Chapter 4 Elian

• "Stand up straight, Seraphine," my mother whispers, adjusting the silver circlet nestled in my hair. "And try to smile. You look like you're marching to your execution."
• "Aren't I?" I mutter, earning a sharp look that would have withered lesser wolves.
• Beyond these doors, 164 suitors from across our Kingdom's thirteen packs wait, hungry for a chance to claim the daughter of the fallen royal Beta. My mother had pre-selected thirty based on their status and reputation—the cream of werewolf society, as she called them. To me, they were just thirty reasons to wish I was bleeding in the training yard instead.
• "This is for your future," she reminds me, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from my gown. "For our future. Your father and brothers would want you to be happy, not constantly surrounded by death and war."
• I bite my tongue against the bitter truth: that Father had trained me since I could walk to be surrounded by exactly that. "Father would want me to fight," I say finally, unable to hold back. "He trained me for battle, not... whatever this is."
• Mother's face hardens. "Your father is dead, Seraphine. And I will not lose you too."
• The finality in her voice silences me, but inside, Emogen paces restlessly.
• "They're coming," my wolf growls. "Can you smell them? All those unmated males thinking they can claim the Red Phantom. As if any of them could handle us."
• "If one more person refers to themselves as 'the future mate of the Red Phantom,'" I tell my wolf silently, "I might reconsider my promise to put away my sword."
• "That's the spirit," Emogen purrs, bloodlust coloring her voice. "Let them try to touch us."
• The doors swing open, and my mother steps forward, suddenly every inch the Beta's wife despite her recent widowhood. "Gentlemen," she announces, voice carrying across the hall. "My daughter will meet with each of you privately. Remember your manners—you are in the presence of a Velkan."
• I catch Alpha King Aldrich watching from his seat at the side of the hall, lips curled in what might be a smirk.
• "Does he find this amusing?" Emogen growls. "Or is he simply pleased to see me stripped of my armor and forced into this charade?"
• "Both," I answer silently. "And let's not forget—he never believed my visions. Now he's marrying me off to get rid of me."
• "First suitor," a palace servant announces.
• And so it begins.
• ...
• "My pack has the finest hunting grounds in the kingdom," the first suitor declares, chest puffed out like a preening bird.
• "He smells like he bathes in deer musk," Emogen mutters. "Probably to hide his fear scent."
• I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Suitor Number One mistakes my expression for interest and leans forward eagerly.
• "Our territory includes three mountain ranges and two lakes," he continues. "Any female would be fortunate to call it home."
• "Any female?" I repeat, arching an eyebrow. "How wonderfully specific."
• His confidence falters. "I only meant—"
• "Tell me," I interrupt, "those hunting grounds... have you ever actually hunted there yourself?"
• "Well, of course," he stammers. "Many times."
• "And what's your preferred method? Bow? Spear? Knife?"
• "I, uh—"
• "Thank you for your time," I say, rising from my seat. "Next."
• The second suitor is worse.
• "My father says the Red Phantom would bring great honor to our bloodline," he announces before his backside even touches the chair. His eyes rake over me like I'm a prize mare. "Our pups would be legendary."
• "Pups?" I echo, voice dangerously soft. "You've known me for approximately seven seconds, and you're already breeding me?"
• "I only meant—"
• "Next!"
• After the fifth suitor, I attempt to block Emogen out. Her commentary, while amusing, is making it impossible to maintain the facade of politeness my mother requested.
• "Look at his hands," she notes about the seventh. "Soft as a newborn's. I doubt he could skin his own kill, let alone protect a mate."
• I clear my throat. "Thank you for your time. Next."
• "My father owns the largest silver mine in the Crescent Valley," the tenth suitor, Thorne, boasts. His midnight-black hair is slicked back, and his amber eyes never quite meet mine.
• "He's intimidated by us," Emogen grunts with satisfaction.
• "Quiet," I mentally hiss at her, surprised to find myself almost interested. At least this one doesn't immediately mention breeding.
• "Any mate of mine would be the richest female in the kingdom," Thorne continues. "Of course, Miss Seraphine, I understand that your royal family has all the wealth and honor you would need. Which is why I think the Velkans and the Thornes need to unite. We'd be unstoppable."
• "I see," I say neutrally, studying him more carefully. Unlike the others, he's not all brawn—there's intelligence in those amber eyes, calculation in the way he presents himself.
