Kael
I shouldn't have said it.
The moment the words left my mouth — "Magic gets people killed" — I saw the way Elion's eyes dimmed.
It wasn't the first time I'd clipped his wings. He's a child. He'll recover. They always do.
But she looked at me.
Serenya.
She looked at me like I was the monster in his dream. Not the Alpha King. Not the protector of the realm. Just a sharp edge in a room full of warmth.
I hate that I cared.
I left before the meal was over, told Kaleb I had meetings with the Council. I lied.
I went to the north tower instead — the one with the observation balcony and a view over the ocean cliffs.
I didn't want anyone around when I smelled it again.
Her.
It was faint, but it followed me now — that strange blend of lavender, old paper, and... something else. Something metallic and soft, like lightning hidden beneath velvet.
It wasn't perfume. It wasn't anything she wore.
It was her.
And my wolf felt it.
The bastard stirred every time she entered a room.
There's a rule I've lived by since the attack on my parents:
Distance is power.
If they can't reach your heart, they can't destroy it.
I've followed it without exception — with lovers, with allies, with blood.
Even with Elion, I guard myself. I don't let him see when the dreams come back. I don't let him hear me scream when I wake.
And yet this girl — this stranger, this barely-an-adult with moonlight in her eyes and something ancient in her silence — is unraveling that control one breath at a time.
She's hiding something.
I can smell it.
Not just the fear — though that hums under her skin like a trapped current. Not just grief — though I know that look, too. The way you stare at windows like they're escape routes. The way your shoulders flinch when someone speaks too loud.
No, her secret is heavier. Thicker. Something buried under layers of obedience and calm.
Magic.
My wolf growls at the word.
I remember the way it burned my father's body. I remember the charred walls, the scent of blood and sulfur. I remember standing in what was left of the throne room and tasting ash on my tongue.
Magic took everything from me.
And now a girl who smells like fire has stepped into my house, into my nephew's dreams, into my skin.
I went to Kaleb's office first.
He was alone, of course. Always early, always working.
"She slept in Elion's bed," I said without preamble.
He didn't even look up from his data pad. "He had a nightmare. She comforted him. He slept."
"She's been here one day."
Kaleb finally glanced up. "And Elion hasn't screamed once since."
I clenched my jaw.
"She's hiding something."
"She's young. Cautious. You remember what that's like."
"She smells like lightning."
Kaleb blinked. "...Are you scenting the staff now?"
"I'm not an idiot."
"No. You're worse. You're paranoid."
I stepped closer. "I want a background check. Something deeper than the standard vetting. I want everything. Her school, her bloodwork, her guardians. I want to know what she dreamed about when she was five."
"You don't trust your own nephew's instincts?"
"I don't trust anyone I didn't choose myself."
There was a beat of silence.
And then, quietly, Kaleb said, "You didn't choose me either."
I didn't answer.
Because I couldn't.
I found myself outside the west wing later.
I wasn't looking for her.
That's what I told myself.
I was just walking. Checking the perimeter. Thinking.
And yet, when I heard her laugh — low, soft, like she didn't let it out often — I froze.
She was in the garden.
With Elion.
And Ilyra.
The old cook had flour on her cheeks and a plate of raspberry cookies in her hand, and Elion was halfway through his third one while telling some dramatic story with his arms flailing wildly.
Sera sat beside him on the grass, legs crossed, eyes bright. Sunlight caught her hair, turned it into fire. The pendant around her neck glinted once — just a flicker beneath her collar — and I felt something twist behind my ribs.
I'd seen that symbol before.
No, I told myself. You're imagining things.
I stepped back before they saw me.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I kept thinking about her hands — the way she touched Elion's scraped knee, the way he looked at her like she was his whole sky.
And I kept hearing her voice from breakfast:
"He's a dreamer. That's a gift."
Not a threat.
Not something to break.
She said it like someone who knew how it felt to dream and be punished for it.
The worst part?
I want her to be innocent.
I want her to be just a girl with a soft voice and stars on her socks.
I want her to be someone I can let into this family.
Because if she's not…
If she's what I think she might be—
I'll have to destroy her.
And that thought?
That possibility?
Hurts.
More than I expected.