A young man of sixteen dressed in training clothing and a steel sword strapped to his waist walked down the halls of the castle. He was covered in sweat and grime, but he never cared. He might be a part of the royal family, but he never cared about fancy clothes or even about money as his eyes remained fixated on his one goal. To become the Captain of the Royal Guard and the Knight Protector of the Realm.

"Lord Mephisto! We should get you cleaned up immediately!"

He waved his hand dismissively, "where is she?"

Marian knew not to try and force the young master to do something he didn't want to, so instead she bowed her head and answered him with two words and left to fetch tea and lunch for the two.

Mephisto's mind was on autopilot as he made his way to her chamber's where he would most likely find her surrounded by books. Or on her break from training as she had just come back from the Haven Realm, where she had spent the last two years training her healing and telekinesis magic. Either way, she was always busy. Training to not only be the First Queen of Valentine, but to prove that she was more than capable of surpassing her older sister.

Grasping the cold silver knob, Mephisto walked into his youngest cousin's room. Closing it behind him, he wasn't surprised to find the teenager levitating a couple of feet up in the air with her legs crossed and her eyes closed. She was dressed in a white silk gown. Her training attire from the other realm. They advised her to wear white clothing in order to calm her mood, to help her focus on her ability to control her magic.

"Hey kiddo," he stood right beside the young girl and watched as she peeked her eyes open, a smile breaking out on her face. Calmly, she jumped down onto the ground and jumped the much older and taller teenager. "Woah careful or you might strain your magic."

"Meph!" she buried her face in his stomach as she held onto her older cousin. "I've missed you! Uncle Cedric said you weren't coming home until tomorrow morning!"

Hugging back the pink headed girl, Mephisto ran a hand through his hair as he let out a chuckle, staring down at her. "I had to come see my dear cousin."

The way she looked up at him, eyes glimmering and a bright smile as she giggled. It was rare to see his much younger cousin laugh or smile these days since she started training to be Queen. Every time he saw her, she grew more and more withdrawn and indifferent. He hated it.

"Meph! Let's have lunch together!"

The way she bounced up and down made him chuckle. He couldn't ever think of denying her, she was too good. It made him grow sorrow as he knew that it was because of his other younger cousin that Annabella was suffering.

"Anything for you," his response elicited a sequel from her before she marched over to the doors and began shouting out a lunch order to one of her maids.

"Please Mephisto, I require that you tell me what it's like away from court for a few weeks at a time."

"What about your ladies in waiting?"

Lilithe rolled her eyes with a scoff, "brainless woman."

Mephisto raised a brow, surprised by how blunt she had insulted the woman. He could already see the changes Lilithe was going through from being a child to a young woman destined to wear a crown that she never wanted to begin with. A crown she was growing into perfectly fine.

"They can't be that bad," he teased

She blanched.

"They only care to be in my good graces to win my favor for when I'm Queen to make suitable matches to climb the ranks of court."

Mephisto couldn't argue with her. It was true. His mother insisted that he start courting one and marry her when he turns eighteen. His father wanted him to marry a princess from the continent Alakitasia. Either way, marriage was going to be a part of his plans for the future.

"Then let's go have lunch in the garden," he suggested, watching as she immediately smiled. "I haven't seen the Bleeding Hearts tree since I returned."

"That's perfect," she walked into the bathroom with a bundle of clothes and closed the door behind her.

Taking a seat on her fainting couch, he relaxed as he set his sword in his lap. Marian walked in with a rolling cart with a pristine white tea set. The scent of peppermint tea with honey immediately gave him a wave of nostalgia from their childhood.

"Thank you Marian," he smiled at the older woman who nodded before serving him.

"The Princess missed you dearly while you were gone," she murmured.

Mephisto was surprised. The fact that Marian, Annabella's lady maid, had picked up on her feelings as she was always good at burying them deep down. Which could only mean that her missing him was great if people were to notice.

"I plan to remedy this as soon as possible."

