Lucivar rose to his feet. The throne room had once been the epicenter of war strategy, royal edicts, and the occasional overly dramatic punishnt. These days, it mostly echoed with dust and silence—he hadn’t used it much since he unofficially passed the political baton to Damien, hoping to sip blood in peace and eventually fade into a soft retirent surrounded by vintage wines and dramatic poetry readings.
But alas...here they were still.
His son walked in, all broad shoulders, dark scowl, and secrets he probably thought he was hiding well.
"Father..." Damien announced himself.
Lucivar didn’t sit back down. He narrowed his eyes. "You should’ve taken over the throne by now."
Straight to business.
Damien ran a hand through his hair, already preparing for battle. "Father, you know what’s been going on--"
"Do I, really?" Lucivar’s voice was sharp, but not unkind. There was a flicker of hurt in his eyes, buried under layers of duty and disappointnt. "Is that why you didn’t tell you marked the werewolf princess? Leading to her banishnt."
Damien’s mind raced through damage control protocols, all of which were terrible. "How did you know?"
Lucivar scoffed, finally walking down the steps from the throne. "Please, Damien. I raised you. I’ve watched you lie. You think I can’t tell when you are hiding sothing? I saw it. And more importantly, the weak attempt at hiding it."
He paused in front of his son. "So I suppose the answer is simple now: marry her and take the throne. Crisis averted."
Damien’s jaw clenched, his breath caught in the tangled net of truths he didn’t know how to unravel. "I will," he said, softer now. "She’s just... not ready. I’m giving her ti."
"All won are the sa. Just love them—that’s all there is to it," King Lucivar declared. "Do nice things. Complint their hair. Spoil them. Look surprised when they’re mad at you for sothing you did in their dreams."
Damien groaned and dragged a hand down his face at how unserious his father was handling the situation. "Give a year, Father. Just one year. That’s all I ask."
Lucivar raised a brow. "A year? You’ve got a council ready to set fire on yur ass, and your uncle practically salivating at the idea of your downfall. A year?"
"He doesn’t even try to hide his desperation anymore," Damien muttered.
Lucivar scoffed. "Hide it? He’s never hidden anything. Your uncle’s ambition has always been as subtle as a drunken banshee with cymbals. The only difference now is that he’s louder, because your coronation’s been delayed so long the council’s started making noise."
Damien rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw tight. "It’s not like I’m dragging my feet without reason. The people deserve a ruler who’s... stable."
Lucivar waved a dismissive hand. "Speaking of sses... how did you talk Seliora down?"
Damien blinked. "Talk her down from what?"
)
Lucivar narrowed his eyes. "I advised her to go to the council and present her case. You know—since Luna’s returned and technically you’re bonded to your fated mate now, her... role has grown questionable."
Damien groaned again, louder this ti. "I didn’t know you told her that. Damn it, Father."
"So you didn’t talk her down?"
"Not exactly! Her situation remains unchanged... for the ti being." He lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. "I still need an heir."
Lucivar gave him a long, slow stare. "You magnificent idiot." He shook his head, then broke into a laugh that echoed through the room. "You finally get your soulmate to live under your roof after chasing her for months—but you still want your royal concubine to carry your child?"
"It’s a little more complicated than that, and Luna understands. To sit on that throne, I need an heir, don’t I? Luna doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, I am. And that’s where Seliora cos in," Damien explained, folding his arms across his chest.
Lucivar stared at his son. He blinked slowly. "You... and only you are making this complicated."
Damien exhaled as if he were deflating. "I know," he admitted, dragging a hand through his dark hair, making an even bigger ss of it.
He wanted to say more. Gods, he needed to say more. But his mouth stayed shut. Because if he told Lucivar the full truth—if he explained the ancient magic still pulsing in Luna’s blood, the instability of the matebond, the reason why Seliora might actually be the kingdom’s only shot at a legitimate heir right now, it wouldn’t just be a conversation. It would be war.
*****
Across the boundary, Talon stood awkwardly at the edge of the Blood City border, rolling his shoulders. The card in his hand was warm from the heat of his palm—and probably from the fire of his poor decision-making skills. He’d stolen it. Straight out of Kyllian’s desk.
The guards scanned the card for its authenticity, then nodded.
"I’d like to see Princess Luna," Talon said, trying to sound confident.
One of the guards raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The other, a broader man pointed to a spot near the gate with a grunt. "Wait here."
Talon obeyed. He planted himself on the exact square of cracked stone the guard indicated, trying to look innocent.
Minutes passed. Long ones. Enough for Talon to sweat under his collar and wondered if Kyllian would kill him if he found out.
Then, a black car rolled to a slow stop in front of him.
The window finally lowered to reveal Damien. He scanned Talon from head to toe, as if trying to decide whether he was a threat, an idiot, or possibly both.
"Who are you?" Damien asked.
"I’m Talon... Alpha Kyllian’s beta. I am here to see Princess Luna," Talon replied, trying to keep his voice steady. He already guessed he was speaking to the vampire prince.
Damien’s gaze narrowed. "That card was given specifically to Alpha Kyllian. Not for every werewolf to use. What does he want with the princess?"
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