It was too quiet in the room. The kind of silence that persisted before blood was shed, not the quiet of peace. Seraphina opened her eyes. Her limbs were wrapped in silk sheets, a harsh change from the chains that had restrained her just hours earlier. She was lying on a bed that could have swallowed her.
The canopy above was interwoven with silver threads, and the mattress was substantial. But her chest was constricted. She was not at liberty. Slowly, she sat up. Her whole body ached, but her wrists, although being bandaged, throbbed less and her wounds had been cleaned. The air was slightly scented with wild herbs—lavender, mint, sage. Beyond the crystal-paned doors were guards. Armoured statues. Two. No, three.
Their faces were concealed by black helms, their backs stiff. Not talking. Not moving. She tried the bed's edge. Warm stone touched her bare feet. The underfloor was illuminated by someone. Steps. Seraphina spun around, her heart pounding.
At the doorway stood a young woman, no more than eighteen, holding a tray. As soon as Seraphina gazed at her, her eyes fell on the palace crest on the girl's shoulder. A servant. "You're awake," the girl said in a barely audible whisper.
"Where am I?" Like sandpaper, Seraphina's voice scratched. The girl winced. "The northern chamber of the King. The wing of the former Queen."
Seraphina took a swallow. "Why?" Her hands trembled. She put the tray down—broth, fruit, a towel folded. "They promised to keep you secure. However, they also advised against leaving."
"Caged like a prisoner or kept safe like a guest?" The girl paused. Seraphina was sufficiently informed. "What's your name?"
"Isolde."
"Do they all want me dead, Isolde?" The young lady glanced over her shoulder, then leaned in. She hardly breathed as she spoke. "Yes."
Seraphina remained unflinching. That was what she had anticipated. "And the King?" Isolde's expression changed—perplexity, respect, a hint of terror. "He gave the command to tend to your wounds. For myself." Seraphina blinked. "He was here?"
"He spent the entire night near the bed. Didn't say anything. I simply observed you. Left before the sun came up."
Seraphina gripped the bedsheet tightly. Why would the King of the Lycan Clans, Kael Draven, sleep next to a broken omega? Did it involve guilt? Wonder? Or something more sinister?
"He has not communicated with anyone since." Isolde paused. "However, Astrid has." Like a snake, the name curled.
"What did she say?" The answer came like a cold thing: that you are a curse, that everything would burn if you remain here.
Seraphina chuckled. It wasn't soft. It wasn't light. The laugh belonged to someone who had endured too much to give a damn. "Perhaps she is correct."
There was a knock—from the far wall, not the main door. Empty. Deliberate. Isolde turned pale. "No one would come in," she whispered. "Someone lied after that." The girl shook and turned. Seraphina took hold of her arm. "Leave. Right now. Return only in the morning."
"Now." Without saying another word, Isolde ran away.
Stepping to the corner, Seraphina found a tiny, ornamental blade concealed in the fruit tray's base. She accepted it. One more knock—louder this time—then silence. She slowed her breathing and strained her ears. Steps. Not armed. Gentle. False.
The curtain near the alcove of the window moved. She turned. Someone lunged. A hand crashed into Seraphina's shoulder, slamming her against the wall as her blade struck the air.
She returned the kick. Her assailant faltered. There was a flash of metal. She caught skin and slashed upward. A hiss. Then claws. She dodged—too sluggish. Her forearm was ripped open. She collided into a column of marble. He moved like a Lycan. Not a palace guard. Not even a soldier. A murderer.
Once more, he lunged. Rolling across the stone floor, she twisted. The tray's cloth snagged beneath her hand. Then she threw it at him—just enough to blind him for a moment. The sword drove deep into his thigh. He let forth a shout, and from the corridor came the cry, "All hands up! The inmate is being attacked!"
Steel clanged. The door exploded. The assailant attempted to flee but it was too late. One of the guards threw a spear. Blood poured quickly as the man fell mid-turn. Another panting man stepped in. "He belonged to our group. A reliable courier for the kitchen."
"Not anymore," snarled the skipper. Seraphina's hand was gushing blood. She stood despite the shaking in her legs. The fallen man turned to face her—no anger, no madness—only fear of her.
She raised her gaze to the guards. "Inform your King. His ward was attempted to be killed. I also don't intend to pass away in peace." They gave a nod.
