Chapter 9: The Veil of Power
Fractured Pride
The grand halls of House Vaelthyr's estate were eerily silent as Selene stormed through them, her silken skirts billowing with every enraged step. Servants shrank against the walls, sensing the violent storm in her wake. The ornate chandeliers, flickering with blue eldritch flames, cast eerie shadows across the polished marble floor.
She had been humiliated.
Mocked.
Dismissed as though she were nothing but a mere pretender to power.
And worst of all, it had happened before her!
Sylvara.
That wretched woman, that discarded consort, had dared to look down upon her, the Duchess of House Vaelthyr!
Selene's breathing was ragged as she approached the doors to the Duke's private chambers. Without hesitation, she shoved them open, the heavy doors slamming against the walls with a resounding boom.
Inside, Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr sat behind a massive obsidian desk, a sea of documents before him. The Duke's cold violet eyes flicked up from his work, irritation flashing across his sharp features at the disturbance. His long, silver hair, reminiscent of moonlight, cascaded past his shoulders.
He did not speak immediately, merely watching as his wife stormed into the chamber, her fury palpable.
Selene barely held herself together, her nails digging into her palms.
She needed to see his outrage. His wrath!
But all she saw was cold indifference.
That only stoked her fury further.
"Do you know what I just endured?" she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "I was insulted. Humiliated in front of commoners and lesser nobles—by her!"
Zephiron arched a single brow, his expression unreadable. "Elaborate."
Selene seethed. "Sylvara. That woman dared to challenge me publicly! And that insufferable tailor—Cassian! He treated her as though she were more important than me! He refused to remove her from the premises and instead banished me from his atelier!"
Zephiron exhaled slowly, setting his quill down with deliberate care.
"And?"
Selene's eyes widened in disbelief. "And? And?!" She took a step forward, her voice rising. "You should be furious! You are the Duke of House Vaelthyr! You should demand retribution for this insult! That woman—she defies us at every turn, and you allow it?"
Zephiron leaned back in his chair, folding his hands before him. "Tell me, Selene." His voice was measured, calm. "Why do you believe Sylvara holds no power?"
Selene blinked. "What?"
"Answer me."
She grit her teeth. "Because she was cast aside! She is nothing more than a discarded woman, stripped of her title, no longer the consort of House Vaelthyr!"
Zephiron studied her for a long moment before sighing. "Then why," he mused, "is she the one who has shaken you so thoroughly?"
Selene flinched.
His words cut deep because they struck at a truth she did not want to acknowledge.
Zephiron continued, his voice impassive. "Sylvara is a woman who does not need a title to command power. She understands something you clearly do not."
Selene's breath came in sharp bursts. "And what, exactly, is that?"
Zephiron's violet eyes darkened. "Respect is not demanded, Selene. It is earned."
Selene snapped.
Power surged through her veins, the raw force of her Everfrost Kirin bloodline awakening. The air in the chamber grew heavy with an unnatural chill, the temperature plummeting as ghostly mist coiled around her in ethereal wisps. A spectral mane of ice-blue flames ignited along her back, flickering like the cold fire of the aurora, while delicate yet unyielding frost spread from her feet, claiming the floor in an intricate lattice of ice. The faint echo of hooves striking against frozen ground resonated through the chamber, as if the presence of something far greater loomed behind her.
"Do not speak to me as though I am a child!" she roared.
Her fury rippled outward in an unrelenting wave of frost and wind. A surge of hoarfrost swept through the chamber, coating the walls in crystalline ice. The crystal fixtures dimmed beneath layers of frost, ink pots shattered as their contents froze solid in an instant, and documents curled as a brittle sheen of ice overtook them. The doors she had thrown open moments before groaned under the weight of encroaching permafrost, ice crawling along the hinges like creeping vines, threatening to seal the chamber shut beneath a prison of unyielding cold.
Zephiron, however, did not move.
Did not flinch.
Instead, his own presence darkened.
The shadows in the room deepened unnaturally, and for the briefest moment, something ancient stirred behind his gaze—a whisper of his own formidable bloodline. The flames in the chandeliers flickered violently before bending toward him, as though drawn by an unseen force.
Then—
He rose.
And the moment he did, the air froze.
Selene's breath hitched as her frost began to wither away, as though suffocated by an unseen hand. The divine energy she had unleashed wavered, shrinking under the weight of something far more oppressive.
Zephiron was not a man to be challenged lightly.
He stepped toward her, slow, deliberate. "Do not mistake my patience for weakness, Selene." His voice was quiet, yet it filled the chamber with an authority that sent chills down her spine.
"You call yourself the Duchess of House Vaelthyr, yet you embarrass yourself with these tantrums," he murmured. "A true noblewoman does not wield her power so carelessly. She wields it with precision."
Selene's lips trembled, her earlier confidence faltering.
Zephiron's gaze bore into her. "Do you believe your peacock's vanity makes you superior to Sylvara?"
Selene's hands clenched at her sides, but she did not answer.
Zephiron tilted his head. "Then allow me to correct your mistake."
The moment he spoke, the shadows moved.
