Serena stirred before the light touched the windows. The world felt heavier than it had when she'd fallen asleep, but somehow... quieter. Her limbs were sore, but she was upright, breathing, and intact.
Yesterday was a blur. She wasn't even quite sure what happened.
She soaked in a hot bath, rinsing away the last of yesterday's worry. She stepped out, wrapped in a towel, to find Elara waiting.
"They offered us pack membership," Elara said, like it was casual news and not life-altering.
Serena froze mid-step. "What?"
"Drakenfell," Elara confirmed. "Full rights. No probation. We were invited."
Serena blinked, heart thudding fast. "Are you serious?"
Elara nodded, tugging her gently down. "I'm serious."
A grin cracked across Serena's face before she could stop it. Though she had never shifted, being packless had always felt like living without skin, and now excitement buzzed in her chest like lightning.
Elara tossed a fresh training suit across the bed. "Up. Suit. Cloak."
The suit was black with a red Drakenfell insignia. It fit better than the last, but was still too loose. Serena fastened the crimson cloak over it, hiding her body beneath it.
"Turn," Elara said, tugging the comb through Serena's damp hair.
Serena obeyed as Elara worked efficiently, pinning her hair half-up. Her damp hair curled as it dried, settling in heavy waves down her waist.
Before Serena could look in the mirror or say thank you, there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," Elara called.
Gavriel Sterling stepped through the door, expression unreadable. "I'm supposed to escort you to the ritual grounds."
His eyes didn't quite land on Serena until the sentence was complete. Then he froze.
"You, uh…" he cleared his throat, then gave a crooked grin. "You look significantly less half-dead than yesterday. Borderline stunning, even. Disgusting."
Serena smirked. "Thank you for your honesty. You look like someone tried to smuggle sarcasm through customs and failed."
Elara snorted. Gavriel gave a mock bow. "Fair. Shall we?"
They moved through the halls at a steady pace. Stares followed Serena, per usual. More than Gavriel expected. He blinked and shifted closer to her after the first corridor.
It didn't help.
The gazes changed, sliding from who is that to is she with him. Gavriel pretended not to notice. His mouth almost curved.
The ritual grounds came into view, tucked within an old stone courtyard behind the castle. At its center stood a weathered altar. Behind it, a large crystal basin glowed faintly, a dim fire as the only source of light.
Serena slowed as they approached. Déjà vu pulsed under her chest without reason or warning.
Dexmon's breath hitched when he saw her.
Was it possible she was more beautiful than he remembered?
But then he felt something. An emotion pressed against the edge of his mind. Powerful. Not his.
He frowned. And then it clicked.
She was trying to remember something.
He'd felt it before, the day she met Velkaris. He hadn't been present then, caught in a meeting, and had assumed the sensation was his own.
Now he knew better.
And he wished, fiercely, that he could ask her why.
Queen Bellatrix's eyes narrowed from across the circle, gaze sharp and unflinching. Serena met her stare with a quiet curiosity—like someone studying a puzzle rather than engaging in war.
Beside her, Elara froze mid-step grabbing Serena's arm.
Serena paused and looked at her friend.
But Elara remained frozen. Her eyes were locked straight ahead.
Serena followed her gaze and found it instantly.
Standing next to Dex, straight-backed and wide-eyed, was Hale Ironholt—Beta of Drakenfell.
His massive frame was still as stone, except for his jaw, which had gone completely slack. He looked like someone had just thrown a lightning bolt into his frontal lobe.
His eyes were glued to Elara.
Serena's lips twitched. She glanced between them once, then wisely said nothing.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Bellatrix hissed under her breath, clearly unbothered by the sanctity of the grounds. Her eyes flicked toward Elara with a scowl.
"Yes. That does smell good," Elara said quickly, shaking her head once. She kept walking toward the ritual circle like nothing had happened.
Serena wasn't sure if she was speaking to her just then or to herself.
Hale was still staring.
His lips parted.
"Hale. I am—hi," he said. The words came out mangled, like his brain had loaded them in the wrong order.
Serena focused very hard on keeping her face composed. Gods, she wanted to giggle, but she didn't dare.
"You smell nice," Hale added, flashing a boyish grin that looked far too sincere for a man his size.
