Mate 17 - Flaunting

Sage

The atmosphere in the dining hall was suffocating.

Despite the lavish spread of dishes and the golden glow of candlelight flickering against the grand walls, the air was thick with unspoken words and barely concealed hostility. It was supposed to be a customary dinner, a gesture of hospitality, yet it felt more like a stage set for a performance where every move had been rehearsed—except for the cracks forming in the façade.

The Empress sat at the head of the table, regal as ever, her sharp gaze sweeping over everyone like a watchful predator. Beside her sat Damien, his expression unreadable, his focus never once shifting toward me. Instead, his attention seemed fixed on his plate, the tension in his jaw the only indication that he was listening. Rosana sat beside him, draped in delicate silks, her hand lightly resting on his arm as if she belonged there. She smiled, exuding the grace of a perfect noblewoman, yet her eyes glowed with something far less pure—satisfaction.

To her side was her brother, Theoden, his amusement barely hidden beneath a veil of courtly manners.

And then there was Greyson, seated beside me, the only one who dared to acknowledge my presence in this suffocating gathering. He did not hide his disdain nor try to conceal the glances he sent Damien’s way—glares filled with unspoken accusations only a brother could give.

The Emperor was absent, and his health was not good, so the Empress presided over the dinner alone.

It was only a matter of time before the actual game began.

The Empress turned to Rosana, her voice laced with warmth, the kind reserved only for those she favored. “My dear, I hope you have recovered well after that unfortunate incident at the party.”

Rosana smiled sweetly, her fingers grazing Damien’s hand in an innocent display of possession. “Oh, Your Majesty, I assure you it was nothing but a minor accident. But I must say, I was quite shaken.”

Greyson exhaled sharply, setting down his wine goblet with too much force. “Shaken?” His voice was casual, yet the undertone was unmistakable. “How terrible. But it’s always interesting how some people recover from their ‘accidents’ so quickly while others seem to bear the weight of their consequences for much longer.”

Rosana’s smile faltered for half a second before she recovered. “I am fortunate to have Damien by my side.” She turned to him, her voice softer, calculated. “I know you must have been so worried.”

Damien didn’t immediately respond. His grip on his silverware tightened slightly, but his expression remained unreadable.

Greyson chuckled under his breath. “Worried? That’s an interesting word choice.” He tilted his head, his gaze sharp. “I wonder, do you believe worry is reserved only for those deemed important?”

Theoden’s smirk deepened as he swirled the wine in his goblet lazily. “I find that concern is often misplaced. Some people demand attention when they have done nothing to earn it.”

My fingers curled slightly around my utensils, my grip steady.

How easily he spoke, veiling his words behind false refinement, as if he were untouched by guilt.

I lifted my gaze, meeting his with an unwavering calmness. “That is an interesting observation, Lord Theoden.” I let a small smile touch my lips, which held no warmth. “But I’ve always found that attention—like respect—is rarely given freely. It is something taken or manipulated into one’s favor.”

Theoden’s lips curled slightly at the edges, as if amused. “Ah, but then, some are simply better at securing such favor than others. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Greyson leaned forward, resting an arm on the table. “Or perhaps some simply habitually take what isn’t theirs.” His voice was smooth, deliberate, and though it was spoken without aggression, its weight landed heavily.

Theoden’s expression didn’t waver, but something was behind his eyes—a flicker of something less composed.

Rosana was the first to speak, her voice laced with feigned innocence. “That is quite the implication, Prince Greyson.”

Greyson smiled. “Is it?” He glanced at her, his gaze pointed. “I do wonder what one considers an implication and what one considers the truth.”

The air in the room grew colder.

The Empress, sensing the tension, gracefully placed her goblet down. “Enough of this. There is no need to entertain trivial discussions.”

Greyson turned his gaze to her, a glint of amusement playing in his eyes. “Trivial?” He hummed. “Curious, how certain topics are considered ‘trivial’ only when they inconvenience those in power.”

The Empress’s smile thinned. “Greyson.”

He leaned back, feigning nonchalance. “Apologies, Your Majesty. I forget that we are meant to speak only of pleasantries.”

Rosana chuckled softly, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “You do have a habit of overanalyzing, Prince Greyson.” She lifted her goblet delicately. “Perhaps you should not trouble yourself so much with things that do not concern you.”

Greyson’s jaw tightened, but his smirk remained. “Oh, but everything concerning my brother concerns me.”

Damien, who had been silent the entire time, finally lifted his gaze and met Greyson’s.

Their stares clashed like swords drawn in battle.

A silent war waged between them, one built on years of trust that had been fractured, on a bond that should have been unshakable but had now been reduced to tension and resentment.

Greyson’s voice was lower now, edged with something more profound. “I have always respected your choices, Damien. I thought above all else, you valued duty. But it seems I was mistaken.”

Damien’s lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but Rosana’s fingers curled around his wrist—subtle, but enough to remind him of where his loyalty was meant to lie.

“You do not understand,” Damien said finally.

