Zyra Morwyn never expected her "grand entrance" into this world would be in such a scandalously compromising position.
A devastatingly handsome man lay beneath her.
And she? Her palms were planted on either side of his pillow, knees astride his waist, leaning over him like some domineering temptress.
A female... warlord in mid-conquest?
"Lady Zyra, restrain yourself!"
The man's voice was hoarse, his face flushed red, expression tense with humiliation and disbelief. "I already rejected your confession, and now you drug me with an aphrodisiac and drag me into your chambers? This is madness!"
Zyra blinked.
...She was more shocked than he was!
She, once the Sovereign of Ten Thousand Beasts, had slumbered in the Mountain of Eternal Silence for over a thousand years. Yet the moment she opened her eyes again, she found herself in the fragile shell of a human woman?
"Hmph! I will never marry you!" the man growled. "Daughter of the High Chancellor or not, using vile potions and forcing yourself on a man, have you no shame?"
The disgust in his tone was unmistakable.
Zyra's brow twitched.
She lowered her head to study the man beneath her more closely.
He was sinfully attractive, unearthly, even. Delicate features with a dangerous charm. Sharp brows, light gray eyes, a noble nose, and lips tinged like rosewood. Slender, but not weak. His silver-blue tunic hugged a lean, perfect figure that was practically crafted for admiration.
This must be Auren Rhiemond, Heir to the Duchy of Elsmere. The man whom the original host had foolishly adored.
Among humans, certainly above average.
But could mortal beauty ever compare to that of the fae or the beastkin?
Zyra, who had seen countless beguiling faces among demons and spirits, felt no stir of emotion for this mere human.
Auren continued to rant, unaware of her detachment. "Lady Zyra, matters of love should be mutual! Why must you force me like this, "
"You talk too much," Zyra said flatly.
"What?" Auren froze.
Had he heard that right?
This woman, who had chased after him for months, no, years, now dared say he was noisy?
She had stalked him across the kingdom. Now she'd gone even further: kidnapping him, drugging him, dragging him to her chamber... and this was the outcome?
"Mmh," Zyra replied nonchalantly.
She gracefully lifted herself off him, ending the awkward, indecent position.
Auren gawked at her, stunned beyond words.
Did she just... "Mmh" him?
His heart raged with fury, and yet the drug's effects grew stronger, heat surging down his abdomen and clouding his mind with desire.
Zyra gave him no more attention. She adjusted her slightly wrinkled ivory gown, the fabric plain but elegant. From her calm inspection, it was clear, nothing had happened. The "rice had not been cooked," so to speak.
Then, with a sudden "snap," Auren seized her wrist.
"You're toying with me, Lady Zyra?" His voice had dropped to a dark growl, hoarse and trembling. His eyes reddened, his breath heavy, wild.
"Let go," Zyra said coldly, her pale eyes glinting like frosted glass.
But Auren only gripped tighter. Her skin was soft, cool to the touch, temptation in every inch. His earlier disdain had melted into a burning hunger. Logic drowned beneath the waves of lust.
"You pretend to be chaste now? Where was this noble act before?" he snarled, his self-control snapped by the drug and his own twisted pride.
Zyra's figure shimmered, like a mirage, and in a blink, she was free.
In the same fluid motion, her hand swept up a cup from the table nearby. The tea inside had long gone cold, but that didn't matter.
She flung it, right into his face.
Auren choked as the cold tea and soggy leaves splashed over him. His dark hair clung wetly to his temples, and he looked like a drenched mutt, disheveled, humiliated, utterly defeated.
Auren Rhiemond glared at Zyra Morwyn with murderous heat in his eyes, as if he could scorch her flesh from bone with a stare, then tear her apart limb by limb.
"Guards!" Zyra called, her voice calm but commanding.
This was the Chancellor's estate, her estate. Why should she dirty her own hands when she had people for that?
Before the echo of her voice faded,
A shadow flashed through the room.
Zyra lifted her eyes, and blinked. That was her guard? He was even more breathtaking than Auren. In fact, even among the most beautiful beings of the old demon clans, this man would still shine like a star among sparks.
He wore a dark silk tunic etched with silver thread, blood-red embroidery curling like storm clouds at the collar. The fit outlined a perfect V-shaped physique, raw strength wrapped in elegance.
His raven-black hair fell loose to his waist, tied at the end with a crimson band. His face, cold and flawless, seemed sculpted by moonlight and frost. His eyes, long and sharp, were darker than the abyss itself.
His name was Moryn.
He had served the original Zyra for ten years.
This man was a mystery. His power, deep, silent, unfathomable.
The original Zyra had no gift for channeling magic or force. She was widely mocked as useless across the Kingdom of Velante. Yet she walked through the capital with an arrogant swagger, striking whom she pleased, crushing whoever annoyed her. Why? Because she had Moryn.
Even the plan to drug and kidnap the Duke's heir, that had Moryn's silent approval and help.
But none of that was what shocked her most,
Zyra could see it clearly now: the imperial aura that radiated from Moryn was blinding. Like a waterfall suspended in air, like the sun crashing through a storm.
Only a divine beast like the White Saint (her true self, in truth) could perceive such a thing.
The aura of kings.
Many bore traces of such destiny. But only a few had true imperial fate.
Its measure lay in color and density. Violet-gold was supreme. Crimson, obsidian, white, blue, and green came after. The deeper and more vivid the aura, the greater the fate.