Gavriel and Dexmon glanced at one another in perfect unison, then both looked away just as fast. Gavriel converted his laugh into a rough cough. Dexmon lifted his hand to his chin like he'd suddenly been struck by a deeply philosophical thought.
"Thank you," Elara said warmly, entirely unbothered.
Queen Bellatrix made a sharp, displeased sound.
"Must we encourage this?" she drawled, eyes flicking from Hale to Elara with thinly veiled disdain. "We are here for a sacred rite, not a tavern courtship."
Her gaze slid deliberately to Serena, cool and cutting.
"Though I suppose this sort of attention is familiar to girls who survive by being noticed."
The air tightened.
Serena didn't flinch or rise to it. She merely inclined her head a fraction, expression unreadable, as if Bellatrix had spoken about the weather rather than her worth.
The fire behind the altar crackled, flames flaring higher for just a breath, as if something older than all of them had taken offense.
"Oh don't give me that pious look. You opened your legs to get here and you know it," Bellatrix said, her tone like acid on silk.
Elara glanced at Serena eyes wide with disbelief. Serena didn't dare return the look. If she did, she'd lose it—laugh, snort, or something. And right now, that would get her killed.
Dexmon blinked, possessiveness flashing hot beneath his calm. An insult to her was an insult to him.
"She did no such thing," he said, voice low and sharp.
"Hush. You lost all credibility the second she opened her bed to you," Bellatrix snapped.
Serena's brows lifted. For a breath, her expression betrayed the smartass reply on her tongue: Yes, clearly. All that seduction I did while unconscious in a healer's bed.
But she bit it back. Not wise.
Bellatrix was watching her too closely. Almost expectant. That's when it clicked.
This wasn't just spite. This was a test. A dirty, deliberate one. Woman to woman. Serena recognized the move. She'd seen it before in throne-rooms and courtyards.
Bellatrix's eyes flashed.
"I know exactly how you got here. On your back, on your knees, and on your silence."
Serena blinked shocked by the crudeness. Had she done something to offend this woman? Maybe she was mistaking her for someone else.
Gavriel cut through the silence before Dex could.
"That's one theory," he said lightly. "Mine is she's just very bad at dying."
Bellatrix shot him a glare. Gavriel just raised both hands, smiling. "What?"
Her gaze returned to Serena, chin raised. Silence stretched, the air tightening with it.
"The whoring you inherited from your mother no doubt does nothing for the prestige of Drakenfell. Especially not from some slave servant who knows nothing but dirt and chains."
Serena didn't flinch. When she spoke, her tone was calm. Measured.
"And yet here we are," she said. "Wasting your prestige talking to a slave servant who knows nothing but dirt and chains."
Bellatrix's voice dropped, eyes narrowing on Serena.
"Enjoy the attention. It's the only currency you have, and it depreciates fast."
"I'm flattered you've given it that much thought, Queen Bellatrix," Serena said, voice as steady as stone.
"Why… you little slut," Bellatrix hissed, moving towards Serena eyes flashing gold.
King Tiberon's voice cracked like thunder, cold and absolute.
"That's enough."
The flames in the crystal basin surged again.
Bellatrix stopped mid-step, spine rigid, her mouth still half open with fury.
Tiberon's gaze swept the circle, settling on his queen with the weight of a thousand battles behind it.
"This is sacred ground," he said, each word sharp as a blade. "You will not desecrate it with petty cruelty. Not here. Not now."
Bellatrix's jaw clenched, but she said nothing.
He turned to Serena voice shifting—still steel, but threaded with something quieter.
"You've held your composure well, Miss Silverveil. That is noted."
Then back to Bellatrix. "Leave the circle. Return when you remember you are queen of this realm—not a spurned girl with a grudge."
For a beat, no one moved.
Then Bellatrix's chin lifted. Her nostrils flared. And she turned on her heel with the precision of a blade, her crimson cloak snapping behind her as she stormed from the ritual ground.
Elara exhaled—shaky, but quiet.
Gavriel let out a low whistle. "Well. That was almost spiritual."
Dexmon said nothing. But he hadn't looked away from Serena once.
Serena exhaled, not upset but more so confused. Trying to understand what she did that caused that woman to hate her so. The comments couldn't be more off base.
She'd never even kissed a boy, let alone slept with one.