side as we arrange linens. “He’s trouble. Royal blood and Queen Aliyah’s favorite. If she finds out he’s sniffing around you…”I nod silently. But it’s already too late. He watches me like I’ve bewitched him.When I bow, he doesn’t nod. When I move, he follows, once, twice,
Serena.Wind howls through the broken corridor like the world is exhaling.I don't stop walking, not even when the marble beneath my feet gives way to shattered earth. My legs are cut, my gown is soaked in blood and ash, and still, I keep moving, because if I stop, I might scream.Behind me, I hear Sylvaine calling my name. She doesn’t shout, doesn’t chase. Wise woman. She knows this is not the time.The ruins of the altar chamber vanish behind me like a dream, no, like a nightmare I survived by clawing my way out of it. The hallway ahead is cracked and weeping light. The old sigils along the wall pulse like heartbeats.Something has shifted in the fabric of the world. Raelor is not here, but he is not gone. Not entirely.My fingers curl into fists.A shadow flickers at the edge of my vision. I whip around, but it's nothing. Just my mind playing tricks.Or maybe it isn’t.I make it to the outer courtyard before my knees threaten to give way. The once-sculpted gardens have been scorche
Serena.The veil pulses wider. It groans like something ancient is awakening. Light spills through it,not golden or pure, but twisted, fractured… like moonlight bled through broken glass.Then comes the voice. “Blood of my blood… anchor of my becoming…”Raelor.His whisper thickens, grows, expands until the entire chamber vibrates. It's not a voice,it’s a command, woven with seduction and doom.My body aches. My blood responds.I try to step back, but I can’t. I’m tethered. The air around me thickens, magic spinning in loops around my chest and limbs. Every breath draws the veil closer.I am the anchor and Raelor knows it.His next words aren’t in a language I know, but I understand them all the same. Visions bleed into my mind, me on a throne, me commanding fire and death, me watching my enemies crumble beneath my touch. I see a world reborn in my image.I see the war over, peace forced by fear.“Let me in,” he says, silk-wrapped and vile. “I’ll make you more than they ever let you b
Serena.Athea's smile is serene and triumphant. “You should’ve known, Serena. Power always comes with a price. And men…..” she glances at Tristan with mild contempt, “.....they give too easily.”“How…?” I whisper, stunnedAthea steps forward. “Blood magic alone doesn’t work on someone like him. But when your soul… and your body… have tasted mine?” She shrugs. “Let’s just say the spell becomes unbreakable.”Thorne growls, “You slept with him?”Serena reels. “Tristan, no….”He doesn't respond, he's still under Athea’s control.Athea raises her hand. “Restrain them.”Tristan obeys.“Tristan, please. This isn’t you.” I whisper in a voice that is soft, broken. Something in eyes change and as he reaches for me, there’s a tremor in his fingers. His expression falters.A flicker of silver tries to bleed through the green. He hesitates, long enough for Athea to snap, her eyes flaring.“So disappointing,” she mutters. “Fine. If I can’t have your full devotion…” She turns to Thorne.“Let’s see
Serena.The cold stone floor bites into my knees as we’re forced to kneel, wrists bound behind our backs with cords that hum faintly with magic. Thorne struggles beside me, his muscles straining against the enchanted ropes, but they only tighten in response.Athea stands before us like a queen before her court, red cloak flaring, hair wild, eyes glowing with unnatural fire.“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” I whisper. “You were helping us.”Her gaze softens, barely. “I spared you for a little while longer.”Thorne growls. “You used us. You lied.”She sighs and steps closer, crouching so her face is level with mine. “No, cousin. I protected you. I delayed the Rite for you.”“Cousin?” I echo. “That wasn't just a part of your lies and deceit?Thorne stiffens. “What?”She tilts her head. “You never wondered why we looked alike?” Her fingers brush my cheek, almost tender. “We share blood, Serena. Our mothers were sisters. Daughters of Raelor.”The name strikes like thunder. “No,” I breathe
Serena. Athea’s hood falls back, and for a moment, no one breathes. Her white hair glows like snow in torchlight, her green eyes that look too much like mine seem calm, drawing whoever cares to gaze at them in. Thorne’s sword doesn’t lower. “Athea?” She stands her ground, voice steady. ““Your father made enemies on both sides of the Gate, Serena. You’re just starting to see the truth.”.” I stare at her, heart pounding. “What are you talking about?” Athea doesn’t look at me. Her gaze is fixed on Thorne. “I’ve been working undercover. With Alpha Prince Tristan.” “Tristan?” I echo. “He sent you?” Thorne’s jaw clenches. “You’re a spy?” “A scout,” she counters coolly. “A volunteer. The prince received whispers months ago, rumors about a cult rooted in Raelor’s old worship. When I joined the manor's slaves, he recognized the symbol, just like this one etched in my amulet. It matched one carved on the wall of a ruined stronghold in the mountains. I knew the whispers were true an