Footsteps thundered outside the chamber. Now, however, Seraphina did not feel like prey. She had teeth.
"Are you conscious, inmate?" The voice cut through the silence like a silken blade, a low hiss just above a whisper. Seraphina's breath caught in her throat as she sprang upright. She clenched her fingers around the coverlet's edge. Dim silver shadows filled her chamber as the moonlight disappeared behind a heavy cloud.
As she looked around the chamber—stone, the soft flutter of draperies—she heard the voice again: "Don't scream. It will only exacerbate it." Her heart thumping, she gently turned her head. A shadow moved in the distant corner and shifted.
"What are you looking for?" Despite the crack in her voice, she managed to force the next words out. "King Kael is protecting me."
A low chuckle. "Protection? Whose? He? Or ourselves?" The silhouette emerged from the darkness. A heavy cowl covered his face, and he wore a muted grey cloak. As he turned a blade in his fingers, its edge briefly caught the moonlight.
"You're an omega," he said. "You have no place here. The order is upset by you. Are you aware of your own danger?" Carefully keeping the bed between them, she stood up. The cold marble floor was silent beneath her bare feet.
"I have no idea who I am." "Just that," he whispered. "And that's the issue."
"This is not necessary for you to accomplish," she said in a low, nearly whispering voice. "You're free to go. Nobody will be aware. Please."
The killer cocked his head. "Do you believe this to be personal? This is order, girl. It's like lighting a spark next to dried parchment while you're here. It only takes a single hot breath to destroy the entire court." She stepped back. "Then inform Kael. Inform the council. Don't enter in the dark like a coward."
After declaring, "I'm not here to speak," he lunged.
Seraphina did not think. Raw, primordial instinct tore through her. A surge of energy erupted from her chest as her hand shot out, palm first. The man was flung across the room when the energy wave struck him in the middle of his lunge. He hit the distant wall with a terrible thud. The room smelled of leather that had been burnt.
Her arms remained up, her chest heaving as she stood motionless. A moan. Half-rising, the assassin rolled, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. "Moonborn," he squeaked. She looked at him in horror.
"What was the name you gave me?" With red teeth, he grinned. "He will murder you for it. Or worse—take you."
The door exploded open. With three guards at his heels and a black coat billowing behind him, Kael Draven stormed in. He looked at her, then at the dead assassin. "What took place?"
She said, "I woke up to him. He claimed that I was ordered to die. I simply came at him without intending to." The assassin coughed out blood and smiled, "She utilised power."
"I had no idea who she was. However, he will now." Kael's voice was deathly quiet, but his eyes clouded. "Grab him." The individual was seized by two guards.
The assassin spat, "She's a weapon." "Moreover, weapons are never kept in their sheaths." Like a lion approaching a wounded animal, Kael advanced with deliberate strides. Silently, "Did you touch him?" he enquired.
"I didn't; he approached me."
"I didn't ask that question." She took a deep breath. "Indeed. I made use of things. I have no idea what it is. I had no intention of doing so."
Kael held up a hand. "Enough." She recoiled, bracing herself for a blow, a curse—anything. Rather, he extended his hand and touched her chin, raising it. His fingers were warm. Too warm.
"You triggered an old force," he said. "Even the royal line is afraid."
"Who am I?" she murmured.
Kael's eyes held a faint glimmer. "I haven't slept in five years because of you." She gazed at him. "What?"
Footsteps came from the hallway. "Your Majesty," his Beta's voice said. "The court is requesting that you appear. You weren't present when the council met."
Kael continued to look her in the eye. "Give them time to wait." She shook and cried, "Kael, why are you assisting me?"
"Because ever since the last Moon Eclipse, I've seen your face in my dreams," he remarked quietly. He gestured to the guards as he turned away from her. "Keep the perimeter secure. I don't want anyone in this chamber's five corridors. Anyone who disobeys bleeds."
With a salute, the guards pulled the assassin away. Seraphina inhaled nervously.
"Moonborn," she whispered. "You said... what does that signify?"
Kael paused at the entrance and lowered his voice to a whisper. "That suggests you weren't meant to be here." Then he vanished, and the faint echo of her own heartbeat pulsed through the room in the silence—and the faintly glowing mark under her chest's flesh.