Greyson’s expression darkened. “No, I do understand.” He exhaled sharply, his voice laced with barely restrained anger. “I understand that you have chosen silence. That you have chosen to ignore what is right in front of you.”

Damien’s grip tightened around his goblet. “And you have chosen to act without thinking.”

Greyson let out a sharp laugh. “Thinking? I think too much. I think about how you, my own brother, punished me for doing the right thing. I think about how you let your emotions dictate your actions, all for the sake of an illusion.”

The Empress, sensing that things were escalating beyond her control, interjected. “That is enough! You are brothers, and you will not fight over—” Her gaze flickered toward me, dismissive. “—over something so insignificant.”

Greyson let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Insignificant.” He exhaled, his anger simmering. “How convenient.”

I finally spoke again, my voice even, but firm. “It is quite fascinating how easily some things are dismissed when they do not fit the narrative one wishes to tell.”

Rosana’s eyes narrowed slightly.

The Empress, however, had grown weary of the conversation. “This discussion is over.”

With that, she stood, prompting Rosana and Damien to follow.

As they stood to leave, Theoden remained seated, swirling the last of his wine in his goblet with slow, deliberate movements. His eyes flickered toward me, the corners of his lips curling in amusement.

“So quiet, Lady Sage.” His voice was smooth, deceptively gentle. “I must say, it does not suit you.”

My fingers curled tightly against my lap beneath the table. My heart pounded erratically, and for a moment, I felt as if I were back in that dimly lit corridor—the memory of his grasp, the suffocating fear that had seized my chest.

I forced myself to breathe, to mask my reaction, but how my body stiffened did not go unnoticed.

Theoden tilted his head, as if intrigued by my silence. “Surely, you have something to say?”

My throat felt dry, my voice caught somewhere between fear and fury.

The moment stretched too long.

Then, before I could find my words and force my trembling hands to still, Greyson moved.

As he stood, his chair scraped against the marble floor, positioning himself between me and Theoden. His expression was unreadable, his stance relaxed but carrying a quiet intensity that sent a clear message—one that needed no words.

“Theoden,” Greyson said smoothly, but his voice carried an edge of warning. “It’s rather late. Don’t you think it’s time to take your leave?”

Theoden exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his goblet down. “Protective, aren’t we?” His gaze flickered toward me, his smirk deepening. “That’s quite an interesting reaction, Lady Sage.”

Greyson’s hand twitched at his side but did not take the bait. Instead, he smiled—a sharp, humorless thing.

“I find it fascinating how some men mistake fear for interest,” he mused. “Perhaps it’s because they are so unfamiliar with receiving either genuinely.”

Theoden’s smirk faltered briefly before he let out a low chuckle. “Careful, Greyson,” he said, pushing back his chair and rising. “Your sharp tongue might get you in trouble one day.”

Greyson tilted his head. “Oh, I do hope so. I’d love to see who’d be foolish enough to try.”

The tension between them was suffocating, thick enough to choke the air from the room.

Theoden let out a sigh, feigning boredom. “Well, I suppose I should retire for the evening.” He turned back to me, his eyes gleaming with something dark and unreadable. “Good night, Lady Sage. Let’s hope our conversations become more... comfortable in the future.”

I said nothing. I couldn’t.

He lingered for a moment longer before finally stepping away, his presence leaving behind a heavy weight in my chest.

Only when the doors shut behind him did I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

Greyson turned to me, his voice lower, steadier. “Are you all right?”

I swallowed hard, nodding once.

But Greyson’s gaze lingered on me, searching, as if he could see every crack in the mask I desperately tried to hold together.

“You don’t have to be brave all the time, Sage,” he murmured. “Not when I’m here.”

The words were simple. But they carried more weight than anything spoken at the table tonight.

I exhaled slowly, nodding again, with just a little more certainty.

And for the first time that evening, I felt like I could breathe again.

As the evening faded into the next day, I received an unexpected invitation.

Rosana had summoned me to tea in the garden.

The garden was breathtaking, as always. The scent of blooming roses and fresh jasmine filled the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea. Delicate porcelain clinked as the maids poured the warm liquid into our cups, the sound almost too soft to be heard over the faint rustling of the trees. The sky above was a perfect shade of blue, unmarred by a single cloud.

And yet, beneath all this beauty, a storm brewed.

Seated across from me, Rosana exuded effortless grace, her curls gleaming in the afternoon sun. She was the picture of confidence, her every movement deliberate, every gesture refined. Her dress, a shade of pale rose, complemented her complexion perfectly. The subtle tilt of her chin, the way she held her teacup between delicate fingers—everything about her radiated control.

And beside her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, sat Damien.

He had not acknowledged me once since I arrived.

I gripped the handle of my teacup lightly, keeping my expression neutral, though the weight pressing against my chest made it difficult to breathe.

Rosana sighed contentedly, lifting her cup to her lips before speaking. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? How some things never change, no matter what?”

I glanced at her, keeping my tone carefully even. “And what might you be referring to?”