Marian smiled, "it's good to have you back home sir."

"How many times must I tell you to just call me Mephisto?"

The thirty four year old woman had taken care of him since he was born, had watched over him just as she watched over Emmaline and Annnabella when they were born years later. She had taken care of them and still continued to do so.

"Marian, did I do this right?"

Lilithe stepped out of the bathroom. She was dressed in a simple cream colored gown, lace sleeves and a beaded belt. Her hair pinned up with her simple silver tiara adoring her head. She was attempting to fix the bow that she had tried to tie the silk belt perfectly. The older woman walked over with a smile, untying the belt, she had taken but five seconds to do with precision.

She looked more like a young woman than a teenager. Mephisto didn't like how his kid cousin was growing up too quickly for his liking. She should spend her days daydreaming of far off places than training to take the throne and become the first Queen.

"You're getting better at dressing yourself," Marian smiled. "I'm proud of you dear."

He had remembered from the letter that he received from her, months ago, that she had decided that she would do simple mundane tasks like dressing herself, making her own tea, and other small things herself. He thought it quite odd, but he could see now why she chose to make that decision for herself.

"Thank you Marian," she smiled with grace before turning to Mephisto. "Ready?"

Standing, he offered his hand to her "always."


Mephisto stood in the dimly lit chamber, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the stone walls. The echoes of his footsteps seemed louder than usual as he paced, his mind a turbulent sea of emotions. The weight of his duty had never felt heavier. He had always known that protecting Lilithe, his younger cousin and the future monarch, was more than just a responsibility—it was a promise he had made to his uncle, the late King, on his deathbed.

As a boy, Mephisto had idolized his uncle, the man who had ruled the kingdom with wisdom and strength. He had watched in awe as the King guided Lilithe, grooming her to one day take the throne. When the King had entrusted Mephisto with Lilithe's safety, he had taken the task to heart. He had vowed to be her shield, to stand between her and any danger that might come her way. And for a long time, he had succeeded.

But now, everything was different. Lilithe had always been independent, a trait that Mephisto admired in her. But since her coronation, she had become more distant, more guarded. The death threats that had once seemed laughable had become all too real, culminating in that terrifying day at the parade. The memory of it still haunted him—the sound of gunfire, the sight of Lilithe's crown almost knocked from her head by a bullet that had missed by mere inches. He had been there, so close yet so powerless to stop it. That moment had shaken him to his core.

And yet, despite everything, Lilithe had shut him out. The pain of her withdrawal cut deeper than any physical wound. She had always confided in him, had always turned to him in times of need. But now, she barely spoke to him, her once warm gaze now cold and distant. Instead, she had turned to others—Lady Lucillia, the elegant and enigmatic courtier who had been their childhood friend and who had quickly become one of Lilithe's closest confidants once more, and the dragon slayers, Rogue and Sting, whose presence in the court had grown more prominent by the day.

Mephisto couldn't understand it.

He had been by her side since childhood, had watched over her with unwavering loyalty. But now, it was as if she no longer needed him. The realization brought with it a mix of confusion, hurt, and something darker—a feeling of being replaced.

He remembered the countless nights they had spent together, strategizing for the future, sharing their fears and dreams. Lilithe had always been open with him, her trust in him absolute. But now, when he knocked on her chamber door, it was Lady Lucillia who answered, or worse, Lilithe herself, with a polite but distant smile that did nothing to ease the ache in his chest.

Mephisto had tried to talk to her, to bridge the growing gap between them. But every time he broached the subject, she would deflect, changing the topic or brushing off his concerns with a dismissive wave. She had become an expert at evasion, her once open heart now fortified with walls he couldn't seem to breach.

It wasn't just the physical distance that pained him, but the emotional chasm that had opened between them. He had always been her protector, her confidant. Now, he was just another member of her court, relegated to the sidelines as others took his place by her side. The dragon slayers, with their quiet strength and unspoken bond with Lilithe, were a constant reminder of the space that now existed between him and his cousin. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy, an emotion he despised in himself. They understood her in a way he no longer could, their presence a silent testament to the connection they shared with her.