Selene staggered as an unseen pressure crashed over her, suffocating, vast, endless. It was not the raw, blinding power she was accustomed to—it was silent. Cold. A force that did not need to scream to be felt.
Her knees buckled, and she gasped, barely keeping herself upright.
Zephiron loomed over her, his presence devouring hers with ease.
"This," he said softly, "is true power."
Selene shook.
She had known, of course. Had always known that her husband was stronger than her.
But knowing and feeling were two entirely different things.
When she had married Zephiron, she had believed herself his equal. That her noble lineage, her celestial bloodline, her beauty and status, made her worthy of standing beside him.
Yet at this moment, as she drowned beneath the weight of his will—
She understood.
She had never been his equal.
And Sylvara—
That woman—
She had never needed Zephiron's protection.
Because she had never been beneath him to begin with.
The realization stung worse than any physical wound.
Slowly, the oppressive force lifted, and Selene collapsed onto one knee, panting.
Zephiron exhaled, stepping back. "You are my wife," he said, his tone quieter now. "But do not forget, Selene—I chose you."
He turned back toward his desk, his interest in the conversation waning. "Do not give me a reason to regret that choice."
Selene's breath was shallow. Her rage was still there, simmering, but she no longer dared to unleash it.
Because for the first time—
She realized how small she truly was.
And worse still—
She realized Sylvara had known it all along.
Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr clenched his jaw, restraining the irritation bubbling within him. His wife's weeping echoed through the chamber, but before he could tell her to stop making a scene— two presence entered the room.
A sharp, confident stride followed as Zion Lyka Vaelthyr, the eldest son and heir, entered. His presence alone shifted the atmosphere, commanding attention. Behind him, Elder Vaeren, a senior member of the Council, followed with a composed but watchful gaze.
Zion's sharp, silver-blue eyes immediately locked onto his mother. His expression hardened when he saw her tear-streaked face, and in an instant, he was at her side.
"Mother," he murmured, his tone filled with concern. "What happened?"
Selene sniffled, leaning into her son's support. Her fingers clutched his sleeve as she retold the grievance, her voice laced with barely restrained fury.
"That woman dared to overstep, humiliating me in front of the servants! And her son—stood there without shame! I simply corrected them, yet your father… defended her instead!"
A dangerous glint flashed in Zion's eyes. His grip on his mother's hand tightened as his jaw tensed.
"They should be punished," he declared arrogantly.
Elder Vaeren nodded solemnly. "Lady Sylvara acted beyond her station. The authority of the main family cannot be undermined."
Zephiron exhaled sharply, his patience finally snapping. Without warning, a crushing wave of his aura spread through the chamber, the weight of it suffocating. The walls trembled faintly under the force, and a flickering shadow of his draconic lineage glowed in his narrowed gaze.
"Enough," Zephiron said, voice deep and commanding. "You're all too noisy."
The pressure stilled the air, forcing Selene to swallow her words. Even Zion, defiant as he was, stiffened under his father's presence. Elder Vaeren barely concealed the unease in his expression.
"I'll handle Sylvara myself," Zephiron continued, his tone brooking no argument.
Elder Vaeren hesitated before stepping forward, carefully choosing his words.
"Lord Zephiron… perhaps it would be best to call a formal council meeting. The House must uphold its dignity, and if Lady Sylvara's actions are overlooked, it may set a dangerous precedent—"
A low growl rumbled from Zephiron. His golden aura flared in agitation, wrapping around his form like a coiling beast. His piercing gaze settled on Vaeren, suffocating him under sheer pressure.
"Are you questioning my judgment?"
The elder paled, his mouth opening and closing before he quickly lowered his head. "I—Of course not, my lord. I only meant—"
"When I say I will handle my own wife, I will handle her," Zephiron snapped, voice like a whip. "You do not dictate how I rule my household."
The tension in the room became stifling. Elder Vaeren swallowed hard, nodding stiffly in submission.
A sharp intake of breath from Zion broke the silence.
"But Father—"
"I said no." Zephiron's tone was cold, his authority absolute.
Zion clenched his fists, his pride wounded. Never before had his father dismissed him so thoroughly, and it stung. The injustice burned within him, threatening to boil over.
Sensing her son's growing frustration, Selene reached for his hand, her voice soothing yet firm.
"It's fine, Zion," she murmured, her nails digging into his palm in silent restraint. "We will let this go… for now."
Zion looked at her, his rage simmering just beneath the surface. His father's rejection, Sylvara's audacity, and his mother's tears—all of it felt like a betrayal.
Zephiron turned away, his tone final.
"Focus on your upcoming awakening," he ordered. "Don't waste your time on useless matters."
With that, he strode toward the exit, his presence leaving a lingering tension in the room.
As the doors closed behind him, silence filled the space. Then, Selene exhaled sharply, her expression twisting into something venomous.
"She will pay for this," she whispered darkly. "That woman… and her son."
Zion said nothing, but the sharp glint in his eyes spoke volumes.
For the first time in his life, he had tasted being dismissed like this at the hands of his father.
And he would not forget it.