Selene stood before a large mirror, staring at her reflection.
The maids worked in careful silence, fastening the final touches to her wedding gown—a breathtaking creation of white silk, embroidered with delicate golden patterns that shimmered with every breath she took.
The dress was meant to make her look like a vision of grace and purity. A queen. A bride.
But secretly she was a weapon.
Behind her, Cassandra stood watching, her gaze sharp as ever. She had supervised every detail, ensuring Selene looked the part. But now, as the maids finished, she spoke the only words that mattered.
"Leave us."
The maids obeyed, disappearing like ghosts, leaving only the two of them in the chamber.
Cassandra stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Selene's shoulder.
"You've done it." Her voice was a sharp, cutting straight to the point. "You're one step closer to your mission."
Selene met her gaze in the mirror, her emerald eyes devoid of warmth.
"Now you must earn the king's trust. Influence his rule. And when the time comes—" Cassandra's voice dropped to a whisper.
Selene didn't need to hear the rest.
Her own lips parted, finishing the sentence with cold finality.
"Kill him."
Cassandra smiled.
"Exactly."
Silence settled between them.
But before Selene could speak again, Cassandra turned toward the door.
"There's someone you should meet."
The door opened, and a young woman stepped inside—a maid, her uniform pristine, her expression unreadable. Her dark eyes flicked to Selene before she dropped into a practiced curtsy.
"My name is Lila. I will serve as your personal maid, Your Majesty."
"Serve?" Selene's voice was dry, unimpressed.
Cassandra smiled. "Watch. Advise. Remind you of your duties."
Selene's jaw tightened. A spy?
"I don't need a babysitter."
Cassandra's smile sharpened. "Think of her as a friend."
Selene scoffed. "I don't need a friend either."
Cassandra's amusement vanished. "It's not your decision to make. The faction has already decided. She stays by your side."
The finality in her voice left no room for argument.
Selene turned to Lila, studying her. Petite. Composed. Brown eyes that held something dangerous—more wolf than lamb.
She didn't trust her.
But trust had never been a luxury.
With a slow, reluctant nod, Selene accepted her fate.
Cassandra's smiled in satisfaction. She stepped back, brushing an invisible wrinkle from Selene's gown before meeting her gaze in the mirror.
"Good. Now let's get you married to the King."
----
The grand ballroom was drenched in gold and wealth, filled with nobles, courtiers, and foreign dignitaries who had gathered to witness the crowning of a new queen.
The chandeliers overhead glowed like fallen stars, their light reflecting off the marble floors. The scent of perfumed roses and burning incense filled the air.
Selene walked down the long aisle, her steps measured, each one drawing her closer to Ronan.
Her make believe uncle—Varrin, walked beside her, playing his part with ease. A proud smile, a steady grip. A lie so perfectly crafted that no one questioned it.
At the end of the aisle, waiting for her, was the Ronan.
He stood in his ceremonial robes, adorned in dark colors of royalty and power.
But his eyes—those piercing, golden eyes—never left her.
Not even for a second.
As she approached, his smile grew.
She was breathtaking.
Selene lifted her chin as she stopped before him, their gazes locked in a silent exchange. She could feel the weight of every jealous, envious look from the women in the crowd, the disapproval from certain council members, and the unreadable expression of those who already doubted her.
But it didn't matter.
Because this was her moment.
The oldest council member stepped forward to officiate the wedding, his voice echoing through the vast hall. The ceremony was filled with ancient traditions and sacred vows. Words spoken with reverence. A ritual meant to bind them—in life, in rule, in fate.
Selene spoke her vows with steady confidence.
Ronan did the same—though there was something in his tone. Something almost dangerous. Like a man entranced. Like a king willing to burn the world for his queen.
Then came the crown.
A servant stepped forward, holding the Queen's Crown—an exquisite piece of gold and rubies, shaped like a wreath of fire.
It was placed upon her head, its weight both real and symbolic.
And as she turned to face the room, the announcement was made.
"Bow before your Queen."
The nobles and courtiers lowered their heads, some in genuine respect, others through gritted teeth.
Selene smiled.
She stepped forward, her golden-embroidered gown shimmering under the light. The moment demanded silence, demanded a queen's voice to claim her place.
So she spoke.
"My people," she began, her voice clear and commanding. "Today, I stand before you not only as a bride, but as your queen. And I make this vow—not only to my king, but to all of you."
The crowd stilled, drawn in by the certainty in her tone.
"I will not be a queen who sits idly in the shadows while others decide your fate. I will not turn a blind eye to the struggles of this kingdom, nor will I allow corruption to seep into its bones. I swear to you, as long as I wear this crown, I will fight for this realm. For its people. For its future."
Murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd. Even those who had doubted her found themselves listening.
Selene's gaze locked onto the council members—those who thought they could control her, who thought she would be nothing more than a pretty decoration at Ronan's side. Her next words were for them.
"A queen is not a pawn to be moved at another's will. A queen is a force. A shield. And should anyone threaten this kingdom, they will find I am just as much a blade."
A stunned silence followed. Then—cheers. The people roared their approval, voices rising in excitement.
The council, however, did not look so pleased. Their expressions were tight, their hands clenched. They had expected a docile queen, a quiet queen. Instead, they had been given a storm.
But Ronan?
He smirked.
Then, before she could react, he pulled her into his arms—and kissed her.
It wasn't a soft kiss. It was possessive, claiming, absolute. A statement to all who watched that she was his, that she belonged to him now.
Selene felt rage coil in her stomach. She wanted to shove him away, to carve a blade between them—but she didn't. She controlled her expression, kept her body still, even as every fiber of her being burned with fury.
Because this was only the beginning.
The first move had been played.
And soon enough—Ronan would regret ever putting a crown on her head, because she would put a blade in his heart.