Theron
The word ‘prosperity’ turns to dust in my mouth.
It happens between one breath and the next. My speech, a carefully constructed edifice of strength and stability, crumbles to nothing. Across the great hall, past the rows of lords and ladies whose faces are a familiar tapestry of loyalty and ambition, my eyes find hers.
A small omega. Tucked away at a table of fringelanders, dressed in homespun green, with eyes like a frightened doe startled from its shelter.
And the world shifts on its axis.
It is not a gentle turning. It is a violent, wrenching slam of recognition that hits me with the force of a physical blow. The air is sucked from my lungs. The gilded hall, the hundreds of people, the scent of roasted quail, it all vanishes. There is nothing but the path between my eyes and hers.
My wolf, the ancient beast that carries the weight of my crown and the strength of my bloodline, surges forward. It has been a decade since I felt its full power so close to the surface, a controlled and steady presence. Now, it rears up, untamed and absolute, and howls a single, soul-shattering command through every vein, every bone, every fiber of my being.
*Mine.*
My knuckles are white where I grip the great table. I fight for control, for the mask of the king to remain in place, but I can feel the tremor that starts in my hands and threatens to shake my entire body. My heart hammers a frantic, wild rhythm against my ribs, a war drum calling me to her.
I see the shock on her face, the way her small frame goes rigid. She feels it too. Of course she does. The bond is not a one way street. It is a bridge of fire, and we are standing at opposite ends, both being consumed by the same impossible flame.
I see the terror in her eyes, the sheer panic of a creature caught in a trap it never saw coming. And I know, with a certainty as cold and sharp as a blade to the throat, that this will bring chaos.
A hand lands on my arm. The touch is cool, familiar, weighted with the rings of state and the power of our union.
“My love,” Seraphina’s voice is perfectly pitched, a low murmur of concern meant only for me, yet it cuts through the roaring in my head like a diamond blade. “Are you well?”
Her words are a douse of icy water. The fire of the bond does not go out, but it hisses and spits, throwing off a cloud of steam that fogs my mind. I tear my gaze from the omega. It feels like ripping a part of my own soul away.
I turn to my wife. My Queen. Her silver hair is a crown in its own right, her eyes the color of a winter sky, intelligent and assessing. She is not my mate. But she is my partner. The architect of a decade of peace, her power a perfect complement to my own. Ours is a union that secured borders and filled granaries. It is a fortress we built together, stone by solid stone.
I love her. It is a love of respect, of shared history, of a thousand political battles fought and won side by side. It is a calm, steady river.
What I feel for the omega in the corner is a tidal wave. An act of God. It doesn't build. It simply arrives and destroys the landscape.
“A momentary… dizziness,” I manage to say. The lie tastes foul on my tongue. “The heat from the braziers.”
Seraphina’s eyes hold mine for a second too long. She doesn’t believe me. She misses nothing. Her gaze flicks for a fraction of a second toward the back of the hall, toward the very table where the omega sits. She saw where I was looking. Of course she did.
“Perhaps you should conclude your remarks,” she suggests, her tone even. But I know her. The steel is there, just beneath the surface. Her hand remains on my arm, a subtle gesture of ownership for the whole court to see.
A murmur is spreading through the hall now. My silence, my faltering, has not gone unnoticed. I see Lord Valerius, Seraphina’s cousin, watching me from the council table, his lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk. He smells weakness like a vulture smells carrion.
I must regain control. I am the King. I cannot let this unravel me in front of my entire court.
I force myself to look out over the crowd, deliberately avoiding the corner that pulls at me like a lodestone. I raise my voice, pushing the words out through a throat that feels tight with unshed snarls.
“As I was saying,” I boom, the sound of my own voice a small comfort. “Prosperity and strength are the pillars of this kingdom. And we shall defend them. To our allies, we offer our hand. To our enemies, our sword.”
I raise my goblet. “To the kingdom!”
“To the kingdom!” the hall roars back, the sound a welcome distraction. They all drink. I drain my goblet, the cool wine doing nothing to quench the fire in my blood.
The feast resumes, but the atmosphere has changed. The easy celebration has been replaced by a current of tension. Whispers are exchanged behind gloved hands. Eyes dart from me, to Seraphina, and then to the back of the hall where the fringelanders sit in uneasy silence.
I cannot bring myself to look at her again, but I feel her. Her presence is a constant, humming pressure against my senses. I know the exact rhythm of her breathing. I can smell her scent, faint beneath the heavy aromas of food and wine. Wild herbs and clean earth. It is the scent of sanity in a world suddenly gone mad.
“That little pack from the Silverwood,” Seraphina says, her voice casual as she cuts a piece of roasted duck. She doesn't look at me. “They seem… distressed.”
It’s a test. She is dangling the subject in front of me, waiting to see if I will bite.
“They have come to petition for aid,” I answer, my voice tight. I keep my eyes on my plate. “Their lands are blighted.”
“A pity,” she says, and there is not a drop of pity in her tone. “Valerius was saying their chieftain is a young omega. An unusual choice for a leader.”
I clench my jaw. She means her. The girl is their leader. My mate.
“Unusual times call for unusual measures,” I say, the words clipped.
“Indeed,” Seraphina replies smoothly. She takes a delicate sip of her wine, her eyes cold and watchful over the rim of the silver cup. The conversation is over, but the message has been delivered. She is aware. She is watching.
I am trapped. I am a king on my throne, surrounded by my power, and I have never felt more helpless. Every instinct, every primal command of my Alpha wolf, is screaming at me to rise from this table, to stride across the hall, and to claim what is mine. To take that small omega in my arms and let the whole world see that she belongs to me.
But the man, the King, knows the cost. To claim her is to set Seraphina aside. To set Seraphina aside is to break our alliance with her powerful family, to shatter treaties that have kept war from our borders for my entire reign. It would be an act of political suicide. It would plunge my kingdom into the very chaos I have sworn to prevent.
I risk a single, fleeting glance. She is looking down at her hands, her face pale. I can feel her fear like a physical echo in my own chest. This bond, this divine miracle, has terrified her as much as it has shattered me. She understands the impossibility of it. She sees the beautiful, powerful Queen at my side and knows there is no place for her here.
That knowledge is an agony all its own. The Fates have given me the other half of my soul only to show me that I must cast her aside. The cruelty of it is breathtaking.
The feast drags on for an eternity. I go through the motions. I speak to my councilors. I laugh at a lord’s clumsy joke. I nod and smile and pretend that my world has not been torn in two. All the while, I feel the pull of the bond, a golden cord stretching taut across the hall, threatening to snap and bring the whole damned ceiling crashing down.
Finally, it is over. The musicians play the concluding anthem. Seraphina and I rise. The court rises with us. We must lead the procession out of the great hall, back to our royal chambers.
I offer my arm to my Queen. Her hand settles on my sleeve, her grip firm. We begin the long walk, past the bowing lords and curtsying ladies.
Every step is a choice. Every step takes me further from the omega. My wolf fights me, a savage beast clawing at the inside of my ribs, snarling in protest. *Go to her. She is ours. Do not leave her.*
I lock my jaw and keep walking. I am Theron of the Crimson Peak. I am the Alpha King. I have a duty. I have a wife. My path was set long ago.
But as we reach the great doors, I allow myself one last look back. She is standing now, a small, fragile figure about to be swallowed by the crowd. Our eyes meet for a final, devastating instant.
I see no hope in her expression. Only a heartbreaking resignation, and a terror that mirrors my own.
This is not a miracle.
This is the beginning of a war. And the first casualty will be my soul.
