Chapter 3

Seleste's Pov

The silence stretched long enough for the room to grow cold as they waited for me to say something.

“You have until the Midnight Ball.” King Donovan said, breaking the silence. I turned slowly.

“What?”

“You must attend, and by the final moonrise,” the King said, “you will have to either find your Fated Mate, or choose a mate from among the noble daughters.”

“And if I don’t?”

The Queen’s voice cut through the air like ice. “Then you forfeit your claim to the throne.”

The words landed like a sharp blade. I clenched my fists tightly as warm blood seeped through them.

“You’d strip me of succession?”

“We’d preserve the strength of the crown,” my father corrected.

The room fell quiet. I watched as Ralph smirked behind his glass. Mason offered a half-hearted shrug. Alora curtsied again, her gaze locking with mine.

“I look forward to seeing you at the ball.” she said before turning to leave, the scent of lilies trailing behind her. When the doors closed, I remained where I stood.

Unmoved. Unyielding. But inside, everything was turning upside down.

Later that night, I stood on the balcony of my chambers, staring up at the moon.

It was full, bright, and far too calm for the storm within me. I didn’t fear duty. I feared settling.

Choosing the wrong mate wasn’t just an inconvenience. For werewolves, especially royals, it was a death sentence of the soul. Fated bonds weren’t just legends; they were sacred threads woven by the Moon goddess herself.

My wolf knew the difference. And my wolf remained silent even when I stared at the mate my mother had chosen for me.

I turned as the door crept open.

Mason walked in, holding a flask.

“I figured you’d be up here, brooding.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t feel like listening to Alora explain her favorite flowers again.”

Mason chuckled, then passed me the flask. “She said mine were violets.”

“They’re not?”

“I like bloodroot. It’s poisonous. Feels right.”

I took a long swig and stared back at the sky. “They’re serious about the ultimatum?”

“They are,” Mason said. “And I don’t blame them. You’re the best of us, Darren. But power without legacy? That’s a war waiting to happen.”

I closed my eyes. I could already feel the walls closing in. I had one month. One last chance.

The Midnight Ball.

The moment that would define my future and whether I would stand as prince or fall as a rogue in silk robes.

And still, I couldn’t shake the gnawing truth in my gut:

My mate was out there.

But if I don't find her soon…

I might be forced to spend the rest of my life with a stranger who smelled like lies.

Darren’s POV

The smell of blood never quite left the palace.

No matter how many layers of polished marble they laid down, how many fresh roses the servants scattered across the halls, or how many golden banners flew from the towers underneath it all, the scent lingered. Faint. Metallic. Reminding me where this kingdom was built: on blood, sacrifice, and lies.

I stood at the window of the North Tower, watching the wagons roll in. They always arrived before dawn. Slaves. Captives. Rogues. Some bought. Some captured. All condemned.

Below, I could see the cages being unloaded by a line of girls forced out under silver mist. Most cried. Some prayed. And one… did neither.

She was shoved out last. Dark hair, tangled and falling across her shoulders, but it was her eyes that caught me even from this distance. They weren’t wide with fear like the others. They burned. Quiet rage. Unyielding.

And her scent

I inhaled sharply, stepping back from the window.

It hit me like a punch to the chest.

Familiar. Wild. Wrong and right all at once.

I growled under my breath, shoving the feeling down. This wasn’t the time for strange instincts or poetic curses. My parents had given me an ultimatum: Find my mate by the Midnight Ball or choose someone deemed “worthy.” As if love could be chosen like a wine from the royal cellar.

Lady Alora was already making herself comfortable in my future. My father’s favorite. My mother’s lapdog. And as poisonous as she was beautiful…

“Your Majesty,” a servant said quietly behind me. “Your brothers await you in the courtyard. The Hunt begins in one hour.”

Of course they did.

Ralph had probably already picked his favorite. Mason too. They loved this part, the games. The chase. The kill.

I didn’t. I never had.

But this year… something felt different.

That girl. Those eyes.

That scent.

I wasn’t sure yet if it was fate, or another trap.

But I was going to find out.

…………..

Seleste’s POV

The cage doors opened just as the mist began to lift.

The guards barked orders, dragging us out and shoving us into a line. Twenty of us, maybe more. None spoke. Most didn’t even look up.

We were stripped of shoes, coats, anything that could be considered a weapon. Only our bare feet and tattered dresses remained.

We stood at the edge of the hunting grounds, a dense, sprawling forest soaked in dew and silence. Somewhere in those trees, death waited.

I could feel it.