Maltheira arched a brow, irritation etched in the rigid lines of her face as if even breathing in the same air as Serenya was an affront. She leaned back in her chair, her voice sharp with disdain. "That human beside—"
"Princess Serenya," Zareth cut in, his tone deliberate, a blade dipped in velvet. His crimson eyes gleamed dangerously, daring her to finish the insult.
The interruption left a hush in the air, the kind that made the others at the long table tense in their seats. Zareth did not glance at Maltheira again; instead, he reached with languid precision for a slice of roasted meat, slid it onto his cutlery, and placed it on Serenya's plate.
The soft clink of steel against porcelain echoed louder than it should have. Serenya's head lifted, her wide eyes flashing with surprise. She knew she should have grown accustomed to such gestures by now—his endless insistence on feeding her in front of everyone, as though marking her as his possession—but her heart still fluttered like a trapped bird. Heat climbed her neck.
Still, obediently, she lifted her cutlery, gathering the food, and slipped it into her mouth. She chewed carefully, aware of every stare piercing her from the opposite end of the table.
Maltheira's jaw tightened, her molars grinding as though to keep from spitting venom outright. "Princess Serenya seemed to have forgotten to arrive at the table before the family as a guest," she said through clenched teeth, slicing at her food with unnecessary force before popping a piece between her lips.
Her voice oozed smugness as she tilted her head. "Isn't that what your mother taught you?"
The barb struck its mark. Maltheira's eyes glittered, knowing full well the sacred reverence Zareth held for his late mother, the former Empress whose rules of decorum had been law in the palace.
For a moment, only the quiet scrape of silverware filled the air. Then Zareth laughed, a low, smooth sound that made the hairs on Serenya's arms prickle. He sighed, almost theatrically, as if disappointed rather than provoked.
"I don't know why you always seem to forget who you are," he drawled. His voice was calm, but it carried the kind of edge that could cut bone. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, and his red eyes locked onto Maltheira with a predator's patience.
"Have you perhaps forgotten," he murmured, "that you are not royalty? You were married into this family by chance. A convenient arrangement." His lip curled faintly. "Whereas Serenya is a princess of Vayrana. Born with blood that will outlast your name."
The words were silk-wrapped poison, and Serenya's chest tightened as she shifted uncomfortably under the table's oppressive atmosphere.
But Maltheira wasn't finished. "I might not be royalty," she spat, "but at least I know the culture. Which"—her chin angled toward Serenya—"it seems she does not."
Serenya's lips pressed together, her heart skipping as frustration coiled in her chest. She didn't know why they were making it a buf deal when she hadn't offended anyone!. Always Maltheira's veiled jabs aimed to make her feel small, misplaced, unworthy.
"As it happens," Maltheira continued, feigning sweet reason, "since this culture was shaped by your late mother, perhaps you should ensure it is upheld." She stabbed her fork into her food with a snap.
Velmira, seizing her opening like a snake, leaned forward. "I suggest you punish her, Your Imperial Majesty."
Serenya inhaled sharply, her head whipping toward Zareth. Punish her? For what—existing? She searched his face, but his expression was unreadable, carved in cruel amusement.
Instead of answering, Zareth picked up another morsel of food and placed it gently on Serenya's plate. "Eat this, little dove."
Her mouth opened, words at the edge of her tongue, but his words silenced her more effectively than anything could. She lowered her lashes, picked up the food, and placed it in her mouth, swallowing the bitter flavor of annoyance along with the bite.
Then came the gloved brush of his hand against her lips—leisurely, possessive. He swept away a nonexistent crumb, his thumb lingering with deliberate intimacy. Serenya's breath caught in her chest, while a rush of heat stormed her cheeks. She wanted to pull back but forced herself not to move.
The other women stiffened, fury darkening their features.
"You all seem to have forgotten something," Zareth said, his voice silk over steel. His smile curved, unsettling and cruel. "Let me remind you—for the last time."