Lady Lucillia, too, was a source of unease for Mephisto. She was charming and intelligent, with a sharp wit and a keen understanding of court politics. But there was something about her that Mephisto couldn't quite place—a sense that she knew more than she let on, that she wielded her influence with calculated precision. Lilithe seemed to trust her implicitly, confiding in her with matters she once would have shared with him. It hurt to see her turn to Lucillia for advice, to watch them whisper together in corners where he was no longer welcome.

Mephisto found himself standing at the threshold of Lilithe's private chambers more often than he liked to admit, his hand poised to knock, only to lower it in defeat. He didn't want to force his way into her confidence, but the distance between them was unbearable. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from the growing threats that surrounded them. But how could he do that when she wouldn't even look him in the eye?

He had spoken to Bastien about his concerns, hoping for some insight, but Bastien had merely shrugged, telling him to give Lilithe time. But Mephisto wasn't sure time was something they had in abundance. The court was a dangerous place, and Lilithe was more vulnerable now than ever. He could feel the danger closing in, could sense the unseen enemies lurking in the shadows. He needed to be by her side, needed her to let him in.

But for now, all he could do was wait, the knot in his stomach tightening with each passing day. The fear of losing her—not just as his queen, but as his cousin, as the person he had sworn to protect—was almost more than he could bear.

As he stood there, staring into the fire that flickered in the hearth, Mephisto made a silent vow to himself. He would find a way to reach her, to break through the walls she had built around herself. He would protect her, even if it meant going against her wishes, even if it meant standing alone in the face of whatever dangers were to come.

Because he had made a promise, and Mephisto never broke his promises.


Lucy and Jessamine walked through the castle, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls as they passed through the opulent corridors. Their laughter and whispered gossip were all part of the act, a well-practiced charade that allowed them to blend in seamlessly with the courtiers. Every now and then, Lucy caught the eye of a passing lord, and she'd flash a coy smile, giggling just a little louder to sell the pretense. But beneath the surface, her mind was a whirlpool of emotions, tugging her in every direction.

Jessamine, ever observant, noticed the slight furrow in Lucy's brow, the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. As they rounded a corner into a quieter, empty corridor, Jessamine slowed her pace, her expression turning more serious.

"How are you really, Lucy?" Jessamine asked, her voice soft but insistent as she gently pulled Lucy to a stop.

Lucy blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?" she replied, trying to maintain the lighthearted tone they had been using moments before.

Jessamine glanced around the corridor, ensuring they were truly alone, before turning her full attention back to Lucy. "I mean," she began, her tone laced with concern, "this must be overwhelming for you. You've barely had any time to adjust to being back in this world, to stepping back into a life you didn't even remember until recently."

Lucy frowned, her mind racing. "How did you know that?"

Jessamine offered a sad smile, one filled with understanding and perhaps a touch of regret. "After your memories were taken and you returned to Fiore, Lilithe asked me to keep an eye on you. She wanted to make sure you were safe and happy, even from afar. I sent her weekly reports on your well-being."

"She did?" Lucy asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Jessamine nodded. "Yes. She was relieved when you found a place in Fairy Tail, and she was proud of the life you were building. But she was also devastated when you disappeared after Tenrou Island. She sent out secret search parties to find you, but to no avail. When she fell into a coma on her sixteenth birthday, two years after you vanished, it was Bastien and I who had to console her when she woke. The first thing she asked about was you. Even as she grieved for her parents, your absence was a wound that never healed for her. She continued to ask for reports on you when you reappeared—it was the only thing that gave her solace."

Lucy's heart tightened at the revelation. She had been so focused on her own turmoil that she hadn't considered how deeply her disappearance had affected others, especially Lilithe. She felt a pang of guilt for not realizing sooner how much her cousin had cared, even from a distance.

