Dexmon was trapped.
His mother on one side. Agnes on the other, her arm looped possessively through his as if she were staking a public claim. The gesture made his skin crawl.
Every laugh, every lean-in, every deliberate brush of her body felt performative.
Worse, Serena would see this.
He knew she was coming tonight, and the thought of her walking in and misreading this spectacle twisted something sharp in his chest.
He lifted his glass and pretended to sip, eyes already scanning the room for an escape.
Then the herald announced the next arrivals.
"Elara Vaelor and Hale Ironholt."
Elara entered on Hale's arm, posture perfect, playing at poise. Hale looked vaguely uncomfortable but unmistakably proud, escorting her like she was his most prized possession.
Dexmon looked up, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. He had given Hale a pep talk of a lifetime to convince him to ask Elara to accompany him and invite her for drinks beforehand. This meant, his pep talk worked.
Hale Ironholt was one of the most battle-worn warriors Drakenfell had ever produced. He had not become Beta by coincidence. He commanded rooms, and there was a sharp strategist behind the muscle.
But when Elara Vaelor was nearby, something always went wrong.
Furniture was damaged. Protocol was ignored. And more often than not, Dexmon ended up with a stepped-on foot or a minor injury.
Dexmon's thoughts were cut off as Queen Bellatrix leaned forward, her voice sharp and careless of who might hear.
"The other one is spreading her legs too."
Princess Agnes giggled loudly.
The sound was light. Pleased. Amused.
Dexmon turned slowly to look at her, surprise cutting through his irritation. He had expected his mother's venom. He had heard the rumors, assumed they were her handiwork.
But Agnes's laugh told a different story.
She was enjoying this.
Not tolerating or overlooking it.
Enjoying it.
Something cold settled in Dexmon's stomach.
He pulled his arm from hers under the pretense of adjusting his cuff, jaw tightening as he downed the rest of his drink in one go.
He had been trying to pull away carefully, not wanting to cause a scene.
But that sealed it.
Absolutely not.
This night was already going badly.
When her name was announced, the world froze.
Every pair of eyes was on her.
Dexmon had only ever seen her in training suites, usually with a cloak pulled around her, and had catalogued her that way without ever meaning to.
But he had never seen her like this and the sight of it stole his breath clean.
Crimson was Drakenfell's color, and to call the dress bold was an understatement.
She was very thin, yet the silk molded to her body showing unmistakable curves and breasts.
Rubies spilled downward in a slow waterfall, catching light with every step.
There were dresses in the room that revealed far more skin, yet hers felt more intimate than all of them combined.
Her thick white hair caught the glow beneath the flames. Pinned up and elegant, it complemented the large golden earrings that dangled against her neck, matching the ruby-adorned dress.
Her makeup was unapologetic, something he had never seen her wear at all, let alone this boldly. It made her look more mature.
All conversations in the room stopped and no one moved.
Then Dexmon saw her arm, hooked casually around Gavriel's, and something savage tore through his chest. His wolf surged, furious and territorial, and Dexmon's knuckles went white around his glass before he realized how tightly he was gripping it.
What was this feeling?
Jealousy?
Possessiveness?
Longing?
Frustration at the fact he couldn't claim what was his or the fact she had no clue?
Aegon: Beautiful does not come close to describing her.
Dexmon swallowed.
Dexmon: Yes. She is.
Aegon: She is ours. Not his. If you had spoken to her more than five times, she would be standing with us.
Dexmon's jaw tightened.
Dexmon: I will not court her while I am publicly tied to another. Even as optics, it diminishes her. The princess has shown her true colors enough that I would have ended the betrothal with or without Serena in the picture.
Aegon: Then stop letting this fester. Reject the princess again, cleanly. Publicly if you must. Your mother will survive it.
Dexmon: I will tonight.
Aegon: Good. And tell Serena the truth. She cannot feel her wolf and does not know you are fated. She will still have to choose you and fall in love. But by staying silent, you are not trusting her.
Dexmon's grip tightened around the glass. He had not considered that.
He had wanted her to choose him without the bond. To look at him and want him because she knew him, not because fate had decided for her. But her wolf was broken. She would not feel the bond either way. Silence did not preserve purity. It only preserved distance.
Honesty was the bare minimum.
Dexmon: I will tell her. After I end my betrothal.
Aegon: Good. Before your gamma marks her.
The glass in Dexmon's hand shattered at his wolf's last comment.
He didn't notice until the room began to move again. An omega took it from his grip, but his eyes were still on her.
Conversation resumed in low waves, laughter creeping back in. Still, most eyes continued to drift toward her. Some lingered openly. Others tried and failed to look away.
Dexmon felt her emotions through the matebond and frowned at the realization. She did not enjoy the attention at all. Not the admiration. Not the hunger.
That truth settled heavily, another quiet entry added to the growing list of things he did not yet know about her.
What had he expected? That she basked in it? If it were Agnes, yes. Without question. But they could not have been more different.
Then her green eyes found his. She smiled warmly, not seeming to notice he'd been staring at her for the last two minutes.
Through the bond, he felt her emotions change to curiosity. She wasn't upset or angry that he'd been avoiding her since they kissed two weeks ago. She had not jumped to any sharp conclusions or filled the silence with imagined betrayals.
She was giving him grace he had not earned.
Aegon:Seeking to understand first, not jump to conclusions. You won't be putting out fires with her emotions.
Dexmon swallowed. She was kind and not assumptive in nature. That may be her biggest strength, but also a blindspot. Something he now understood, and could shield her from, even if she didn't see it herself.
Right as he took a step toward her, the princess moved into his path, closing the distance without warning, her lips pressing against his.
Dexmon froze.
He did not kiss her back, his body rigid with surprise. But he didn't immediately push her away either, caught off guard by the sheer desperation of the gesture.
A public display like that, so early in the evening, before second and third cocktails had even been poured, was nothing short of tacky.
"So when do you plan on asking the queen to dance?" Gavriel said, laughing as he tipped his glass toward the spectacle. "I would very much like to watch."
"This does not count," Elara said smoothly, lips curling as she watched the kiss linger a second too long. "She is marking her territory, but it is not wildly out of line."
"Why is he allowing it? That's the real question," Hale muttered, eyes narrowed.
"Come," Gavriel said, already moving, his hand settling easily at the small of Serena's back as he guided her toward the adjoining ballroom.
"We need to get you out of her line of sight before she starts humping his leg."
Serena nearly choked on her drink, coughing sharply as she tried to recover.
Gavriel grinned, entirely too pleased with himself. "I have that effect on most women."
"Wrong pipe," Serena said, waving him off as she caught her breath. "Nothing to do with what you said."
Her lips twitched anyway.
Elara snorted. Hale shook his head.
Gavriel glanced down at Serena. "Your face disagrees."
She shot him a look. "Walk faster, Sterling, before I decide to spill this on you."
He laughed, unrepentant, steering her farther into the room as the music swelled behind them and the tension they left in their wake continued to coil, waiting to snap.