The Landon Manor had never looked more majestic.
Silver drapes shimmered like frost across the arched ceilings. Royal blue banners lined the grand hall, embroidered with ancient sigils from the House of Landon, Vellaria, and Carello—symbols so subtle, only those who knew the truth would notice. Floating lanterns hung mid-air, casting warm, magical light that flickered like stardust.
Elites from every major bloodline—vampires, lycans, witches, and more—filled the hall in layers of opulence. Laughter rang, wine flowed, and the scent of enchanted roses danced in the air. But beneath the surface of celebration, whispers rippled like wind over water.
> "The hybrid prince is choosing his bride."
"Did you hear? The Moonwell heiress…"
"Something feels off, doesn't it? That aura..."
None dared speak louder. Not under the ever-watchful eye of the Landon crest.
At the far end of the hall, beneath a glowing chandelier carved from starstone, stood Caveen Vellaria-Landon.
Dressed in the ceremonial coat of his lineage—a blend of dark lycan leathers, intricate Vellarian threadwork, and concealed Carello runes sewn into the hem—he looked every inch a prince. His black hair framed a chiseled face of calm, but behind those storm-gray eyes was a storm of doubt, purpose, and unspoken truth.
Then the room stilled.
She appeared at the top of the grand staircase.
Lysandra Moonwell descended, every step echoing like a heartbeat. Veiled in flowing silver-blue satin, her beauty was otherworldly—elegant, untouchable. The concealment spell cast by Maika still held strong, hiding the aura of the child growing within her. But there was something new in her gaze tonight. A quiet resolve. A woman no longer running from her fate.
She met Caveen at the foot of the stairs. Their eyes locked.
For a breath, everything else faded.
The guests. The Council. The secret.
Only the two of them remained—standing at the edge of destiny.
King Carl stepped forward, voice booming with command.
> "By the will of the Bloodmoon and the laws of the bonded realms, I, Carl Landon, King of the Western Territories, hereby declare the sacred union of my son, Caveen Vellaria-Landon, and Lady Lysandra Moonwell.
Let this bond be a shield, a promise, and a legacy. Let it be protected by all."
A hush fell. The declaration was done.
Maika approached next, graceful as moonlight. Without a word, she placed a hand over Lysandra's belly. Magic shimmered in her palm—another veil, another safeguard. This spell, crafted not by power, but by maternal will, was stronger than the first.
Glasses were raised. Applause followed. Laughter returned. But behind the polite smiles of the guests, suspicion lingered like smoke.
They didn't know the full truth.
But they knew something was coming.
---
Terrace – Hours Later
The sky was clear, the stars sharp. Music still flowed from the manor behind them, but out here on the terrace, it was quiet.
Caveen leaned on the marble balustrade, eyes lost in the dark horizon. The weight of the evening pressed against his shoulders like armor too long worn.
Soft footsteps approached.
Alaric Ravenshade joined him—tall, composed, wrapped in his signature black coat. His silver eyes glinted beneath moonlight.
> "Wasn't exactly the engagement party I imagined for you," Alaric muttered, resting beside him.
Caveen chuckled, a dry sound. "I don't think I ever imagined one at all."
They stood in silence for a moment, watching fireflies dance beyond the garden hedges.
Then Alaric's voice lowered.
> "When we were boys, I thought we'd conquer the world together. Now... we're carrying the weight of bloodlines we didn't ask for."
Caveen's lips pressed into a line. "We didn't ask for it… but maybe we were made for it."
Alaric's gaze shifted. "Does she… love the child already?"
The question made Caveen inhale sharply. He thought of the way Lysandra's hand lingered over her stomach when no one was looking. The way her voice softened around the baby, even when she didn't realize it.
> "She didn't plan any of this," he said quietly. "But yes. She loves it. I see it in every gesture."
Alaric's expression softened. "And you?"
Caveen looked up at the sky.
> "I didn't choose this path. But I'll walk it. I'll carry it. And I'll protect them both—no matter what it costs."
A breeze passed between them, cold but cleansing.
Alaric's eyes darkened, his voice barely above a whisper.
> "That child... it's going to change everything, Caveen. The blood of Moonwell, Landon, Vellaria... and Carello? If the Council ever finds out…"
"I know."
Alaric nodded once, firm and final.
> "Then we protect them. Together."
For the first time that night, Caveen allowed the tension to slip from his shoulders. He turned to his best friend—the only one who'd stood beside him through every storm.
> "Thank you."
> "Always," Alaric replied. "We weren't just born for legacy. We were born for each other's battles."
They stood in silence again, two warriors at the edge of war, not yet begun.
Far below them, the moonlit garden shimmered. Somewhere within the hall, Lysandra laughed softly—a sound full of life.
Caveen closed his eyes.
And swore to the stars that he would never let that light be taken.