Moonlight poured through the high windows of Silver Moon Palace, painting the marble floors with silver streaks. The night was quiet—too quiet—but Kael Draven felt the undercurrent of unrest like a tremor beneath his feet. Every corridor, every shadow seemed alive, whispering secrets he could not yet name.
Lyria moved silently along the east wing, her footsteps muted against the stone floors. She carried a stack of folded linens, but her mind wandered, tracing the echo of amber eyes that had haunted her thoughts since the garden that night. Her pulse thumped in her chest, a secret rhythm she could neither ignore nor fully understand.
Why does he linger in my thoughts? she wondered. He is the Alpha. I am… nothing.
Even as she chastised herself, her senses prickled. A presence lingered just beyond her awareness, something magnetic and tense, like the brush of silk against skin. She froze briefly, letting the moment pass, heart quickening.
High above, Kael moved along the balcony overlooking the courtyard. His wolf shifted beneath his skin, muscles coiled and restless. The pull he had felt for Lyria—delicate, impossible, dangerous—refused to leave him. He could not name it, could not claim it, yet it pressed at his senses, teasing, whispering, igniting desire he had no right to feel.
Damn it, he muttered silently. Focus. There are games to play, enemies to observe… yet she lingers in my mind.
His amber eyes scanned the shadows of the palace, catching movements too subtle for any other to notice. A fleeting glimpse of dark hair, a flash of porcelain skin, a presence that should have meant nothing—yet meant everything.
Meanwhile, Lady Isolde moved with calculated elegance through the halls, every step deliberate. Maris shadowed her silently, noting the servants who seemed unusually attentive, the concubines who darted wary glances.
"Observe everything," Isolde whispered under her breath, eyes glinting. "Even whispers can be weapons if wielded properly."
Maris inclined her head, cataloguing every movement, every glance, every subtle exchange. Outside their line of sight, Serina's maid mirrored them, equally vigilant. "Mistress, the last wife moves like a shadow, but she is aware we watch," she reported.
Serina's dark eyes narrowed. "Perfect. Let her believe she controls the game. Soon, she will falter, and we will see who truly holds power in this palace."
Kael descended the spiral staircase to the courtyard, senses alert. The fountain glistened in the moonlight, water sparkling against the stone. And there she was—Lyria—leaning against the cool edge, unaware, radiant in the soft glow.
He could not look away. His wolf growled low, a warning and a temptation all at once. Desire and restraint warred within him, muscles taut, instincts sharp.
Lyria felt it too—a shiver, a pull, a presence she could neither see nor name. Her breath caught as he passed above, unseen, amber eyes lingering. The subtle awareness tugged at her, teasing, igniting warmth she could not explain.
Neither acted, yet the tension between them throbbed like a heartbeat in the night. Forbidden, thrilling, alive.