The throne room shimmered with polished obsidian, moonlight casting silver streaks across the floor. Nobles lined the balconies, alphas from every region assembled below—each one drawn not by politics, but by her.
Seraphina entered without announcement.
No guards. No crown. No modesty.
She wore pale gold today—gossamer silk clinging to every curve, embroidered moons glowing faintly across her sleeves. Her long white hair spilled over her shoulders like snowfall, and every eye followed her with barely hidden hunger.
And the kings?
Already waiting.
Kael sat to the left—sharp, composed, dressed in midnight black with silver embroidery curling like thorns across his shoulders. He didn't move, but his jaw tensed the moment he saw her.
He had kissed her.
He had tasted her.
And still, she walked like nothing belonged to him.
Rhydian stood opposite, leaning against a pillar, bare forearms crossed. His silver eyes didn't blink when she entered. He didn't smile. He didn't even acknowledge her with a nod.
But Seraphina felt it.
That silent heat. That silent challenge.
She walked the length of the chamber, straight between the two of them, spine straight, head high—until she stopped beneath the full moon carved into the stone above.
"The Luna Selection begins tonight," said the Moon Priestess, her voice echoing. "And by ancient law, the divine omega may observe, reject, or invite the alphas who petition her."
Petition?
They could throw themselves at her feet and she still wouldn't kneel.
But she nodded once, graceful.
Kael was the first to move.
He approached her slowly, formally, every step echoing through the room. When he reached her, he bowed—not deeply—but enough for the court to gasp.
"Your Grace," he murmured. "If I were any other man, I'd ask to dance with you."
She smiled. "But you are not any other man."
"No," Kael said, meeting her gaze. "I'm the one who already did."
A scandalous silence fell.
Rhydian straightened, arms dropping to his sides. His nostrils flared.
Seraphina turned her head slightly, just enough for Kael to lean in closer. Close enough for the court to see the tension. The memory. The heat.
But she did not touch him.
Instead, she whispered, "Don't mistake a taste for a claim."
Then she turned her body toward the other king.
Rhydian stepped forward without ceremony. Without a word. The crowd held its breath as he passed Kael and stopped directly before her.
He didn't bow.
He didn't ask.
He simply held out his hand.
"Choose," he said.
One word.
One command.
Seraphina looked at him. Then at Kael. And with a slow, sensual grace, she stepped between both of them.
Not to take a hand.
But to walk past them.
"I do not belong to a kingdom," she said. "Not yet."
She didn't turn back. She didn't wait.
And behind her, two kings stood frozen—held not by honor, but by obsession.
The room erupted in whispers.
And Seraphina smiled.
Because the more they wanted her…
The more they were willing to destroy each other to have her.
--
The sun had barely risen, yet the palace buzzed like a hive ready to swarm.
The Luna Selection had begun.
Not with kisses.
Not with romance.
But with offerings.
Each alpha chosen by blood or title was summoned before dawn, allowed one gift—an item, a skill, or a vow—to present to the Divine Omega in hopes of earning her attention.
Seraphina did not ask for this.
She simply allowed it.
And in that allowance, nations trembled.
She sat high above the hall—not on a throne, but upon an altar draped in sacred lunar silk. Silver flame bowls flickered at each side, casting soft light across her pale golden gown and white flowing hair. She was not dressed as a mate. She was seated like a goddess.
Because that's what she was.
The last living descendant of the First Moon Goddess—a lineage lost for over two thousand years. Her blood carried ancient magic. Her scent awakened dormant wolves. Her touch could heal the dying. Her fertility? Divine.
She was the Vessel foretold in prophecy.
"From the womb of moonlight, the Maker shall rise.
She shall bear the heir of fate.
And her mate… will either rule the realm or die by her flame."
But more than prophecy, Seraphina was change.
She wasn't here to be chosen.
She was here to choose.
And two kings were already caught in her gravity.
Kael sat at her right—composed, dressed in battle-black, his expression stone. Rhydian stood to her left, silent and burning, his silver gaze never leaving her.
Yet neither moved as the first alpha approached.
A broad-shouldered noble from the Northern Rivers dropped to one knee and unrolled a cloth, revealing a dagger forged from pure moonstone.
"A weapon," he said proudly, "for your divine hands. It was shaped under a blood eclipse."
Seraphina leaned forward slightly, letting her fingers hover above the blade. Its surface shimmered, reacting to her nearness.
"And what would I do with it?" she asked calmly.
The alpha hesitated. "To… defend yourself."
"I don't need defense," she replied smoothly. "The world shifts to protect me."
She withdrew her hand.
The blade dulled instantly.
Whispers rose among the seated alphas. Kael's eyes narrowed. Rhydian didn't blink.
Three more came.
One offered a wolf carved from obsidian, another a song composed under moonlight. One bared a tattoo across his chest declaring eternal submission to her.
Each was dismissed without cruelty—but without warmth.
None of them understood.
This was not a contest for beauty.
This was a dance around divinity.
She was the sacred center, the heartbeat of the realm reborn. Only once every few millennia was the Divine Omega born—when the world tipped toward imbalance, and the Goddess's blood returned to restore it.
Now kingdoms feared her.
And kings wanted her.
The last alpha approached—Alpha Maelor of Ironwood. His stride was slow, assured. He bowed—deep, but not humbled.
"I bring no gift," he said, lifting his gaze. "Only an offer. My bloodline. My legacy."
Seraphina studied him.
"You would offer yourself like a stud horse?"
"I would offer you a legacy that matches your divinity," he said. "My ancestors ruled before alphas were even named. My line is untouched. Pure."
Kael's fingers twitched.
Rhydian growled under his breath.
Seraphina rose from her seat.
Every movement was precise. Controlled.
She stepped to Maelor, walked in a slow circle around him, her scent wrapping around his neck like a leash.
Then she leaned close and whispered, "I don't need your purity. I carry the blood that made yours matter."
Her words were quiet, but they echoed through the hall.
She stepped back.
"You may leave."
Maelor bowed once more—this time with a flicker of hesitation.
As he turned, she didn't look at Kael. She didn't look at Rhydian.
She stared straight ahead.
Knowing full well—
Her presence was unraveling every rule they ever believed about power.