The Grand Temple was drowning in light.
Sunbeams, manipulated by priestly magic, poured through the stained-glass dome, painting the marble floors in garish shades of devotion. Incense coiled thick in the air, a cloying sweetness that couldn't quite mask the scent of political ambition and beastly musk.
Every gilded pew was packed. Human nobles in silks sat stiffly beside Werefalcon chieftains and beast diplomats, all here to witness the coronation of the real Saintess, Ruby Vaiva.
And her first official act was proving just how real she was.
A hush fell as Ruby, radiant in a gown that seemed woven from moonlight, reached her hands to the sky. Her eyes, the color of a tranquil sea, fluttered shut and she voiced a whisper. A beat of silence, then a voice, clear and sweet as a temple bell, rang out.
"A prophecy!" the High Priest announced, voice trembling with awe. "The Saintess foresees… a year of prosperity! Bountiful harvests! Golden peace!"
The temple erupted. Cheers, applause, the joyful howls of beast-folk… it was a cacophony of relief. This was what they had wanted all along.
In the midst of the celebration, the murmurs started, sharp and venomous.
"See? This is a true blessing. Not like that charlatan," a duchess sneered behind her fan, her eyes scanning the crowd. "Where is Cecilia, anyway? Too petty to show her face?"
"Probably couldn't bear to witness real grace," a Werelizard lord grunted, earning nods of agreement. "All she ever brought were warnings of collapse and storms. A bearer of ill omens."
Standing near the dais, Arzhen smiled. This victory was his as much as hers. At the other side of her, Nikolas watched, his face unreadable.
But everyone in that place agreed that this was the correct order of things.
***
The silence of the inner temple cloisters was quite a contrast to the roaring celebration outside. The air was colder, smelling of ancient stone and dried incense. Fading sunlight sliced through high, narrow windows, illuminating dancing dust motes.
Three sets of footsteps echoed on the polished onyx floor. Towering statues of past saints lined their path, their stone eyes seeming to judge them.
Arzhen walked a step behind. The moment they were truly alone, away from prying eyes, Ruby tactfully extricated herself from Nikolas's grasp. The performance for the public was over, so now, the private one began.
"Ruby…" Arzhen called out, his voice tight. "I need to talk to you."
Ruby stopped walking and turned to him. She blinked innocently and hesitated, her gaze flitting nervously to Nikolas, who had turned with her.
"Of course, Arzhen. What do you want to talk about?" Ruby asked, all soft concern.
Arzhen looked pointedly at Nikolas, expecting him to take the hint and back off. The man didn't budge an inch. Of course he didn't.
"I want to talk to you alone," Arzhen insisted, the words gritted out.
Ruby looked genuinely unsure, her face apologetic as she glanced between the two men. "Umm… Arzhen… you know that I'm Nikolas's bonded mate now… I can't… be seen alone with you. It'll ruin all of our reputations."
"Then, do you want to stay as his bonded mate? What about me?" Arzhen demanded, the pain clear in his voice.
"But… we don't have a choice, right? I've bonded with him, Arzhen… we've talked about this…" Ruby said helplessly.
Arzhen's jaw clenched. He couldn't bring himself to reveal the Meleth Flower tucked away in his possession. Not when Ruby didn't outright beg him to sever the bond with Nikolas herself. What if she knew the flower was Cecilia's, that he had killed for it, and saw him as too cruel for their pure love?
If only she would voice the desire to be free, then he could present his solution. That would be his sign that she wouldn't blame him for what he'd done.
"Arzhen, I know you love Ruby, but what's happened has happened. We can't reverse it," Nikolas stated coldly.
Ruby looked up at the two men, tears pooling in her eyes, making them glittery and glassy. "I… I'm sorry… it's my fault…"
"It's not your fault, Ruby…" Arzhen said, his voice gentling instantly. He was putty in her hands.
Seeing her like this, even Nikolas's cold eyes softened. "It was an accident. We didn't have a choice."
"Arzhen… I'm really sorry… but right now, I am Nikolas's bonded mate. I can't… We can't…" she couldn't finish.
Arzhen frowned, pain etching his features. He was thrown back to the day she returned. Instead of crying in joy in his arms, she had cried in grievance, devastated as she confessed she had accidentally bonded with another man.