Jessamine's voice softened further, filled with empathy. "So, it's no wonder this is all overwhelming for you, Lucy. You've been thrown back into a life that's unfamiliar, surrounded by people who expect you to remember and fit in, but it's not that simple, is it?"

Lucy bit her lip, her eyes welling up slightly. Jessamine was right. She hadn't truly given herself the space to process everything. Her memories, her old life, her place in this new world—it was all crashing down on her, and she was barely keeping her head above water.

"I hadn't really thought about it like that," Lucy admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've just been…trying to keep going, trying to be who everyone expects me to be. But it's hard, Jessamine. It's like I'm living someone else's life. I'm Lucillia Heartfilia here, but in my heart, I'm still just Lucy from Fairy Tail."

Jessamine reached out, placing a comforting hand on Lucy's arm. "It's okay to feel that way. You don't have to have everything figured out right now. And you don't have to do it alone. We're all here for you, Lucy. Lilithe, Bastien, me—we're your family, and we'll help you through this."

Lucy's eyes softened, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Jessamine. It helps knowing I have you all."

As they began to walk again, Lucy's thoughts drifted to a familiar face, one that always brought a bittersweet ache to her heart. She missed Natsu with a deep, visceral longing that she couldn't quite put into words. He had always been her anchor, the one who made her laugh when she felt like crying, who charged into every situation with reckless abandon and somehow made everything okay.

She could almost see him now, that fanged grin plastered across his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He'd probably be dragging her into some wild adventure, making her forget all her worries in the chaos he seemed to thrive in. Lucy smiled at the thought, but it was tinged with sadness. Natsu had been her best friend, her rock, and in some ways, her home. And now, in this strange world where she was supposed to be someone else, she missed him more than ever.

"Jessamine," Lucy began, her voice thick with emotion, "I miss him. I miss Natsu so much. I miss Fairy Tail, even though they're gone. They were my family too, and it feels like I'm betraying them by being here, by trying to be this person I don't even remember."

Jessamine squeezed her arm gently. "You're not betraying anyone, Lucy. You're allowed to miss them, to grieve for what you've lost. But you're also allowed to live this life, to find happiness here. It doesn't mean you're forgetting them, or what they meant to you. It just means you're moving forward, carrying them with you as you do."

Lucy nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She knew Jessamine was right, but it didn't make it any easier. She was caught between two worlds, two identities, and she wasn't sure how to reconcile them. But for now, she would take comfort in the fact that she wasn't alone. Jessamine was here, and so were others who cared about her.

As they continued their stroll around the castle, the weight on Lucy's shoulders felt just a little bit lighter.


Lilithe glanced up from the dwindling stack of papers on her desk, her eyes involuntarily drawn to Rogue as he stood on the circular pedestal in front of the tri-fold mirror. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of parchment as she completed another document. The dragon slayer's imposing figure was captivating, and she couldn't help but admire him. His presence commanded attention, and in moments like this, she found it hard to focus on her work.

Rogue was the epitome of everything she found attractive: tall, dark, and handsome with an air of quiet confidence that made her heart race. He was a man of impeccable manners, well-read, and intelligent—a perfect gentleman. Her mind often wandered, imagining what it would be like if things were different, if she wasn't tied to her duties and responsibilities. If they could be together, just the two of them, without the weight of their titles pressing down on them.

But those were just daydreams. And she chastised herself for getting lost in them so easily.

When she finally mustered the courage to glance back at him, she realized with a start that he had caught her staring. There was a faint smirk playing on his lips, a knowing look in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. Embarrassed, she quickly averted her gaze, returning her attention to the documents in front of her. But the damage was done; her cheeks burned with the heat of being caught.

Rogue, on the other hand, couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. Lilithe was so focused on her work, her brow furrowed in concentration as she meticulously reviewed each document. Every so often, she'd chew on her bottom lip, a habit he found both endearing and distracting. Even in the midst of paperwork, she exuded a grace and tranquility that drew him in, like a moth to a flame.

