Cael

Cael’s POV

The summit banquet was exactly what I expected: a flashy display of wealth, pride, and heavy perfume. The powerful mixed together, showing off their jewels and sharp smiles. Power seemed to fill every corner, with each lord and alpha eager to outshine the others.

I hadn’t seen the High Alpha or the Crescent Moon Alpha yet. They were probably waiting to make a grand entrance, to remind everyone exactly where they stood on the food chain.

Whispers claimed the Crescent Moon Alpha shared blood with the High Alpha. If that was true, toppling one would drag the other down, too. Two birds. One war.

I shake the thought off. Not yet.

For now, I play the part. A nameless alpha among strangers.

I lounge against a marble pillar, the subtle thrum of fae magic vibrating in the walls. Slipping inside was easy: a potion to cloak my scent, a hint of charm, and a forged seal for the gatekeepers. The potion muffles my aura, softens the Alpha edge in my presence. To them, I am nothing but a shadow draped in a suit.

So far, no one’s noticed. A few women glance my way, eyes curious, drawn to the predator beneath the quiet. But no one approaches.

Perfect.

I sip the fae wine. It's sweet and spiced, but too delicate for me. I scan the crowd. Every laugh and secretive whisper feels like a performance. I'm surrounded by liars, but that works for me. Tonight, I blend in with them.

Then the doors at the end of the ballroom open.

The conversation swells and ebbs like a restless tide. Someone significant has arrived. Maybe a Fae Lord, or a human king desperate to seem significant.

I take another slow sip of wine. I don’t care who it is.

Not until the announcer’s voice cuts through the room.

“Presenting the esteemed High Witch of the ShadowLands…”

A murmur of awe moves through the hall. Witches almost never show up at these events. I look up, and a thrum of anger starts to swirl inside me, a deep, unforgiving rage ready to erupt. The High Witch was one of those who would be brought down by my hand.

The announcer continues breaking my thought.

“And her heir, Lady Hana, the next High Witch....”

The glass slips from my hand.

It shatters against the marble, crimson wine splashing like spilled blood.

For a heartbeat, the world stills. Every sound, every movement dulls into nothing.

Her name.

I look up, and there she is.

She stands atop the staircase, light gathering at her feet as if she commands the moon. Her gown, pale blue and laced with glimmering stones, ripples like water with every step. Silver magic threads her pinned hair. She is ethereal, untouchable.

And those eyes.

Gods, those eyes.

Green as spring and just as wild.

My chest constricts. My pulse hammers. The wolf inside me prowls, restless and snarling for release.

Ours.

The word rips through me, raw and fierce like a growl. I grit my teeth, fighting to keep the beast inside.

No.

No, no, no. She can’t be here.

This palace is meant for the powerful: royalty, lords, and chosen delegates. So why is a witch like her striding beside the High Witch herself?

And heir?

The truth hits me like a fist. The woman I have circled, the witch who has haunted my thoughts since Duskreach, is not just powerful. She is the next High Witch.

A living key to the one power I swore to destroy.

The air thickens with murmurs, all eyes locked on her. I can hear every whisper, sharp as claws.

“She’s the heir?”

“Impossible.”

“She’s beautiful.”

That last whisper gets under my skin. My jaw tightens, and the wolf inside me growls quietly, but with danger.

She moves down the staircase with the High Witch beside her, looking out of place among all these predators. For a moment, fear shows in her eyes, but she hides it. She lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. She is fierce and brave.

My witch.

No. I push the thought away, feeling disgust. I shouldn't see her like that. She's a witch, and even worse, the High Witch's heir. Her family is connected to everything I lost, everything I promised to destroy.

So why can’t I look away?

Her scent reaches me through the crowd, a mix of lavender and rain, wild and soft and completely off-limits. For a moment, the potion's effect weakens, and I start to lose control. My nails press into my palms.

I should leave.

I follow her through the crowd, staying on the edges while nobles and fae lords compete for her attention. She gives them a polite, uncertain smile. Then, as if she feels my eyes, she looks up.

Our eyes meet.

The music recedes, the room dissolves, and the only sound left is the thunder of blood in my ears.

Her lips part slightly, surprise flickering across her face.

I retreat into the shadows, severing the connection before recklessness claims me.

I came here for the High Alpha. For revenge. For blood.

But now, in this glittering den of predators, my thoughts are consumed by her.

The witch who should be my enemy.

The mate I should have rejected.

And the woman who could destroy everything.