The castle of the Lycans loomed like a beast carved from stone, its spires clawing into the sky. Built high upon the cliffs, it overlooked the endless sea, as if daring the waves to strike. The banners of the Veylor bloodline whipped in the wind—black cloth, golden wolf sigil—symbols of dominance, symbols of victory.
Seraphina hated it already.
The iron gates clanged shut behind her, the echo like a death knell. Chains circled her wrists, still damp from the salt of the ocean. Her bare feet left a trail of water on the cobbled floors as Dominic's guards dragged her through the halls. The stares of wolves followed her every step. Some sneered openly at the sight of her scales glittering faintly on her skin; others whispered, their words sharp and cruel.
"Fish."
"Enemy witch."
"She'll be dead before the week is out."
Seraphina lifted her chin higher. She would not bow, not even to the wolves' venom. She was a princess of the ocean, heir to the tide's crown. No wolf's gaze could strip her of that.
And yet… his gaze did.
Dominic walked ahead of her, his broad shoulders rigid, his golden eyes unyielding. He did not spare her a glance as he led the procession deeper into the castle. Cold. Detached. As though she were no more than a prisoner of war.
And perhaps she was.
But the mark thrumming in her chest told another story. The pull of the mate bond was a chain stronger than iron, invisible yet unbreakable, binding her to the very man she swore she would never belong to. Every step she took toward him was agony, her body betraying her mind, craving what her soul rejected.
At last they entered the throne room.
A grand chamber stretched before her, its walls lined with torches that threw dancing shadows across the stone. At its center rose a dais, where the throne of the Alpha sat carved from black oak and steel. It was a seat built for war, not for comfort.
At the foot of the dais stood a woman.
Tall, graceful, wrapped in silver silk that clung to her curves, with long blond hair cascading down her back. Her eyes—icy blue—locked onto Seraphina with open hostility.
Seraphina did not need a shaman to tell her that trouble was lurking.
The woman's lips curled into a smile that was anything but kind. "So this is the sea-spawn they dragged in?" Her voice carried like frost across the chamber, clear and cutting.
A ripple of laughter broke among the gathered wolves. Seraphina did not flinch. She stared straight at the woman, refusing to lower her gaze. If this was the Alpha's consort—or his would-be queen—then she would not give her the satisfaction of weakness.
"princess Lyanna," Dominic said, his tone clipped. "This is no court jester for your amusement. She is a prisoner."
Prisoner. The word tasted bitter. Seraphina almost spat it back, but the bond thrummed again, silencing her tongue.
Lyanna tilted her head, the silver of her gown whispering with the movement. "Prisoner? I would call her something else. Bait, perhaps. Or liability. The sea people cannot be trusted, my lord. You should cast her back into the waves before she poisons the air we breathe."
The laughter grew louder. Wolves nodded in agreement, their approval bolstering Lyanna venom.
Seraphina's chest burned, but not from shame. Fury roared in her blood. Slowly, she took one step forward, the chains rattling like bells of defiance. "Say what you will," she said, her voice calm, sharp as the tide cutting rock, "but I will not cower in your den, wolf. I am Seraphina of the Tides, daughter of the Deep King, heir to the ocean's throne. Remember my name when you speak of me."
The chamber stilled.
For the first time, Dominic turned his head, his golden eyes locking on hers. The bond pulsed so violently it stole her breath. His expression betrayed nothing—yet his silence was louder than Lyanna's cruelty, heavier than the wolves' laughter.
And in that silence, Seraphina realized she was doomed