✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
The morning in the Southern Palace was far from the golden paradise promised in the travelogues. The air in the guest tea room was thick with unspoken tension, smelling of bitter tea and the sharp, lingering scent of Northern pine.
***
Asher was in a foul mood. His body felt like it had been used as a pincushion—which, technically, it had. He sat stiffly on the silk-cushioned chair, his hand instinctively clutching his lower back where the largest mana-needle had been inserted. Every time he moved, a sharp twinge reminded him of Aiden's "medical" intervention.
Worse were the marks. Because Asher had sensitive, pale skin, the pressure from Aiden holding him down and the bruising from the needle sites had left dark, mottled spots across his collarbone and neck. To anyone without a medical degree, they looked exactly like a series of aggressive, passionate bites.
"Don't you dare come near me," Asher hissed, glaring at Aiden with genuine venom. He shook his head, his silver hair swaying as he shifted away. "You're a brute, Aiden!. A complete and utter monster. My body feels like it's been run over by a carriage."
Aiden didn't apologize. He simply sat there, sipping his tea with a terrifyingly calm expression. He had seen the shadow at the entrance of the tea room. He knew they were being watched.
The door creaked open, and Lorcan stepped in. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His eyes immediately locked onto the marks on Asher's collarbone, then drifted to the way Asher was gingerly holding his lower back. The "confirmation" hit Lorcan like a physical blow. He felt a wave of nausea, followed quickly by a heat of pure, unadulterated hatred.
"Good morning, Lorcan," Aiden said, standing up with a polite, mocking grace. Asher followed suit, though he winced as he stood, making the "injury" look even more suggestive.
Aiden saw the way Lorcan's hands were shaking. He felt a dark sense of satisfaction—the smirk playing on his lips was small, but it was there. "I believe I have some correspondence to attend to. I'll leave you two to catch up."
Aiden walked out, his shoulder brushing Lorcan's as he passed. He left the two of them in a silence so heavy it felt like it might crush the furniture. Asher felt incredibly awkward, standing stiffly and avoiding Lorcan's murderous gaze. Lorcan, unable to contain his frustration, sat down directly next to Asher, his presence radiating a cold, sharp energy that made the tea in the cups ripple.
***
Back in the North, the atmosphere was one of pure, silent dread. Kyon had placed the palace under total lockdown. He had forbidden Kenzo and Calix from leaving the central wing, his voice leaving no room for argument.
"If you step foot outside this hall," Kyon had warned, his eyes glowing with a faint, dangerous light, "you will wish you were still in the infirmary. Stay. Put."
While Kyon and the elite guards combed the frozen forests, Celine was reaching her breaking point. She was still in the salt-smelling cellar, her face pale and her nose dripping a steady trail of crimson onto her white dress. Lily's brutes had moved from threats to physical intimidation, trying to force a magical outburst.
"Just give us the mana signature, little brat," one of the men growled, raising a heavy hand.
They expected her to beg. They expected her to break. But Celine was not just Arion's daughter; she was Kyon's blood. As the man's fist connected with her side, something shifted in the air. The temperature in the cellar dropped forty degrees in a single second.
Celine lifted her head. Her right eye remained its usual calm color, but her left eye bled into a terrifying, luminous red—the exact shade of Kyon's "Berserker" state.
The brutes stepped back, the laughter dying in their throats. Celine didn't say a word, but the ropes around her wrists began to frost over, the hemp cracking under the sudden, absolute zero temperature. She refused to be a puppet. If they wanted her power, they would have to survive the blizzard she was about to unleash.
***
In the South, Lorcan had become a shadow, supervising Aiden's every move under the guise of "palace security." He caught them again in the afternoon near the training grounds.
Aiden was standing very close to Asher. Asher's head was tilted back, and he was clutching Aiden's sleeves, tears streaming down his face.
"It hurts, Aiden! Stop it, just—get it out!" Asher was sobbing, his voice high and distressed.
From Lorcan's vantage point, it looked like another intimate, painful moment. In reality, a gust of Southern sand had blown directly into Asher's eye, and Aiden was trying to peel the eyelid back to blow the debris out.
"Keep still, you big baby," Aiden muttered, his fingers prying at Asher's eye. "If you keep blinking, I can't reach it."
Lorcan's heart turned to lead. He was so distracted by the sight that he didn't even notice his fiancée, Lady Genevieve, walking up beside him. Genevieve was a high-ranking Southern Alpha, tall and elegant, but Lorcan didn't even give her a glance. He was too busy burning holes into the back of Aiden's head with his stare.
"Lorcan?" Genevieve asked, her voice melodic but firm. "The Council is waiting for our signature on the marriage contracts."
"Later," Lorcan snapped, his eyes never leaving the 'couple' across the yard.
He saw Aiden wipe a tear from Asher's cheek. He saw the way Asher leaned into Aiden's hand for balance. Every piece of "evidence" was a lie, but to Lorcan, it was the final proof that the Aiden who loved him was dead, replaced by a man who took what he wanted and left marks behind.
The stage was set. The North was freezing over with Celine's awakening rage, and the South was about to ignite in a fire of jealousy that no contract could ever extinguish.