"Disappointment is but the first spark; from it, ambition finds its flame."
3RD POV
Luna Seraphine had spent hours preparing for what she considered the most important evening of her life.
Her chambers looked more like a temple than a place of rest. Silken gowns lay discarded over chairs as her handmaidens scrambled to find the one dress that would send the right message: power, allure, and an unspoken promise that no man King or otherwise would walk away unmoved. She demanded perfection, not simply because she craved Alaric's approval, but because the entire kingdom whispered about their looming marriage.
Tonight, she thought, he will see me not as a political ally, but as a woman. The scent of roses and musk clung to her skin as oils were rubbed along her arms and throat. Her hair, dark as midnight, fell in carefully curled waves. The gown she finally chose was crimson silk, slit high along the thigh, the bodice daringly low, threaded with black lace that left little to imagination. Even her jewelry glittered like weapons diamonds sharp enough to cut.
"Do I look irresistible?" she asked her handmaid, voice smooth, though her eyes were edged with steel.
The girl swallowed nervously, bowing her head. "Majesty… you look like fire itself."
Seraphine smiled. Fire. Yes. Fire could burn through Alaric's walls.
When the dinner began, she had the very image of calculated seduction. Candlelight pooled across the polished table, wine glowed ruby in crystal, and her every glance was sharpened to snare. She leaned forward often, her perfume wafting between them, her lips curling into coy smiles. She asked questions designed to draw him closer, to remind him that he was not only a King, but a man.
But Alaric sat like stone. Polite. Cordial. Infuriatingly distant. His wolf's eyes flickered once, a clear sign of disdain, though he masked it well enough to anyone else. Seraphine, however, noticed every twitch.
When she finally abandoned subtlety, when she leaned back in her chair and whispered with velvet firmness, "Why not tonight? Why not claim what is already destined to be yours? She expected hesitation, even surprise, but not what came.
The King choked on his wine spluttering like a boy caught stealing pastries. Her jaw tightened, but she kept her poise, awaiting his surrender. Instead, he laughed. Laughed. And then explained, in that maddeningly calm tone, that he followed tradition, that intimacy would wait until after vows were exchanged. Tradition and he hid behind dusty customs as though they were armor. She pressed harder, suggesting they move the wedding forward. She painted it with reason and urgency, but underneath her voice was plea. Surely, he would, see? Surely the spark of desire had to be there?
But Alaric's eyes hardened. He rose, his shadow stretching long against the candlelight, and his words fell like ice across the table. "This marriage was arranged as alliance. I will honor it—but you should never expect more."
The dinner ended with no kiss, no touch, not even a shred of warmth and so, as Seraphine walked back to her chambers now, silk skirts brushing against the marble corridors, fury coiled with bitter disappointment in her chest.
Her guards followed in silence, well-trained shadows at her back.
"Majesty," one ventured softly, "did the dinner… not go as you hoped?"
Seraphine stopped, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She turned, every inch the Luna, her beauty now sharpened into danger. Her lips curved, not in a smile, but in a cutting sneer.
"The King," she said, each word clipped, "has made it clear. He believes in this union nothing more than an arrangement of politics. An alliance without affection. He has… drawn a line."
Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.
One guard dared a glance at her expression, quickly lowering his eyes again. "Do you wish us to—"
"No." Her voice cracked like a whip. "Not yet. Alaric will soon learn that walls, no matter how high, can be scaled. But…" She exhaled, forcing her shoulders straight, lifting her chin. "For now, we bide. We prepare. And we remember he will be mine, whether he wishes it or not."
The words echoed, low and venomous, a vow not to be broken. Inside her chambers, when the doors shut, her mask slipped. For just a heartbeat, she let herself sag against vanity, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The crimson dress, the diamonds, the kohl-lined eyes all mocked her. She had given everything tonight, and yet he had not seen her. Not truly.
"An alliance," she whispered bitterly to the mirror. "Nothing more."
She ripped the necklace from her throat, tossing the diamonds across the vanity where they clattered like broken glass. Rage burned hot in her chest, but beneath it was something far more dangerous fear. If Alaric truly intended to keep her at arm's length, then her position as Luna Queen would be fragile. A wife without affection was easy to dismiss, easy to replace, easy to render irrelevant. That would not do.
She would not be forgotten nor would not be powerless. Pacing the length of her chamber, Seraphine let her mind sharpen. There had to be a reason for hidden one for his stubborn restraint. No man was immune to her charms, not even kings. Unless his heart already belonged elsewhere. The thought froze mid-stride. Could it be? Could Alaric already have someone? A lover? A secret bond? If so, then that was the crack she needed to split him open, and he would find the truth.
She lit a candle by the window, watching the flame bend and flicker. Her voice dropped to a whisper, venom curling with silk.
"King Alaric, you may claim that this marriage is only alliance. But I will make you regret underestimating me. Whatever stands between us, I will find it. And when I do… I will destroy it."
She returned to her mirror, smoothing her gown once more. The anger had cooled now into something more controlled, more dangerous: strategy. Seraphine never lost. Tonight, had been a setback, but not the end and tomorrow, she would begin again.