He had never been one to care much about his appearance or how others perceived him. Vanity wasn't something that preoccupied his thoughts. But ever since he had realized that Lilithe was his mate, everything had changed. Now, every time he looked in the mirror, he couldn't help but wonder what she thought of him. Was he handsome enough? Did he meet her expectations? The thought of her finding him lacking in any way gnawed at him.

He could sense her attraction to him; it was undeniable. Her scent betrayed her, overwhelming his senses whenever they were close. The scent of her arousal had been a near-constant presence since the moment they met, and it drove him wild. It was a struggle to maintain his composure, especially earlier that day in the throne room. The scent had been so potent, so intoxicating, that he had barely been able to think of anything else. All he wanted was to pull her onto his lap, spread her legs, and lose himself in her. He imagined her perched on her throne, regal and beautiful, while he worshipped her with his mouth, his hands, his entire being.

The memory of the previous night only fueled his desire. He could still feel the way her hands had trembled in his hair, the softness of her lips against his, the way she had fit so perfectly in his lap. Every touch, every sigh, every shiver of her body had confirmed what he already knew—they were meant for each other. The way she responded to him was more than just physical; it was a connection, a bond that went beyond the material world.

He inhaled deeply, trying to push his desire aside. Now wasn't the time to lose control. He needed to keep his wits about him, especially while he was getting measured for his suit. It wouldn't do to get aroused in front of the tailor; that would be beyond awkward. Thankfully, he managed to calm himself down just as the tailor finished his work, informing Rogue that the suit would be ready for tonight.

As the tailor left, Rogue's attention shifted back to Lilithe. He moved closer, taking a seat just a few feet from where she was diligently working. He watched her with a quiet intensity, his thoughts racing. There was something about watching her do the simplest tasks—like reading through paperwork—that filled him with a strange sense of contentment. It was as if just being near her, observing her in these quiet moments, brought him a sense of peace he hadn't known he was missing.

But that peace was tinged with something else. A gnawing need, a hunger that only seemed to grow the more he was around her. Rogue had always prided himself on his self-control, but with Lilithe, that control was slipping. He wanted her, not just physically but in every way possible. She was his mate, the one person in the world who was meant for him, and the thought of not claiming her, of not making her his in every sense of the word, was driving him mad.

Rogue knew he was in trouble.

He wasn't like Sting, who had always been smooth with women, able to charm them with ease. Sting had always been more experienced, more confident in matters of the heart and body. Rogue, on the other hand, had always been more reserved. He had had his fair share of encounters, but they were fleeting, physical connections that lacked any real emotional depth. He never stayed after, never got attached. He would leave quietly, disappearing before the woman could ask for more.

But Lilithe was different. She wasn't just another woman; she was his mate. The very thought of another man even looking at her made his dragon roar with possessiveness. And her purity—her virginity—only added to that possessiveness. She was untouched, unclaimed by any other man, and that knowledge only made his desire for her burn hotter. The idea that he would be the first, the only man to ever touch her, made his dragon restless, eager to mark her as his.

Rogue's thoughts wandered back to their earlier conversation, before the tailor had interrupted them. His dragon had wanted to claim her right then and there, to make it clear to everyone that she was his.

He had barely managed to control himself, gripping the armchair so tightly that his claws had left deep gouges in the wood. It had taken every ounce of restraint not to grab her, to pull her into his lap and kiss her until she was breathless. The intensity of his feelings was overwhelming, and he knew he needed to talk to someone before he did something reckless.

Sting was the only person he could turn to. Sting had always been better at navigating relationships, especially when it came to women. He'd know what to do, how to handle this. Rogue just hoped that he could hold it together long enough to get the advice he so desperately needed. Annabella was too important to him, too precious to risk losing because he couldn't control his urges. He needed to be careful, to approach this the right way.

