William barked out a laugh. “Composed? Hardly. He was a wild child-mischievous, impulsive. He and our little sister Sabrina were constantly at each other’s throats. Always brawling, always competing. We thought the roof might cave in some days.”
I laughed with him, the image too surreal to hold in my head.
Lucian-the man who barely flinched at chaos, who could calculate ten steps ahead in a single breath-once an unruly boy throwing fists with his sister?
The thought left me marveling. And wondering if I would ever be privileged to see that side of him.
“He doesn’t look it now,” I murmured.
“No,” William agreed, smile softening. “But that spark is still there. Controlled, directed. He’s only more dangerous for having tamed it.”
Before I could respond, movement from the corner of the hall caught my attention.
A woman approached-tall, elegant, with hair the color of gilded bronze and eyes like jade. Her dress clung to
In strategic places, and her Alpha aura wafted off her like perfume. ged in challenge before she even opened her mouth. na Blackthorne,” she greeted, though her eyes slid briefly to William-recognition flickering in her gaze-then back to me. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“Have you?” I asked carefully, straightening.
“Oh yes.” Her lips curved. “I’m Helen. An old…acquaintance of Lucian’s.”
The pause before the word ‘acquaintance’ was telling.
William stiffened almost imperceptibly beside me. His voice was low, a murmur meant only for me.
Translation: She pursued him once. He rejected her.”
My stomach tightened. Lovely.
Helen’s eyes glinted. “I couldn’t help but notice the necklace.” She tilted her head. “A bold gesture. But words and gifts can be deceiving, don’t you think? Perhaps we should test how well you fit Lucian’s world.”
I frowned. “Test?”
She gestured toward the far end of the hall, where an entire section had been cordoned off from the main throng of mingling guests.
Silken ropes marked the boundary, beyond which the mood shifted from formal elegance to something more playful.
There, attendants moved between clusters of guests as they tested their skills at various diversions: a table laid with strategy games, a dartboard gleaming under lantern light, even a sparring ring where a few young warriors circled each other under watchful eyes.
But the centerpiece was the row of archery targets set up against a reinforced backdrop. Bows of polished wood and quivers of feather-fletched arrows were neatly arranged on display, gleaming under chandeliers.
The sharp twang of bowstrings occasionally pierced through the hum of music, followed by the scattered applause of onlookers.
Helen’s eyes flicked deliberately toward the targets. “A friendly game,” she said smoothly, though her tone left no doubt she meant anything but. Then her smile sharpened, wicked with challenge. “If I win, you leave
Lucian.”
The bluntness, the sheer audacity of it, took my breath for a moment. “E-excuse me?”
Then, colder: “If you refuse, well…I doubt Lucian would want such cowardice around him.”
I wanted to laugh at the absurdity. I wasn’t here to play childish games of jealousy.
But my gaze flickered around, and I noticed the gathering crowd, the watching eyes. The weight of OTS’s reputation pressed in, and I knew refusal wasn’t so simple.
I’d been officially introduced as Lucian’s partner; if I backed down, it wouldn’t just be my pride that suffered- it would be Lucian’s standing. eyes evenly. “And if you lose?” on. “I won’t-“” p forward, voice steady. “When you lose, you’ll accept a condition of my choosing.”
Murmurs rippled nearby, attention sharpening, anticipation coiling in the air. Helen’s smile returned, sharper now, almost hungry.
“Agreed.”
SERAPHINA’S POV
The bow was heavier than I expected, but it settled into my grip like it belonged there, and the comfort of its familiarity soothed me.
A hush rippled through the crowd as I stepped into the cordoned-off area. My stomach churned-not from fear, but from the sheer awareness of how many eyes followed my every move.
The rules had been called out, loud and clear: No werewolf heightened senses. Only human skill and focus.
Helen stood across from me, already poised, bowstring taut, eyes gleaming with smug confidence.
Good. Let her underestimate me.
The attendant raised his hand. “First round. Three arrows each. Highest total score advances.”
I inhaled. Exhaled. The string drew back against my cheek, the feather of the arrow brushing my jaw.
My heartbeat steadied as I released.
Thwack.
Dead center.
Gasps echoed. Scattered applause.
Helen fired next-solid, but just shy of the bullseye. Her mouth tightened, smile faltering before she forced it back on.
The rest followed the same rhythm. My arrows sang truer, sharper. By the final shot, the outcome was undeniable.
The attendant lifted his arm over my head. “Winner-Seraphina Blackthorne.”
Applause crashed like a wave, rousing and unrestrained. Even those who hadn’t cared a moment ago now leaned forward, curious, impressed.
Helen lowered her bow, jaw rigid. For a heartbeat, I thought she’d throw a tantrum, contest my win, express outrage at being bested by lowly Seraphina.
Then, with stiff dignity, she inclined her head. “As promised, I owe you a favor. Name it when you wish.”
I smiled, bowing slightly, though my chest still heaved with adrenaline. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
More applause followed, approval washing over me like warm sunlight.
For the first time in such a public arena, it wasn’t whispers of doubt that followed my name-it was admiration.
But then, like a discordant note cutting through harmony, a voice pierced the air.
“Unimpressive.”
The single word slithered across the crowd, silencing claps. My stomach coiled instantly-I knew that voice.
Abby.
She stepped forward, arms folded, eyes bright with scorn. “Really, everyone’s so easily dazzled. Archery, darts, knife-throwing-those are all Lockwood specialties. It’s practically bred into them. If anything, Seraphina is only playing her part as a Lockwood daughter. But,”-her lips curled-“the true archery queen was always Celeste.”
The name struck like a spark to dry wood. Curious murmurs rippled, heads turning.
And of course, summoned by the attention, Celeste stepped out gracefully from the crowd. Abby easily fit beside her, flanking her along with Emma on the other side.
Her dress caught the light like spun silver, her smile soft, deceptively demure. “Oh, Abby,” she said, voice honey-smooth, feigning modesty, “you exaggerate.”
But her eyes-oh, her eyes-glittered with triumph. Her favorite place to be had always been under the spotlight.
Someone in the crowd spoke up eagerly. “Then prove it! A contest between the sisters!”
My grip tightened on the bow. Sister. The word rang hollow now, a mockery.
Celeste’s gaze swept over me, dripping with false concern. “Oh, I really shouldn’t,” she cooed, her smile sickeningly sweet. “Seraphina’s worked so hard to make tonight a success. It would be cruel to let her suffer humiliating defeat before such a prestigious audience.”
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. I felt the weight of their eyes shift toward me, pity mixed with expectation.
Celeste had staged it perfectly-if I refused, I’d appear fragile, a coward like Helen had insinuated.
If I accepted and lost, I’d confirm her superiority.
But Celeste had forgotten one thing. I was no longer the girl who yielded to her to keep the peace.
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