Arctic Werewolf Alpha's son, Nikolas Delanivis.
She had cried in his arms as if it were all over. As if there were nothing to be done. She cried so hard she fell unconscious, covered in someone else's scent.
That sight had shattered something in him. He'd already been contemplating severing his bond with Cecilia, and Ruby's return with this news convinced him he had to be with her.
But now, he needed to find a way to sever Ruby's bond, too. Her tears that day had made him believe she wanted it severed as much as he did.
He had made his decision that very night.
He would kill Cecilia, take the Meleth Flower, and let Ruby use it to free herself from Nikolas. It was the only way.
"Arzhen… I…" Ruby sighed, long, suffering. She shook her head. "I… Thank you for coming to my coronation. But… I'm afraid if we keep seeing each other… it'll just make me cry…"
Arzhen's heart shattered into a million pieces on the spot.
"Arzhen Vasiliev, if we keep dwelling on this, we're just going to hurt Ruby more and more. You understand, right?" Nikolas said calmly, seizing the high ground. "I know you severed your bond with that fake already for Ruby, but Ruby is my mate now. And I can't just stand and see when my bonded mate is entangled with someone else."
"If I'm not approaching her, it won't be because of you. It'll be because of her own decision," Arzhen coldly snapped at Nikolas, who immediately frowned. "You have no right to say anything about me and Ruby."
"Arzhen…" Ruby then threw herself into Arzhen's arms, softly bawling against his chest.
Both men flinched, their resolve faltering at the display.
"I'm sorry… it's all my fault… my fault… please don't fight anymore…" she whispered.
Arzhen forced himself to embrace her, even as Nikolas's possessive scent assaulted his senses. It was agony. It was even more painful to see the raw hurt in Nikolas's cold eyes, to see that this man could love her as much as he did. To see that he was trapped, too, unable to give her what she wanted yet unable to let go.
It was all because of that bitch, Cecilia…
If only she hadn't stolen the saintess title seventeen years ago…
If only—
Ruby gently let go of him. Wordlessly, she looked up at him with wet, pitiful eyes, and then turned, running deeper into the temple. Nikolas looked deep into Arzhen's eyes before turning to go after her.
Left alone in the silence, Arzhen clenched his fist.
"Pathetic."
He turned sharply. His eyes widened to see a long blonde maned man emerge from the shadowy corridor, a sharp sneer twisting his handsome features. "Still pining after that whiny bitch?"
Arzhen growled deep in his chest. His pupils contracted to menacing slits, his tiger claws elongating as flame-like stripe tattoos ignited across his skin. "Eastiel… isn't this what you always wanted? To have the real saintess crowned instead of that bitch?"
Eastiel's grin vanished. The Werelion King's golden eyes glowed like molten suns. "Who," he hissed, "are you calling a bitch?"
"Heh, you were the loudest voice denying her sainthood all these years, yet you act so holy the moment she's gone?" Arzhen mocked, gesturing vaguely at the empty space where Cecilia's marble statue should have been. "You and your pride were the ones who helped push her off that throne, and you're still angry at me for calling her what she was?"
"Was?" Eastiel's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and Arzhen instinctively flinched.
The Werelion King took a slow, deliberate step forward. His tall, formidable frame, partially covered in dark brown fur from his spoils, was a sight of pure, contained power.
Eastiel and Arzhen were of the same generation, their names always spoken in the same breath, two rival princes constantly compared. But in truth, they both knew Eastiel had always held the edge. A slim one, but an edge nonetheless.
"Was?" Eastiel repeated.
"Screw off, Eastiel. This is a joyous day," Arzhen warned, trying to reclaim some authority. "I don't want to ruin tod—"
GRASP!
"KGH!" Arzhen's hands flew up, grasping Eastiel's wrist as the Lion King's clawed hand clamped like a vise around his throat. "You—!"
In the struggle, something small and delicate was dislodged from the folds of Arzhen's robe. It fluttered silently, landing on the cold temple floor between them.
A flower. Its petals were a stark, divine white, its stem a pure, sinful black.
The Meleth Flower.
Eastiel's breath froze in his lungs. All the fury in his golden eyes crystallized into a single, horrifying understanding.