He leaned forward, his elbow resting lazily on the table, but his eyes burned like embers in the dark.
"Serenya is going to be my wife. Your future Empress. What made you think she must bow to your rules, when you are guests in her palace?"
The silence that followed was suffocating. Maltheira's lips parted, but no words came. She looked stricken, then quickly recovered. "We're family—"
"Serenya is my only family," Zareth cut in sharply, his voice so cold it froze her mid-sentence. "Why do I feel as though I've had this conversation far too many times already?"
His gaze shifted with deliberate slowness to Velmira. "And you," he murmured, his tongue curling around the word like an insult , a crooked smile falling on his lips . "You spoke of punishment. Yes… perhaps it is time you are reminded of your place. You dared insult the future Empress—and suggested she lick your feet. Bold. Pathetically bold."
Velmira's face drained of all color. She gripped her goblet tightly, her knuckles white. How did he know about that ?!. She turned to her mother who was equally shocked ."Your Imperial Majesty, I only acted in your interest—"
Before she could finish, Sorrelith interjected, her smile tight, eyes glinting with opportunism. "Surely, Your Majesty, such an insult to the throne cannot be brushed aside. It would be unwise to appear lenient."
Zareth's chuckle was low, cruel. "How eager you are to play executioner when it is someone else's neck on the block."
Sorrelith clamped her mouth shut feeling Velmira's glaring gaze on her .
Then, suddenly, he turned his piercing gaze to Serenya. "Little dove, tell me—what punishment do you think they deserve?"
Her heart plummeted. Serenya froze, her fork trembling slightly in her grip. Maltheira's glare was sharp as daggers, daring her to speak. Velmira glared at her . Her gaze full of contempt .
Serenya's nature recoiled. She had never been one to deal punishments; she sought to understand, to heal, to soothe. But these women… their arrogance, their cruelty… the way they treated her as though she were dirt under their heels…
Her throat tightened. Slowly, she turned to Zareth, voice soft but steady. "Can I ask them to leave?"
Zareth's crooked smile unfurled like a wolf baring its teeth. "You may do whatever pleases you, dove. Your wish is their command."
Turning back to them, Serenya gathered her courage, her chest rising with the force of her resolve. "I want all of you to leave the palace."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Maltheira's nostrils flared, her fury palpable, but she held her tongue, recognizing the lethal curve of Zareth's smirk. His gaze promised destruction should she challenge Serenya's decree.
Sorrelith, however, leaned forward, her voice coated in false sweetness. "Isn't that rather harsh, Your Highness?" The title left her lips like venom. "After all, only my mother and sister offended you. My brother and I had no part in this."
Cavric added stiffly, "Pardon us, Your Highness."
Serenya hesitated, her soft heart faltering for a beat. But Zareth leaned in before her doubt could take root.
"No," he said, his tone final. "You arrived together, you will leave together. Surely you wouldn't want to be separated from your lovely mother, would you?" His mockery dripped like acid.
"We require solitude," he added, his eyes glinting red. "And I detest lingering pests."
Cavric's jaw clenched, his lips parting to protest, but Zareth stood abruptly. The scrape of his chair on the marble floor made everyone else rise instinctively, as though commanded.
He extended his hand, curling his gloved fingers around Serenya's with possessive ease. "Cassian will see you out," he said, his voice ringing like a decree. "Pack everything. Thoroughly. We wouldn't want a repeat of what happened the last time".
His gaze locked on Velmira, whose cheeks burned crimson with humiliation at the reference. She dropped her eyes, shame prickling across her face.
Satisfied, Zareth tugged Serenya closer to him, his lips curling against her temple. "See, dove?" he whispered, his voice low enough for her alone. "Even wolves bow their heads when you speak with my name on your tongue."
Serenya's chest swelled, torn between awe, embarrassment, and a dawning realization of the power he thrust into her hands.