"Come, inside"
A voice, low and dark, broke through the silence, sending a tremor of tension through the quiet hall. The large golden doors at either end of the hall swung apart, and a tall servant stepped forward, moving with careful speed. He moved quickly but with purpose.
He knelt, his forehead almost brushing the polished obsidian floor, and reached out both hands to unfold a piece of parchment that he held.
The throne room of the crimson sky pack, the very heart of the wolf kingdom, shimmered with an enchanting gleam. Towering statues of wolves carved from rocks reached up to the high arched ceiling, where tree-like patterns of fire-imbued runes pulsed like molten veins. The walls were painted with murals of legendary wolves, their furs glimmering with imprisoned embers, and braziers lined the area.
The whole chamber represented power — Vivid and magical.
Seated on the onyx throne at the center, Azazeal sat calmly exuding an air of frozen indifference. Firelight danced across his ruthlessly carved features, his plump, pale pink lips stark against the hard line of his jaw.
There was no curiosity whatsoever in his cold gray eyes, as they flicked toward the parchment.
A wide tan hand, with thin muscle wrapping around his wrist as he man plucked the letter from the servant's hand with ease, his dark hair fell across his brow, grazing his perfectly sculpted face.
Kael, his younger brother, leaned forward from the side and practically lit up with silent curiosity, the emerald green in his irises sparkling mischievously at the sight of the letter.
His features were softer, more easy to read than Azazeal's, there was none of the razor-edged power that the High King carried with such effortless ease.
"Well, Azazeal, is that the marriage agreement? Kael smiled, excitement lacing his voice.
" Hmmm." A single low rasp of acknowledgment was all he got in response
Azazeal's eyes skimmed across the parchment, his expression unreadable — until they abruptly paused, narrowing on a specific name, Elora Haze.
He had the barest trace of a slow mocking smile curl his lips at the corners, but it was gone before it had time to settle.
So the human king finally got his way.
Azazeal was already acquainted with the man, having seen the greedy, manipulative creature once in passing.
He grasped at any chance to reach for power out of his grasp. And now he had managed to entwine his blood with that of the High King himself, by marrying one of his daughters off.
But it did not matter. This was politics. A long familiar game Azazeal had mastered.
Azazeal allowed the letter to slip from his fingers without a second glance, fluttering to the polished steps that ascended to his throne, with his usual indifference in his eyes, Azazeal turned to his brother Kael.
"I will not be going to the wedding."
Kael blinked. "What?"
Azazeal looked up at him, eyes sharp as a blade.
"There is a war looming between two packs in the western region. I need to leave in the next few days to oversee the situation." His tone was flat, as if he were referring to a change in the weather. "You will go in my stead, to represent the Pack ."
Kael's lips pulled down into an unmistakable frown. "But … you're not going to attend your own wedding?"
Azazeal reclined on the throne as if nothing in the world mattered.
"I do not have time for idle affairs," he said, his voice a soft, deep rumble, like very faraway thunder. "The marriage is a political merger." Nothing more."
Kael breathed out, massaging his temple. "Well, you're going to make your wife hate you before the marriage even starts."
Azazeal's eyes darkened and a scoff almost escaped his lips—Almost.
" The human King has already achieved what he sought, his daughter's name will be signed next to mine. That is all that matters to him."
He cocked his head, his eyes shining with cold mirth.
"As for the girl … she will learn that she is only here to fulfill duties soon enough."
His voice became lower, with a hint of nonchalance.
" Moreover, there's only a little a human can do in a wolf kingdom."
He thrummed his fingers on the armrest of his throne, nails tapping the hard ceramic rhythmically.
" She has a lot of work cut out for her if she hopes to rule next to me as a Luna."
Something like pity flashed across Kael's features and he shook his head.
"You really have no interest in getting to know her at all, do you?"
Azazeal just gave him a flat look.
There was an awkward silence for a moment and then Kael sighed and sat up straight.
"Very well, then. But at least…" He waved a hand at the far side of the throne room. "This morning, a portrait of her arrived. Do you want to know what your future wife looks like?
Azazeal's jaw clenched, his fingers curling for the briefest of moments before he blew through his nose.
He glanced at the huge painting leaning against the wall, its backside now facing them. The frame was silver and blue — too shiny and decorative for his blood, as was everything else the human kingdom showed off.
His irritation flared. "Get it out of my sight."
Kael's brows lifted. "You won't even look at it?"
Azazeal's expression grew serious, and his tone edged into ice.
"I don't need to."
The rejection was final.
Kael sighed again, though this time he didn't respond. He just nodded and waved to an attendant standing nearby to take the portrait away.
Azazeal turned to leave, his boots echoed off the ground, his footsteps purposeful, commanding fear with each stride.
But just as the servant was about to pull the cloth over the painting, a sliver of it fell into the firelight.
A pair of wide blue eyes stared out from the canvas, glimmering but also haunted, framed by flowing raven-black hair. Resting on her forehead, a silver circlet glimmered, studded with small pearls that caught the light, as the moon does upon water.
Her gown gleamed in pastel colors, her stunning eyes glimmering in the throne room's flaming light.
And as the light embraced her soft beauty, a trace of sadness remained in her eyes— she was hauntingly beautiful.
But Azazeal didn't see the lifeless eyes, he never did look back.
As the doors shut behind him, the portrait lingered where it hung, ignored and dismissed