Azrael stood still as the seamstresses fussed over her, adjusting the elaborate gown draped over her form. Black silk cascaded from her shoulders, embroidered with silver filigree, the fitted bodice accentuating her frame. The upcoming grand celebration demanded perfection in every detail, but she hardly cared. The weight of expectation was familiar, and she had learned long ago how to wear it effortlessly.
Eva, lounging nearby in her usual flowing white attire, smirked as she twirled a goblet between her fingers. "You do realize this entire affair will be filled with suitors practically tripping over themselves to impress you, yes?"
Azrael exhaled sharply, her golden eyes flashing with mild irritation. "And I will reject them as I always do."
Eva laughed. "You take too much pleasure in it. I still remember Lord Soren's face when you told him you'd rather set yourself on fire than entertain the thought of getting married to him.”
A wicked grin tugged at Azrael’s lips. "He should have known better than to approach me with such dull conversation. If a man wishes to court me, he should at least be interesting."
Before Eva could reply, a quiet knock came at the door. Azrael's gaze flicked toward one of the attendants who leaned in, whispering something only she could hear. In an instant, her posture stiffened.
"The fitting is over," Azrael announced sharply, stepping down from the platform.
Eva’s expression turned wary. "What is it?"
Azrael strode toward her wardrobe, discarding the luxurious gown in favor of her usual dark attire. "My father has summoned me. It's urgent."
Eva frowned. "Then why do you look like you're about to storm into battle?"
Azrael finished fastening her cloak, her irritation mounting. "Because I must fetch Raphael as well."
Eva groaned. "Ah. That explains it."
The two made their way through the corridors, the sound of their heels clicking against the marble floors. When they reached Raphael’s chambers, Azrael didn't bother knocking. She shoved the heavy doors open and barged into the room, Eva following behind.
The scene before them was hardly surprising. Raphael lay sprawled across his bed, tangled between two lovers—one male, one female—both of whom bolted upright at the intrusion.
Raphael, however, barely reacted. He glanced at them lazily before letting out a deep chuckle. "Come to join?"
Eva rolled her eyes. "I’d rather die."
Azrael crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Get up and put some clothes on. Father summons us."
Raphael sighed dramatically but obeyed. He stretched, completely unconcerned with his nudity, deliberately walking in front of Eva before retrieving his garments. Eva looked away in exasperation while Azrael remained unmoved.
As he dressed, he asked, "What does our dear father want this time?"
"I don't know, and I’m not waiting to find out," Azrael replied. She turned on her heel and exited the room. Eva followed, casting Raphael a withering look.
Now fully dressed, Raphael sauntered back to the bed, pressing a lingering kiss to the lips of both his lovers before smacking the male’s backside. "Don’t have too much fun without me. I’ll be back soon."
With that, he followed his sister.
—
The grand doors of Valerion’s chambers loomed before them. Azrael and Raphael entered, immediately bending the knee before their father.
"Rise," Valerion commanded.
They did as instructed. Raphael, ever impatient, spoke first. "Father, what is this about?"
Valerion remained silent for a moment, his wine-red eyes piercing as he lifted a letter from a golden tray. He extended it toward Azrael.
She stepped forward, unfolding the parchment. As her gaze scanned the words, a flicker of shock crossed her face.
"It’s from the Lycan Alpha," she said, her voice measured but firm.
Raphael arched a brow. "Oh?"
Azrael read aloud, "He requests permission to attend our birthday celebration. He wishes to discuss the 'growing tensions' between our races."
A tense silence followed.
Valerion's expression remained unreadable. Then, in a cold, deliberate tone, he ordered, "Summon the court."
—
The court convened swiftly, the air thick with anticipation. Azrael and Raphael took their places beside their father as the message was relayed.
Immediate discord erupted among the nobility.
"This is an insult!" one noble snarled. "The Lycans started this conflict, and now their Alpha dares to ask for diplomacy?"
"An attack on our kind cannot go unpunished," another declared.
Eva, seated beside Azrael, finally spoke. "This could be an opportunity to prevent war before it begins. Must I remind you what the last war cost us? What we had to rebuild? The Great War nearly destroyed both our people, we should at least hear what the Alpha has to say.”
A sneering voice cut through the chamber.
"You shouldn’t be speaking, half-witch," Lord Cassius spat. "You were but a child during the Great War. Do not presume to lecture your betters."
The court stilled. Eva’s icy blue eyes darkened, her platinum hair rose up in the air like as if it was about to attack "How dare you speak to me in such a manner, Cassius," she said, her voice laced with quiet fury. "Do I need to remind you that I come from a family of higher nobility than yours? My father is the King’s own brother. Watch your tongue."
A flicker of power danced in her hair.
The court broke into chaos once more.
"Enough," Valerion’s voice rang through the chamber, his power silencing all.
A heavy silence fell.
Valerion leaned back in his throne, a slow smirk creeping across his lips. "I will write back to the Lycan Alpha," he declared. "And I will extend an invitation."
Murmurs of shock and intrigue rippled through the court.
"Let us hear what he wishes to say," Valerion continued, his smirk deepening. "I am most curious."