But even as he tried to convince himself to wait, to be patient, the image of Lilithe's soft, parted lips, her flushed cheeks, and the way she had looked at him with those big, beautiful blue eyes kept replaying in his mind. And with every passing moment, the desire to claim her, to make her his in every way, grew stronger.

Rogue let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. He was in deep, and there was no getting out of it. But for her, for Lilithe, he would do whatever it took to make sure he didn't mess this up. She was his future, his mate, and he wasn't about to let anything—or anyone—come between them.

The sharp knocks on the door were a welcome interruption, a lifeline for Rogue, whose thoughts had been spiraling. Lilithe, looking up from her completed paperwork, called out, "Come in."

The double doors swung open to reveal a smiling Jessamine, followed closely by a blushing Lucy and a smirking Sting. Rogue's gaze flickered to his childhood friend, who seemed to be in his usual good spirits, though something in his eyes suggested there was more beneath the surface.

Lucy and Jessamine settled onto the couch, each cradling their exceeds. Lilithe greeted them warmly, the atmosphere instantly lightening with their presence. But Rogue's attention was pulled back when Sting, still standing near the doorway, cleared his throat.

"Rogue, can we talk on the balcony? There's something I want to discuss with you," Sting said, his tone unusually serious.

Rogue glanced over to Lilithe, who had just finished the last of her work. She smiled at him, a gesture of reassurance that did little to calm the nervous flutter in his chest. He smiled back, then nodded at Sting, following him out onto the balcony. Rogue left the doors partially open, keeping a partial view of the room inside where the women were chatting.

Sting leaned casually against the metal railing, his usual carefree demeanor somewhat subdued. Rogue mirrored him, leaning on the opposite side, trying to read his friend's expression.

"So, what's this about?" Rogue asked, though a part of him already suspected the topic.

Sting hesitated for a moment before blurting out, "I need some advice about women."

Rogue blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things he expected, this wasn't it. Sting, the confident and often reckless flirt, asking for advice about women? It was almost laughable.

"You're serious?" Rogue asked, searching Sting's face for any hint of a joke. But there was none. Sting was dead serious.

"Dead serious," Sting replied, running a hand through his spiky blond hair.

"Actually, I was hoping to get your advice about something similar."

Sting raised an eyebrow, surprised. "It's the Queen, isn't it?"

Rogue felt a pang of anxiety as he nodded. "Yeah, it is."

Sting let out a chuckle, though there was a nervous edge to it. "Looks like we're in the same boat then. I wanted to talk to you about Lucy."

Rogue wasn't entirely surprised.

He had noticed the way Sting's eyes lingered on Lucy when he thought no one was looking. It made sense; after all, Lucy was Sting's mate, just as Lilithe was his. What surprised Rogue more was that Sting was coming to him for advice, as if Rogue had any more idea of what to do than he did. If anything, Rogue was just as clueless, if not more.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know if I'm the right person to ask, Sting. I've been trying to figure out how to show Lilithe that I can take care of her, that I can provide for her… but she's the Queen. She doesn't need me. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. I just… I don't know how to fit into her life."

Sting's usual confident grin faltered a bit, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. "I get that," he said, his voice softer than usual. "Lucy's strong too, in her own way. She's been through so much, and she's still standing. But that doesn't mean she doesn't need someone by her side. Maybe not to protect her all the time, but to be there, you know? To support her, to catch her if she falls."

Rogue nodded slowly, taking in Sting's words. He hadn't thought of it that way before. Lilithe was strong, yes, but that didn't mean she didn't need him. Maybe what she needed wasn't someone to protect her, but someone who would stand by her, who would share her burdens. Someone who could be a partner, not just a protector.

Sting continued, "It's not about proving that you can take care of her, Rogue. She already knows you're strong, that you're capable. What she needs to know is that you're there for her, that you're committed to her. It's the same with Lucy. She doesn't need me to be her knight in shining armor—she's got plenty of armor of her own. But she needs to know that I'm not going anywhere, that I'm here for the long haul."