• "I've heard stories of your prowess in battle," he says, leaning forward. "The Red Phantom. They say you move like a shadow and strike like lightning. They say your red wolf is the most beautiful and unique we've seen in centuries."
• "So I've been told." I keep my face impassive.
• "His scent reeks of ambition," my wolf warns. "He wants your title, not you."
• "Our pups would be legendary warriors," he says, flashing what he clearly believes is a charming smile. "Imagine—your skill with my bloodline's strength. We could produce the next Alpha King."
• And there it is. I stare at him, not bothering to hide my disgust. "Is that all you see when you look at me? A broodmare for your legacy?"
• His smile falters. "I—of course not. I simply meant—"
• "Thank you for your time," I cut him off, standing so abruptly my chair squeaks against the floor. "The servant will show you out."
• "But I haven't—"
• "Next," I call out, dismissing him with a wave of my hand.
• By the twentieth suitor, I'm seriously contemplating how much damage I'd sustain if I jumped from the second-story window.
• "I've killed seventeen rogues in single combat," Alpha Viktor of the Stone Ridge Pack declares, puffing out his chest. "Fifteen with my bare hands."
• "How impressive," I say, not bothering to hide my boredom. I’d seen Alpha Viktor through the royal halls. When he’d come to discuss politics with my father. Werewolf kingdoms consisted of two, the North and the South. Each Kingdom had thirteen packs. Alpha Viktor was the 7th pack’s alpha. His pack relied on special attention from my late father because Alpha Viktor knew strength and violence alone. No kindness to his people. My father, head beta, commander and ruled over other betas, gammas and alphas in the thirteen packs. Here, Alpha Viktor pretends he’s better than me. How pathetic. I've counted the ceiling tiles twice already. There are eighty-four.
• "I could protect you," he insists, misreading my disinterest as fear. "A female shouldn't have to fight, even one with your... unusual skills."
• "Did he just—" Emogen is practically howling with indignation.
• I lean forward, smiling sweetly. "I once killed twenty rogues before breakfast," I reply conversationally. "None with my hands. Too messy. I prefer a clean slice across the throat." I drag my finger across my neck in demonstration. "Quieter that way."
• The color drains from his face.
• "Next," I say, still smiling.
• By the twenty-third suitor, I've started actively blocking Emogen's comments. Her increasingly creative insults have nearly made me laugh out loud too many times.
• "You're ignoring me," she complains as another forgettable face drones on about his pack's territory.
• "I'm trying to focus," I tell her silently.
• "On what? This parade of inadequate males? None of them deserve us."
• "Maybe not, but I promised mother."
• Emogen huffs but says nothing more.
• After the twenty-fifth disappointed suitor leaves, my mother slips into the room, practically vibrating.
• "Seraphine," she hisses, "you've rejected every single one. What are you doing?"
• "Meeting potential mates," I say innocently. "As instructed."
• "You're antagonizing them on purpose!"
• "Mother, did you listen to any of them? They either want to brag about mating 'The Red Phantom' or they want to lock me away and pretend I never held a sword."
• She presses her fingers to her temples. "Please, Seraphine, at least pretend to give them a chance."
• I see the fatigue in her eyes, the grief that still shadows her every movement. This whole event is her desperate attempt to secure a safe future for me—the only family she has left.
• "Fine," I concede, my irritation softening. "I'll be nicer to the next one."
• "Thank you," she says, visibly relieved.
• She moves to the door, then hesitates. "The next one is different. He's the son of Beta Nathaniel from the Eastern Shadow Pack."
• The name rings a bell. "Father's old friend?"
• "Yes. His son studied healing arts rather than warfare, but his bloodline is impeccable." She gives me a look that manages to be both pleading and commanding. "Just... talk to him. Please."
• She leaves, and moments later, the door opens again.
• The man who enters is not what I expected. Tall but not imposing, with warm hazel eyes and light brown hair that curls slightly at his temples. He doesn't strut like the others, doesn't immediately launch into a speech about his accomplishments or birthing hips or our future pups. Instead, he bows, a gesture of respect rather than subservience.
• "Seraphine Velkan," he says. "I'm Elian. I'm honored to meet you."
• "Are you?" I ask, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice. "Most men here are only honored to meet 'The Red Phantom.'"
• "At least he's looking you in the eyes and not at your breeding hips," Emogen remarks, her tone less caustic than before.
• A small smile touches his lips. "I've heard the stories, of course. But I'd rather meet Seraphine."
