The capital of Silvervale was unlike anything Rosaline had ever seen. Grand stone buildings with ornate windows lined the streets, and colorful banners fluttered from lampposts.
The sound of horse hooves clattered on cobbled streets while shopkeepers shouted prices from behind open stalls.
Spices scented the air—cardamom, cinnamon, crushed roses—and bolts of fabric in every color imaginable flowed like waterfalls from merchant carts.
Rosaline's eyes widened as she took it all in. "This is… overwhelming," she murmured, trying to keep pace with Ciara who was practically bouncing beside her.
"This is heaven," Ciara replied with a dreamy look in her eyes, tugging her by the arm.
"Did you see that silk? And that embroidered velvet? We are definitely finding Lysandra's fabric here."
They weaved through stalls, pausing occasionally to inspect the goods. Rosaline ran her fingers across a bolt of silver-blue satin that shimmered in the sunlight. It was cool to the touch, fluid and ethereal.
"This could work," she said softly.
"For the main skirt, yes," Ciara agreed, her voice filled with awe. "Now we need something for the bodice....something that screams power, beauty, and intimidation."
Rosaline chuckled. "Sounds like you're designing armor for battle."
"We are," Ciara said dryly. "A battle of social status."
They both laughed at that because Ciara phrased it quite well "A battle for social status indeed", with their noses high up in the air competing for the best dressed person at the ball, Rosaline thought that it was quite troublesome.
As they moved deeper into the market, Rosaline spotted a vendor with imported lace—delicate ivory patterns handwoven with tiny crystal beads.
Her heart fluttered with inspiration. "This is it," she whispered. "This lace with the silver satin… I can already see the gown."
Ciara beamed. "Let's buy them before someone else does."
Just as Rosaline reached for her purse, a sudden, strange sensation rippled through her. Her fingers stilled. The world around her slowed for a heartbeat, then another. The hairs on her arms rose, and she glanced over her shoulder.
Nothing. Just the bustle of the market.
But she couldn't shake the feeling.
Across the city, in a regal hall just beyond the palace courtyard, Darius stood before a long table surrounded by guards. The chamber still smelled faintly of burned fabric and scorched wood from last night's attack.
"The magic used wasn't ordinary," Marcus reported, pacing beside him. "It felt like blood magic… old, forbidden. Whoever cast it knew exactly what they were doing."
Darius's jaw clenched. "And he was fast. Too fast. I could barely see the bastard's face."
"They wanted to kill you," Marcus added. "And they nearly did."
"They failed," Darius growled. "But next time, I won't miss."
One of the guards cleared his throat. "We've sent scouts to sweep the outer districts for any trace of dark magic residue."
Darius nodded but his wolf, restless beneath his skin, clawed for release. Something tugged at him—an odd pull deep in his chest, subtle but insistent.
He turned abruptly toward the window, narrowing his eyes toward the horizon. "I need air," he muttered, striding out before anyone could protest.
Marcus followed closely behind his alpha, his steps echoing softly against the polished stone floor. Darius's stride was purposeful, yet there was a disquiet in his movements—like a storm threatening to break but holding back at the edges.
"You've been pacing all morning," Marcus finally said, his voice low with concern. "What's wrong, Darius? You seem… restless."
Darius stopped at the top of the staircase and turned slightly, eyes shadowed with frustration. "I don't know," he muttered, dragging a hand through his tousled hair.
"I woke up this way… and it hasn't gone away. Something's gnawing at me, Marcus, and I can't shake it."
Marcus studied him. "Could it be the attack? Maybe your wolf is unsettled because we didn't catch the bastard. That kind of tension doesn't just disappear overnight."
"Maybe," Darius echoed, though his tone lacked conviction. He turned away again, heading toward the open hallway leading to the castle's eastern wing.
"But this feels different. It's not fear or anxiety....it's like I'm being pulled… like something or someone is calling out to me."
Marcus raised a brow. "Calling you?"
Darius nodded slowly. "I can't explain it. I just know I need to get out. The air here....it's heavy, suffocating. No matter how far I walk, I still feel caged."
"You want to leave the castle?" Marcus stepped in front of him, brows knitted in concern.
"With everything going on...the attack, the ball, and someone clearly wanting you dead....you can't just walk out the gates without a plan."
"We're not going to uncover anything new by sitting around in these walls pretending everything's fine," Darius snapped, irritation flaring in his tone.
"Besides, if I stay any longer, I'll end up in another forced conversation with Seraphina. And honestly, I'd rather face another assassin than have her clinging to me like a lovesick leech."
Marcus couldn't hold back the smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, if memory serves, you're the one who chose her as your mate. You practically rolled out a royal carpet for her into the castle."
Darius shot him a dark look, lips curling in annoyance. "Don't remind me."
The smirk faded. "You did it for the kingdom, right?"
Darius didn't answer immediately. He leaned against a marble pillar, gazing out a tall window at the distant rooftops of the capital. The sunlight glinted off the tiles, but his expression remained grim.
"I made a logical choice," he finally said. "Seraphina comes from one of the five great founding families. A political union makes sense. It keeps the council quiet. It keeps the people calm."
"But not you," Marcus replied quietly. "It doesn't calm you."
"No," Darius admitted, his voice a rasp of honesty. "Because deep down, I know I don't want her."
The silence that followed was thick, the weight of truth settling between them like mist.
"I watched what happened to my parents," Darius continued, softer now. "The war their bond couldn't stop. The pain that tore them in two. That kind of love.....it weakens men. I swore I wouldn't be that man."
Marcus stepped forward, speaking gently. "And yet you're restless and you're not happy at all. Maybe it's time you stop trying to control every part of your fate, Darius."
Darius laughed, but it lacked humor. "Fate is a fairytale, Marcus. I don't believe in it."
"Maybe not," Marcus said with a shrug, "but your wolf does. And from where I'm standing, he's screaming for you to listen, you've been at odds with your wolf since you chose seraphina."
Darius exhaled slowly and straightened. "I need to go. Just for a while. I won't leave the capital, I swear it. I just need space...need to breathe without Seraphina, the council, or death threats looming over me."
Marcus hesitated but finally nodded. "Fine. But at least, let me come with you."
"I don't need you to babysit me," Darius said, already moving. "No one will notice I'm gone."
"No but you need a friend so am going whether you like it or not".
As he disappeared down the corridor, lady seraphina stood there, watching them wondering where they are going to.