Sylra's POV
The ballroom blazed with a thousand candles, their light reflecting off gilded walls and polished marble until the entire chamber seemed to glow from within.
I stood at the top of the grand staircase, black silk cascading to the floor, gold thread tracing the Thorne crest across my bodice. The royal pendant hung heavy at my throat. My hair was swept back, woven with golden chains that caught the light with every turn of my head.
Beside me, Caelen waited in formal armor polished to a mirror shine. His hand rested on his sword hilt, his gray eyes scanning the crowd below with predatory focus.
"Ready?" he asked, voice low enough that only I could hear.
"No."
"Good answer." His mouth twitched. "Overconfidence gets people killed."
We descended together. The crowd parted before us, nobles bowing and curtsying as we passed. Their faces were masks of deference, their words dripping with honeyed flattery.
"Your Highness, what an honor." Lord Harren's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You look positively radiant."
"Princess Sylra, the realm rejoices at your ascension." Lady Voss's curtsy was technically perfect and utterly insincere.
I had learned to read faces. Behind every smile lurked contempt. Behind every bow hid mockery. They thought I couldn't see it, thought the former scrub girl from Blackmaw was too naive to recognize poison wrapped in pretty words.
Let them underestimate me.
"Thank you, Lady Voss," I replied, my voice carrying effortlessly. "I look forward to your continued counsel once I take the throne."
Something flickered in her expression. Uncertainty, perhaps. Good.
The herald's voice boomed across the chamber. "Presenting the delegation from Blackmaw Pack. Alpha Rovan Dareth, Lady Vela Dareth, Lady Neressa Dareth, and Lady Elene of Redfang."
The crowd shifted. Conversations dimmed. Every eye in the room turned toward the entrance.
Lady Vela swept in first, her silver gown catching the candlelight, her expression arranged into perfect false humility. Behind her came Neressa, cold and beautiful, her gaze cutting through the crowd with surgical precision. Elene followed, wearing crimson that matched her flame-red hair, a predator's smile curving her painted lips.
And then Rovan.
His eyes found me the instant he crossed the threshold. They locked onto my face with an intensity that made my skin prickle, and they stayed there. Hungry. Desperate. He barely glanced at the glittering nobles, barely acknowledged the whispered greetings as he passed. His entire focus narrowed to a single point.
Me.
The delegation approached. Lady Vela curtsied with exaggerated grace. "Your Highness. How generous of you to invite us to witness this joyous occasion."
"Lady Vela." I kept my voice neutral. "I trust your journey was comfortable."
"Quite comfortable, thank you." Her eyes flickered to Caelen, standing motionless at my shoulder. "I see you've acquired a shadow."
"Lord Rhys serves as my personal guard. Given recent... incidents, I'm sure you understand the precaution."
Something sharp glinted in her expression before she smoothed it away. "Of course. One can never be too careful."
Rovan stepped forward, bowing stiffly. When he straightened, his gaze moved to Caelen, and his expression darkened. His jaw clenched. His hands curled at his sides.
"Your Highness." The words came out rough. "Might I have a moment of your time? Privately?"
Caelen shifted beside me. "The Princess has many guests to attend to—"
"It's fine," I cut in. "A moment, Lord Dareth."
We stepped into an alcove off the main ballroom, partially hidden by velvet curtains. The music and chatter faded to a distant hum. Rovan stood too close, his body blocking the exit, his eyes burning into mine.
"You replaced me." The words exploded from him in a harsh whisper. "With your father's warrior. A man raised to kill, not to love."
"That's none of your concern."
"None of my—" He laughed, the sound bitter and broken. "I watched him stand beside you. I watched the way he looks at you, the way he positions himself between you and any threat. Do you think I'm blind? Do you think I can't see what's happening?"
"What's happening is that I'm preparing to take my throne." I kept my voice steady. "Everything else is irrelevant."
"Irrelevant?" His face twisted with possessive fury. "You were mine first, Sylra. Mine. I held you. I made vows to you. Whatever you think you feel for that cold-eyed killer, it's nothing compared to what we had."
"What we had was three years of silence and neglect."
"I explained—"
"You explained nothing." I stepped forward, refusing to be cornered. "You made excuses. You blamed your mother, blamed duty, blamed everyone except yourself. And now you stand here claiming ownership of me while your mate waits in the ballroom?"
"Elene means nothing to me!"
"Then you're a worse man than I thought, because she's given up everything for your alliance." I met his eyes. Steady. Unflinching. "Leave, Rovan. Before I have the guards remove you."
His face crumpled. The possessive anger drained away, leaving something raw and wounded in its wake.
"Do you love him?" The question came out barely above a whisper. "The warrior. Caelen. Do you love him?"
My heart stuttered in my chest. "That is none of your concern."
"Please." His voice cracked. "I need to know. Do you—"
"What happens in my life is no longer your business." I stepped past him, brushing his shoulder as I moved toward the curtain. "Enjoy the ball, Lord Dareth."
I walked away without looking back.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of forced smiles and political maneuvering. When the final guests departed and the candles burned low, I made my way to my father's chambers.
The King lay propped against pillows, his skin gray, his breathing shallow. He could barely lift his head when I entered, and the sight of him so diminished sent ice through my veins.
"Father." I knelt beside his bed, taking his frail hand. "You should be resting."
"I'll rest when I'm dead." A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "Which will be sooner than either of us would like."
"Don't say that."
"We're past pretending, daughter." His fingers tightened weakly around mine. "Promise me something."
"Anything."
"Promise me you'll be ready." His eyes burned with feverish intensity. "Promise me you won't let them take what's yours. The throne, the kingdom, your birthright—fight for it. Bleed for it if you must."
"I promise."
He exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his wasted frame. "The hunt tomorrow. Be careful."
"I will."
"No." His grip tightened with surprising strength. "Listen to me. Lady Vela is planning something. I've seen the way she watches you, the way her people position themselves. The hunt takes you into the forest, away from the palace, away from your guards."
"Caelen will be with me."
"One man against whatever she's arranged?" He shook his head weakly. "Trust no one tomorrow. Keep your blade close. And Sylra?"
"Yes?"
"If something happens to me before you return..." His voice faded, his eyes drifting closed. "Know that I am proud of the woman you've become. Prouder than I can say."
I pressed my lips to his forehead, tasting salt and sickness. "I'll make you proud, Father. I swear it."
His only response was the ragged rhythm of his breathing as he slipped into fitful sleep.
I left his chambers with his warning echoing in my mind.
Lady Vela is planning something.