• I blink, surprised. In all the introductions today, no one has bothered to make that distinction.
• "Sit," I offer, gesturing to the chair across from me. "Tell me about yourself, Elian of the Eastern Shadow Pack."
• "Not much to tell. I'm a doctor. I studied with the Moon Priestesses in the northern mountains for five years."
• "A doctor?" I raise an eyebrow. "Not a warrior?"
• "We can't all be legendary fighters," he says with a self-deprecating shrug. "Some of us have to patch up the heroes after the battle."
• Despite myself, I laugh—a real laugh, not the sarcastic half-snort I've been giving the others. "Fair enough."
• "I knew your brother Aiden," he mentions casually, surprising me again.
• "You did?"
• He nods. "He came to us once with a nasty wound after a border skirmish. Too proud to admit how badly he was hurt."
• "That sounds like Aiden," I say, memories of my brother's stubborn pride surfacing. "All ego, no sense."
• "He spoke of you often," Elian continues. "With respect, though he'd never have admitted it to your face."
• "Now I know you're lying," I tease, though something in my chest tightens. "Aiden never respected anyone, least of all his little sister."
• Elian smiles. "He said you were the best fighter he'd ever seen. Said it drove him crazy that it came so naturally to you when he had to work twice as hard."
• The memory of Aiden catches me off guard—his competitive scowl whenever I mastered a technique before him, the way he'd deflect his frustration with cutting jokes. And now I'll never hear those jokes again.
• I look away, unwilling to let this stranger see the sudden grief that threatens to overwhelm me.
• "Why are you here, Elian?" I ask, changing the subject. "You don't seem like the others."
• "Truthfully?" He meets my gaze, no hint of deception in his steady heartbeat. "My father insisted. Said it was a great honor to be invited. But I don't expect anything."
• "No dreams of claiming the Red Phantom as your mate?" I ask, only half-joking.
• He shakes his head. "I have no illusions. I've heard that when werewolves meet their fated mates, it's like thunder in the blood. I didn't feel thunder when I walked in, did you?"
• "No," I admit. "No thunder."
• "So we're not fated," he says simply. "And that's fine."
• "Then why stay and talk?"
• Elian leans forward. "Because you look like someone who could use a friend rather than another suitor. Because everyone here sees the Red Phantom, but I'd like to know Seraphine Velkan."
• I stare at him, searching for the angle, the hidden agenda. Every man I've met today has wanted something from me—my status, my reputation, my bloodline. What does this one want?
• "He's... not terrible," Emogen admits reluctantly. "His scent is clean. No hidden agendas that I can detect."
• "My fated mate is out there somewhere," he says softly. "As is yours. But if you chose me, Seraphine Velkan, I would give up that possibility. I would be loyal to you and only you, for as long as I live."
• "Why would you do that?" I ask, genuinely confused. "Why give up your chance at a true mate?"
• "Because sometimes choice is more powerful than fate," he answers.
• For the first time all day, I'm speechless.
• A knock at the door breaks the moment. My mother peeks in. "Time's up, dear. There are still more waiting."
• I look at Elian—this strange healer who sees me as a person rather than a legend—then back to my mother. In my mind, I hear Koda's words from the armory: ("Perhaps there's more than one way to honor your mother. Perhaps you don't have to choose between being the daughter she needs and the warrior your pack deserves.")
• "No need," I say, making my decision. "I think I've found my husband."
• My mother barely contains her excitement, clasping her hands together. "I'm happy for you two," she says, practically bouncing. "I'll inform King Aldrich that you've chosen a suitor. The wedding ceremony will be tomorrow."
• As she hurries away, I exhale slowly, the weight of my choice settling around me.
• Elian watches me, understanding in his eyes. "You don't have to go through with this," he says quietly. "I wouldn't hold you to it."
• "No," I reply, surprising myself with my certainty. "I made my choice."
• "A choice is more powerful than fate," he repeats, smiling.
• Emogen stirs within me. "He may not be our fated mate, but he sees us—the real us. Perhaps that's worth more than thunder in the blood."
• I nod, both to her and to Elian. There are worse foundations for a marriage than mutual respect. And in a world that had taken nearly everything from me, perhaps choosing my own path was the one victory I could still claim.
• But a question burns in my mind, demanding an answer before I commit to this course.
• "Elian," I say, meeting his eyes directly, "if we marry, would you stand beside me as I seek justice for my family? Or would you try to contain me like all the others?"