Azrael walked through the grand corridors of Blackthorne Castle, the weight of the meeting still pressing heavily on her. The echoes of voices demanding war, the fevered thirst for vengeance, and the scheming of kings played over in her mind. She kept her expression impassive, but deep down, unease stirred within her.
As she neared her chambers, a voice called out to her.
“Princess Azrael.”
She halted, her golden eyes flicking to the source of the voice. Seraphim.
The King of House Norrix stood with his usual air of confidence, his piercing eyes fixed on her, as though he was dissecting her every movement. His dark purple hair cascaded to his shoulders, framing his sharp, regal features. His lips curled into an almost playful smirk, though something more calculating lingered beneath it.
“King Seraphim,” she greeted coolly, turning to face him fully.
He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. “I have been reconsidering our alliance, the more time I spend in your presence.”
Azrael arched a delicate brow. “And why is that?”
Seraphim’s gaze flickered with something unreadable before he spoke, his voice smooth and deliberate. “You are unlike any I have encountered. Strong, skilled in combat. Not easily rattled, even in times of war. You carry yourself with a grace and composure that I find almost... impressive.”
Azrael kept her face neutral, though she felt a flicker of irritation. She had no patience for flattery, especially from a man who had insulted her and her family in front of the entire court not long ago. “Is that so?”
Seraphim took another step closer. “I have come to realize that we would make a perfect match. You would be the perfect queen for me.”
Azrael let out a quiet laugh, tilting her head. “Is that what you think? Because if I recall, you publicly humiliated me and my family at the ball. You called us weak.” Her golden eyes gleamed with cold amusement. “And now you expect me to swoon because you shower me with compliments?”
Seraphim’s smirk didn’t waver. “I was... shortsighted. The ball was a political stage, and I acted according to the moment. But now, after observing you, I see that I may have misjudged you.”
Azrael held his gaze for a moment before exhaling, turning her back to him. “I will take my time and ponder on your words, Seraphim. But do not expect an immediate answer.”
With that, she walked away, leaving Seraphim standing there, watching her retreat with an intrigued grin playing at his lips.
Once inside her chambers, she let out a slow breath and collapsed onto her bed. The weight of everything pressed onto her—war, expectations, schemes, and now Seraphim’s sudden change of heart. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a rare moment of reprieve.
A sharp knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
She clenched her jaw. “Who is it?”
The door opened, revealing a young messenger. He stepped in cautiously, bowing his head. “Apologies for the late hour, Your Highness, but a letter has arrived for you.”
Azrael sat up, her irritation fading into curiosity. “From whom?”
The messenger shook his head. “I do not know. I was only ordered to deliver it.”
She extended her hand, and he placed the parchment into her palm before swiftly exiting.
Azrael turned the letter over, examining the unfamiliar seal. As she broke it open, ink began to bloom across the parchment in elegant, deliberate strokes, forming words before her very eyes.
Her breath hitched as she read the first line.
***Azrael,***
***It has felt like ages since I last saw you. Your letter was a relief to receive, though it left me longing to hear more. I miss you.***
She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the parchment. **Draven.**
***I was shocked to hear that House Blackthorne was attacked. Even more so to learn that lycans from all packs were responsible—including my own. I did not give such a command. I would know if my warriors were plotting something of this scale.***
Azrael’s eyes darkened as she read on.
***But there is something else you need to know.***
***That same night, my pack was ambushed by vampires.***
Her breath caught in her throat. She reread the sentence, her mind racing.
***They did not belong to a single house. They came from different vampire kingdoms. And yet, just as your attack was blamed on my kind, I was led to believe that yours were the aggressors.***
Azrael’s pulse quickened. If the lycans didn’t order the attack, and neither did the vampires, then who did?
***Something is wrong, Azrael. This reeks of something deeper than just old blood feuds. Something suspicious is going on and this is not a matter we can discuss over letters. We need to meet. Come to Valaem tomorrow nightfall. I will be waiting.***
Her hands trembled slightly as she set the letter down. Her mind whirled with questions, doubts, and an eerie sense of unease creeping through her veins. If what Draven said was true, then someone was manipulating both sides, pushing them toward war.
And that meant... they were playing into someone else’s hands.