Rogue felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Sting was right. It wasn't about proving his worth to Lilithe; it was about showing her that he was in this for the long run, that he was there for her, no matter what.

"But how do you show that?" Rogue asked, still uncertain.

Sting smirked, some of his usual cockiness returning. "By being yourself, Rogue. You're already everything she needs—you just have to let her see it. Don't overthink it. Just be there for her, and she'll see it."

Rogue chuckled, though it was more of a nervous laugh. "Easier said than done."

Sting clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie. "Hey, we'll figure it out. We're dragon slayers, right? We've faced worse."

Rogue nodded, feeling a bit more confident. "Yeah, we have."

The two stood there in silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. The weight of their respective responsibilities and the newfound awareness of their mates was heavy, but there was also a sense of determination. They would figure this out, for Lilithe and for Lucy. They were in this together, and they would support each other, just as they always had.

Sting broke the silence with a grin. "So, what happened between you and the Queen?"

Rogue smirked, his mind flashing back to the previous night. "That's between me and her."

Sting punched him lightly in the shoulder, laughing. "You sly dog."

Rogue's eye twitched, but he let it slide. Sting's grin was infectious, and despite the seriousness of their conversation, Rogue found himself smiling as well.

They stood there for a while longer, leaning against the balcony railing, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The warmth of the day was slowly giving way to the coolness of evening, and the sky was painted in shades of orange and pink.

Finally, Sting sighed, looking out at the horizon. "We're in deep, aren't we?"

Rogue nodded. "Yeah, we are."

"But it's worth it," Sting said, his voice quiet but firm.

Rogue didn't need to think twice before agreeing. "Yeah, it is."

With that, the two dragon slayers pushed off from the railing and made their way back inside. They still had a lot to figure out, but for now, they were content in the knowledge that they weren't alone in this. They had each other's backs, just like they always had.


The trumpet fanfare heralded the entrance of the Queen, the regal notes reverberating through the grand ballroom. The guests, already dressed in their finest, hurriedly cleared the dance floor, their conversations halting mid-sentence. They moved to the sides of the opulent space, forming a wide aisle that led directly to the ornate double doors. Two royal guards, resplendent in their ceremonial armor, stood at attention before the entrance, their expressions impassive as they bowed and stepped aside to allow the Queen's entrance.

As the double doors swung open, a palpable wave of anticipation swept through the room. Every guest instinctively placed a hand over their heart and bowed deeply at the waist, their gazes trained on the polished marble floor. They waited for their Queen's permission to rise, every movement measured and respectful, except for one.

Rogue found himself unable to look away. He had never given much credence to the idea that a person could be so stunning as to leave another breathless. It had always seemed like a silly, exaggerated notion—a cliché reserved for novels and tales. Yet there he stood, utterly captivated, his breath caught in his throat.

As she entered the room, Rogue's world seemed to narrow to just her. His eyes traced the elegant lines of her figure, drinking in every detail with reverence. He completely missed the curious glances exchanged by nearby women and the knowing, smug expression on Sting's face. All he could see, all he could think about, was her.

Beautiful didn't even begin to describe Annabella, his intended. Her soft pink hair, curled into delicate ringlets, cascaded down her shoulders and back, adorned with tiny white flowers that shimmered like pearls against the soft waves. Her gown was an exquisite creation, a silvery-blue masterpiece that clung to her form in all the right places. The off-the-shoulder design revealed her slender neck and shoulders, where the intricate floral embroidery of the corset bodice drew the eye. The sleeves, sheer and flowing, were adorned with the same delicate flowers that dotted her hair. Her hands were gloved in matching silk, a final touch of elegance that complemented her regal attire.

Rogue's eyes traveled up to her face, where a silver mask concealed the upper half of her features, adding an air of mystery. The dark makeup around her eyes made her already striking blue eyes even more captivating, like sapphires set in silver. Her lips, painted a soft pink, glistened under the ballroom's crystal chandeliers, drawing his gaze with an almost magnetic pull.

