The echoes of Lyanna's laughter lingered in Seraphina's ears long after the feast had ended. Even when the court dispersed into drunken revelry, the scarlet-clad princess kept her gaze sharp on Seraphina, savoring every whispered insult that flew across the hall like poisoned arrows.
Seraphina endured it with regal poise, her fingers poised delicately around her goblet, her spine straight as though she were carved from marble. She did not flinch, did not let her eyes waver. Only when she rose from the table, excusing herself with a soft word, did her mask crack.
The corridors were cool and shadowed, torches lining the stone walls, their flames dancing as though gossiping themselves. She pressed a hand to her chest, steadying the wild rhythm of her heart. It wasn't Lyanna's cruelty that hurt—it was Dominic's silence. His refusal to defend her, his absence in the very moments she needed him most.
Her husband. Her mate.
Seraphina let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the empty hall. "Mate," she whispered, as though tasting the word and finding it sour.
The night had barely surrendered to dawn when Dominic woke in a cold sweat. His chest heaved as though he had run for miles, and his wolf prowled beneath his skin with restless hunger. His dreams had been filled with her—Seraphina's voice echoing through the dark, the shimmer of her scales glinting in moonlight, the scent of sea-salt that now haunted him even on land.
He sat up in bed, jaw clenched, dragging a hand down his face. This was madness. He was Alpha, bound to no one, master of his instincts. Yet each day since their wedding, the mate-bond twisted tighter around his throat like a noose. He could taste her in the air, feel her heartbeat even from rooms away. Worse—his wolf craved her touch with a desperation that made him weak.
Dominic despised weakness.
Across the chamber, Seraphina stirred on her side of the massive bed, still clothed in the silken slip she favored for sleep. She had insisted on distance from him in their shared quarters, creating invisible lines he had not dared cross—though not for lack of desire. Her breathing was even, but he knew she wasn't truly asleep. Her kind never fully slept in the presence of danger, and to her, he was danger incarnate.
His gaze lingered despite himself. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow like a silken wave, her lips parted ever so slightly, her body curving beneath the sheets in a way that awakened things inside him he'd sworn to deny. Heat prickled at the back of his neck, and with a frustrated growl he swung his legs out of bed.
He needed air. Space. Anything but her nearness.
---
By morning, the palace was alive with whispers again. Lyanna had been busy.
The werewolf princess moved with purpose, her beauty sharp enough to cut, her words dripping venom disguised as sugar. Every corridor Seraphina walked through, every hall she entered, the murmurs followed. Unwanted. Outsider. Mermaid witch.
But Seraphina bore it with poise. She was not some trembling maiden. She was the daughter of the Sea King, born with saltwater in her veins and the unyielding pride of her people. If they expected her to break, they would be disappointed.
Still, when she stepped into the training grounds that afternoon, her resolve was tested.
Dominic was there, stripped to the waist, his skin gleaming with sweat as he sparred with his warriors. His movements were lethal grace, every strike a reminder of the beast that lurked beneath his control. The sight stole Seraphina's breath before she could stop herself.
Unfortunately, Lyanna noticed.
"Your Majesty," Lyanna purred, gliding to Dominic's side with a smile that was equal parts submission and temptation. "Perhaps you'll allow me to spar with you? I've been practicing, after all."
The warriors laughed approvingly. Lyanna was a trained fighter, fierce and deadly, though she used her strength more for spectacle than true war.
Dominic gave a curt nod, stepping into the ring with her.
Seraphina's stomach twisted as she watched. Lyanna moved like a wolf circling prey, her every motion designed to draw his attention, to press her body close, to remind him—and Seraphina—of their history.
The crowd roared when Lyanna lunged, Dominic catching her wrist and flipping her onto the ground with brutal ease. She laughed breathlessly, gazing up at him like he was her world.
Seraphina's nails dug crescents into her palms. She should not care. This was a marriage of politics and survival, nothing more. Yet her heart hammered painfully, and the bond pulsed, furious and jealous, as if her very soul rejected the sight of another touching him.
And then Lyanna went too far.
She rose and swept her leg, but instead of stopping when she faltered, she deliberately stumbled forward—straight into Dominic's chest. Her arms wound around his neck, her lips a whisper from his.
The crowd gasped. A dangerous hush fell.
Seraphina didn't move, but the sea inside her surged, power prickling under her skin. The urge to lash out was nearly uncontrollable.
But she wasn't the only one unraveling.
Dominic's wolf snapped.
With a feral snarl, he shoved Lyanna back so hard she crashed into the dirt. His chest heaved, eyes glowing molten gold, claws half-formed. "Do not touch me," he growled, the command reverberating with Alpha power.
Silence. Even the birds seemed to fall mute.
Lyanna's face flushed with humiliation as she scrambled to her feet, bowing quickly. "Forgive me, my Alpha. I… lost my footing."
But Dominic wasn't looking at her. His gaze, blazing and unrestrained, had locked on Seraphina.
As though drawn by a force greater than himself, he stalked toward her. The crowd parted like waves. Each step he took made her pulse pound louder in her ears, until he stood before her, close enough that his scent—smoke and wild earth—wrapped around her like chains.
"You," he rasped, his voice rough, almost broken. "Stay."
The single word was both command and plea. His hand rose, hovering near her cheek, trembling with the restraint it took not to touch.
Seraphina's breath caught. The bond sang, a burning thread pulling her toward him. Against her will, against her pride, she whispered back, "I wasn't leaving."
For a moment, nothing else existed. Not the crowd, not Lyanna's seething glare, not the politics of their cursed union. Only him. Only her. Only the fire that roared when they were near.
Then Dominic blinked, as if waking from a dream. He dropped his hand and spun away, barking orders to dismiss the warriors. Within seconds, the grounds cleared, leaving only the three of them—