✦ Chapter 15 ✦
Lucien stood before the towering oak doors of the library, their age-darkened surface etched with sigils worn smooth by centuries of hands like his own. His pale brows drew together—not quite in anger, not quite in fatigue, but somewhere close enough to both that a dull ache lingered behind his eyes. Family had a way of draining him more thoroughly than battle ever could.
He exhaled through his nose and pinched the bridge of it, as though that fragile bone were the only thing tethering him to reason. Vynn's interference had become unbearable. She knew his affairs, his weaknesses, his decisions—sometimes better than he did himself. The thought made his jaw tighten. Rarely had he felt such a sharp, visceral urge to pin someone to a wall and demand silence.
How strange.
Once, they had been inseparable—close in the way siblings often are before duty and power carve a fault line between them. Their bond had shattered the moment his own manifested, splintering like thin glass under sudden pressure. Since then, they greeted one another with practiced smiles edged in mockery, yet beneath them lay something far more lethal.
Lucien released a breath and pushed the door open. Whatever warmth lingered in him vanished at once.
Vynn sat near the tall window, the sunset washing her pale figure in silver. Her long white hair was drawn tightly into a severe bun, exposing the sharp planes of her face. Golden eyes stared through the glass as though the world beyond it held more interest than the room itself. One hand cradled a porcelain cup; the other stirred its contents in slow, deliberate circles, the faint clink of spoon against cup echoing softly.
At the sound of the door, she turned. For a brief instant, her gaze hardened—cold, assessing—before her lips curved into a smile that strained as though every muscle resented the effort.
"Don't bother," Lucien said coolly, taking the chair opposite her. "I can see through it, Vynn."
Her eyes widened, betraying her before she set the cup down, fingers curling against the tabletop.
"What do you want?" he asked. Even his voice resisted the question, thick with disinterest. His throat tightened around the words, and she heard it—heard how little he cared.
Her hands clenched.
"It seems you care quite deeply for that beta," she said, watching him carefully. "Enough to rush here the moment his name was mentioned."
Lucien lifted a brow, golden eyes sharpening. "Meaning?"
"Is that truly why you summoned me?" he continued, his tone glacial. "To inform me of how devoted I am to a mere beta, Vynn Silvermoon?"
Shock flickered across her face, swiftly replaced by fury. Still, he pressed on.
"Are you that bored?"
The table rattled as her palms struck it with a sharp crack.
"Just because you are a superior Alpha," she snapped, her eyes flaring orange, "you think you may speak to me that way?" She rose halfway from her chair. "I am your elder sister. Show me respect."
Lucien regarded her in silence, his expression carved from ice. Not a trace of fear, not even irritation, softened his gaze. The lack of reaction only fueled her rage.
"I see nothing disrespectful in truth," he said at last.
She glared, then reached for the teapot, pouring fresh tea into the cup that had sloshed earlier. Steam curled between them.
"Tea?" she asked, though her voice still trembled.
His eyes narrowed. "No. You may."
Her grip tightened imperceptibly around the porcelain. Lucien noticed. He always noticed.
She set the pot aside and lifted the cup—but paused.
"So," she said casually, placing it back down, "Father has chosen you as the next leader."
Ah. So that is the reason.
"If that is all," he said, rising, "I will take my leave."
Her composure fractured. "You cannot leave without drinking anything."
He looked at her sharply. "Did you call me here merely to watch me drink tea?"
"That is not what I meant," she replied too quickly. "It would be… unbecoming. To summon you and offer nothing."
Lucien's gaze drifted to the wine cabinet along the wall, its glass doors catching the light. He moved toward it unhurriedly and poured himself a generous measure.
"Wine still counts as drinking," he said.
He emptied the glass in a single swallow, set it down with a muted clink, and turned back toward her. "There. Your nobility remains intact."
He left without another word.
The corridor swallowed his retreating footsteps, leaving the library steeped in silence once more.
For several breaths, Vynn did not move. The tea sat untouched before her, its surface long since stilled, the faint curl of steam thinning into nothing. Only when she was certain he was gone did her shoulders ease—just slightly.
The silver-eyed servant lingered near the door, tension coiled tight in her frame. Her gaze darted from the abandoned chair to the cup, then back again.
"He didn't drink it," she said at last, her voice barely louder than a breath.
Vynn's lips curved—not into triumph, but something colder. She reached for the cup, lifting it with unhurried grace. The porcelain was warm against her fingers.
"No," she agreed softly.
The servant stepped forward, panic sharpening her voice. "Then we must prepare another dose—before the effects fade—"
Vynn brought the cup to her lips and drank.
The servant froze. "Your Highness—!"
The tea slid down smoothly, bitter beneath the herbs. Vynn swallowed, then set the cup aside with care.
"It was never meant for him," she said.
The servant stared, confusion giving way to dawning fear. "Then… where?"
Vynn's gaze drifted, unforced, to the side table.
The wineglass stood there, faintly smeared at the rim, the last traces of crimson clinging to its base. The scent of fermented grapes still lingered in the air—subtle, nearly gone, but unmistakable once noticed.
Understanding struck.
The servant's breath hitched. "The wine…"
"Yes."
"But—he chose it himself—"
Vynn smiled. "Exactly."
Silence settled heavily between them. Somewhere deep within the estate, a bell tolled the hour, its sound slow and distant.
The servant's hands trembled. "If it takes hold—if he realizes—"
"He won't," Vynn said, already turning toward the window. "Not until it is far too late."
Moonlight caught the sharp line of her profile, gilding her eyes as they narrowed.
Power did not always announce itself with force.
Sometimes, it waited patiently in a cup not chosen—
and a glass emptied without suspicion.
The servant lowered her gaze.
Among Alphas, the most dangerous were not those who roared—
but those who smiled, and let their enemies pour their own downfall.
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✦ End Of Chapter ✦
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A/N : I'm really sorry for disappearing for a week and a few days. I got sick, and it hit harder than I expected—my eyes hurt so badly I couldn't even look at a screen, let alone write. I missed this story and I missed you. Thank you for waiting for me.