Then, she looked at him. Her blue eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. A soft gasp escaped her lips, so quiet that no one else in the room noticed, but Rogue heard it clear as day. His heart pounded in his chest, a fierce rhythm that matched the longing in his veins. He inhaled deeply, attempting to steady himself, but the scent of her—sweet and intoxicating—only heightened his desire.

His fingers twitched, aching to reach out and pull her into his arms, to feel her warmth against him, to claim her lips in a kiss that would leave no doubt about who she belonged to. When she flicked her tongue across her lips, Rogue's mind wandered to darker, more primal thoughts—of her lips, her tongue, exploring places he could barely resist imagining. He shifted his gaze between her eyes and her lips, wondering how long he could hold himself back before he gave in to the urge to taste her, to claim her right there in front of everyone, consequences be damned.

A sharp jab to his side broke his reverie, and he turned to find Sting grinning at him, a knowing look in his eyes. The unspoken message was clear:Don't lose control.Rogue clenched his jaw, forcing himself to suppress the wild instincts that roared within him, demanding that he take her, mark her as his own. Sting's subtle motion drew his attention to the man standing beside Annabella.

It was Bastien.

Lilithe's arm was delicately looped through Bastien's, the two of them standing close, too close for Rogue's liking. Bastien's protective posture, the way he kept Annabella near, made Rogue's blood boil. The urge to rip her away from him, to growl and assert his dominance, was overwhelming. But he bit down on the impulse, his gaze hardening as he forced himself to remain calm.

Lilithe's smile as she greeted the various courtiers did little to soothe his agitation. He turned his eyes away, focusing on anything but the sight of her with Bastien. Yet the scent of her unease reached him, faint but undeniable, and his gaze snapped back to her. She stood there, tense and uncomfortable, before she suddenly turned her attention to someone across the ballroom.

Rogue followed her gaze to a man standing at the edge of the clearing. He was older, with silver hair that matched the fine blue and white garments he wore. The man raised a glass of champagne to his lips, his sharp eyes trained on Lilithe with a predatory gleam that made Rogue's stomach churn with unease.

The name came to him with a wave of recognition—Lord Silvius of Moonshire. The man had been a fixture at court for years, always hovering near the seat of power. Rogue remembered him from earlier meetings, where he had sat at the far end of the table, often in the shadow of Duke Cedric, who had ruled with an iron fist. The background checks on Silvius had yielded nothing suspicious, but the information had been too clean, too perfect. Something about the man had always seemed off to Rogue, and now, seeing him watch Annabella with such intent, Rogue's suspicions flared anew.

Summoning his shadow, Rogue whispered a command, sending the dark entity slithering across the floor. His shadow detached and moved with a purpose, slipping unnoticed between the legs of the guests until it reached Silvius. Rogue's eyes narrowed as he gave a final order to his shadow:Follow him. Listen to everything he says tonight. Don't let him out of your sight.

As the shadow blended seamlessly into the darkness of the ballroom, Rogue's focus returned to Lilithe. Her eyes were still on Silvius, a frown marring her otherwise perfect features. Rogue's protective instincts surged once more, but this time, he tempered them with the knowledge that his shadow would uncover whatever secrets Silvius might be hiding.

For now, he would play the role expected of him—a bodyguard, a suitor, a gentleman—but in the back of his mind, he was already planning. He would protect Lilither from whatever threat, even if it meant tearing apart the entire court to do so.

As the evening continued, the tension between Rogue and Bastien simmered beneath the surface, unnoticed by most but keenly felt by those who knew them well. Rogue's eyes rarely left Lilithe, even as she moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and engaging in the delicate dance of court politics. Every time her gaze met his, a silent understanding passed between them—a shared knowledge of the connection that bound them, one that neither Bastien nor anyone else could sever.

But for now, they played their roles, navigating the treacherous waters of the court with careful grace, all while Rogue's shadow crept through the darkness, ready to unearth the secrets that could threaten the woman he loved.