The palace gardens were in bloom, but Lysander Floris Caelum could not see the colors.
He sat alone in the middle of his chamber, his small hands curled into the folds of his silk robe, knees pulled close to his chest like a frightened child. The golden rays streaming through the stained glass scattered against his ivory hair, turning his fragile form into a painting of gentle sorrow.
When Queen Calestina finally entered, Lysander looked up slowly.
Like a wounded puppy.
Eyes glassy, lips trembling.
"Mother... is it true?" His voice cracked like thin glass. "Am I... to marry?"
The Queen's steps faltered.
Behind her stood Prince Cassian and Prince Elion—Lysander's older brothers. Their jaws were clenched, anger thinly veiled in their expressions.
"I will speak with your father," Calestina said, her tone soft, kneeling beside her youngest son. Her hands reached for his, fingers cool and comforting. "You needn't worry about this, Lysander. Let me handle it."
He bit his lip hard to keep the tears from spilling. The taste of blood grounded him.
"But why didn't anyone tell me? Why am I the last to know about my own marriage?"
Calestina cupped his cheek. "I'm sorry, my starlight. It was not supposed to happen like this."
Prince Elion's fists clenched at his sides. "We'll speak to Father. He can't do this without consent. Not yours, not ours."
Cassian nodded silently.
Lysander wanted to believe them.
But deep inside, something cold began to settle.
The royal council chamber was a room of order, history, and silent judgment.
King Thalion Caelum stood at the head of the long glass table, his angelic wings folded behind him like the mantle of law itself. His golden hair shimmered with the light of centuries. Around him, nobles and ministers watched the Queen and her sons approach.
"Thalion," Calestina began, her voice laced with steel. "This arrangement. It must be reconsidered."
The King's expression remained unreadable. "Calestina, I understand your concern. But the Crown Prince of the Lycans personally came to offer his hand to Lysander. A union like this secures peace."
Elion stepped forward. "You didn't even ask Lysander how he felt. He's barely seventeen. He doesn't even know what marriage means."
"He's fragile, Father," Cassian said. "He's not ready."
"And that is exactly why this marriage will benefit him," Thalion countered, his tone patient, but final. "Prince Xavier is strong. Loyal. He will protect Lysander better than we ever could."
Calestina's breath caught. "You make it sound like we're giving him away for convenience."
Thalion walked toward them, voice now lowered. "No. I'm ensuring his future. You know what Lysander is. What he isn't. If something were to happen to us... what then? He needs an anchor, a protector."
The Queen's eyes burned with unshed tears. "He needs love, Thalion. Not obligation."
"And what greater proof of love is there than ensuring his safety?"
The court murmured, moved by the King's calculated words.
But Elion saw through it.
"You don't love him," Elion spat. "You just want him out of the palace. Away. Hidden."
Thalion's eyes darkened.
Slap.
The sound echoed like a curse.
The council went silent.
Cassian stepped forward—but another slap landed, this time against his cheek.
"That's enough," Thalion said coldly. "You forget your place."
When they returned to Lysander's room, their faces were solemn.
He rushed to them immediately, heart pounding. "What did he say? Did he change his mind?"
Elion dropped to one knee in front of him, shame on his face.
Cassian gently lifted a hand to cover the red mark on his cheek.
Lysander stared.
And then—
He smiled.
Bright. Tender. Painfully fake.
"It's okay," he whispered. "It's probably for the best. I've heard Xavier is kind. Gentle. Maybe he'll treat me well."
"Lysander—"
"Don't look at me like that, brother. I'm fine. Really. I'm happy to do this for our kingdom."
His voice was calm.
But his fingers trembled.
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
And as his brothers held him close, Lysander thought of the way the world always made choices for him.
That night, as darkness fell over the Angelic Realm, Lysander sat by the moonlit window.
He stared at the stars, hand on his chest.
Then—
Pain.
Sharp.
Unnatural.
A sudden burn flared across his collarbone, searing and ancient. He gasped, clutching his chest. A mark—he never acknowledge was glowing, burning like a brand.
He fell to his knees.
"What... what is this...?"
Across realms, far away in the Demon King's castle, Raelith staggered in his chamber.
"Your Majesty!" Karl rushed in.
Raelith gripped the side of his throne, his face pale beneath the glow of hellfire.
His own mark—deep on his wrist—was burning.
He dropped to one knee, fangs clenched. The pain wasn't his alone.
It was hers.
"She's in pain," he gasped. "I can feel it."
Karl stared.
Raelith's pupils dilated with fury. "She's not in this realm, and now she's suffering. Something's wrong."
Both Raelith and Lysander feel the burn of their fated mark at the same time—an ancient connection neither fully understands, but both cannot ignore. Raelith, now certain Seraphina is in danger, begins to unravel emotionally and prepares to invade the Angelic Realm himself for war to take revenge why he and seraphina is now in pain.