She set her cup down with a soft clink, tilting her head in feigned thoughtfulness. “Oh, you know… traditions. Bonds. Connections that have been nurtured for years.” A slow, knowing smile tugged at her lips as she glanced at Damien before returning to me. “Damien and I have always been partners at every ball. Every event. It’s just how it has always been. Some things simply… remain.”

Then, as if proving her point, she reached out and gently adjusted the cuff of Damien’s sleeve, her fingers brushing against his wrist in a gesture so familiar, so practiced, that it sent a sharp pang through me.

He remained silent. Unmoving.

The weight in my chest grew heavier.

But when Rosana’s fingers left his sleeve, Damien shifted slightly and stood.

Both Rosana and I looked up.

“I have things to attend to,” he said flatly. His voice carried no warmth, no urgency—just detachment.

Rosana blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Oh? You’re leaving already?”

He didn’t glance at her. Or at me. “Yes.”

And without another word, he turned and walked away.

I should have been used to it by now.

Rosana’s gaze followed him momentarily before she let out a soft, airy laugh. “Well… that was unexpected.” She turned back to me, her lips curling into a smirk. “I suppose even he gets overwhelmed sometimes.”

I gave her a measured look. “Overwhelmed?”

She tilted her head slightly, her blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “By responsibility, of course. By expectations. He has a lot on his shoulders, you know.” She lifted her cup once more, taking a delicate sip before continuing. “But then again, I’m sure you already knew that.”

I said nothing.

She set her cup down gently, folding her hands in her lap. “Doesn’t it bother you, Sage?” she asked suddenly, her voice as smooth as silk. “To know that no matter what, Damien and I will always have this bond? That no matter what title is given to you… you will never have what we have?”

I could hear the challenge in her voice, the deliberate provocation.

But I had spent too long in a world where words were weapons. I would not be easily wounded.

I lifted my chin slightly, keeping my expression calm. “Perhaps you misunderstand something, Lady Rosana.”

Her brows arched slightly, as if intrigued.

I continued, my voice smooth. “I did not choose Damien.” I let the words settle before adding, “He did not choose me, either.”

Silence.

I reached for my teacup once more, my movements elegant, deliberate. “It was the Moon Goddess who chose. Despite everything. Despite the years, the history, and whatever bond you claim to share… I am the one fated to stand beside him.”

Rosana’s fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her teacup, but her smile remained intact. “Fate, hmm?” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “And yet… there are no marks to prove it, are there?”

My breath hitched for a fraction of a second.

The mate bond was undeniable—an invisible thread that tethered souls together. But the physical manifestation of that bond, the mark, had yet to appear—a claim left unsealed.

Rosana’s gaze flickered toward the path where Damien had disappeared. “You see, Sage… if fate were truly unshakable, wouldn’t things have fallen into place by now? Wouldn’t your mark have appeared?” She tilted her head, feigning sympathy. “Or perhaps… perhaps some things can change, after all.”

The words were meant to wound. To plant doubt, to unearth insecurities I had buried deep.

And yet, I refused to let her see me break.

I exhaled softly, setting my cup down. Marks or not, fate is fate,” I murmured, my eyes steady on hers. “Besides, our first marking will be in a few weeks. It will show up and bind us.”

Rosana’s expression didn’t shift, but something flickered behind her eyes—a calculation.

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice as if she were sharing a secret. “Damien and I have danced together at every ball since we were children,” she mused. “Every time he has reached for my hand, I have been there. Every time he has needed support, I have given it. We trained together, fought together, stood side by side for years.” She smiled, and though it was soft, it did not reach her eyes. “Nothing changes, Sage. Not a mate bond. Not fate. Not you.”

I held her gaze, refusing to waver.

I had spent years surviving cruelty, indifference, betrayal.

I would not break under the weight of her words.

Setting my teacup down with practiced elegance, I stood. “It’s been a lovely afternoon, but I have other matters to attend to.”

Rosana simply smiled, her golden curls bouncing slightly as she tilted her head. “Oh? So soon?”

I met her gaze, unreadable. “Yes.”

She studied me for a moment before chuckling softly. “Well, don’t take too long isolating yourself. It wouldn’t do for the future Luna to seem so… detached.”

I ignored the veiled jab and turned away, passing through the palace halls.

I told myself I was unbothered. That Damien’s cold indifference and Rosana’s taunts meant nothing to me. But my heart betrayed me, aching in a way I despised.

I exhaled, trying to push the feeling away.

That was when I heard them.

Two maids, standing just around the corner, whispering in hushed voices.

“…It will be done during dinner.”

“…We must make sure she doesn’t notice. Just a little, enough to make her sick.”

“…She’ll be too humiliated to hold her head high.”

I stilled, my body turning rigid.

They were talking about me.

A slow, simmering anger burned beneath my skin, but I kept calm. There was no fear—only the cold realization that someone wanted to make an example of me.

I stepped back before they could see me and quickly approached my chambers, my mind racing.

Dinner.

I needed to be careful.