Humans always smelled strange.
Not bad. Just… thin. Like watered-down wine.
This one was different.
As Princess Seraphina of Solaria walked down the aisle, the scent of her reached me through incense and candle smoke. Warm, like embers soaked in summer rain. Not weak. Not timid.
Different.
Still, I kept my expression neutral.
A king did not grimace at his own wedding.
The nobles of Thal’Ryn watched from the right, their fur and scales and claws mostly hidden beneath formal coats and cloaks. The humans sat to the left, stiff-backed in their red and gold. The line between them was clear as the crack of a whip.
Peace, they called it.
I called it a ceasefire with better outfits.
The princess’s footsteps echoed up the stone hall. I studied her as she approached.
Smaller than I’d expected. The last human envoy I’d seen had brought portraits of her—a delicate thing in silk, eyes downcast, hands folded like a bird afraid of its own shadow.
The girl walking toward me now was wearing silk again, yes. But there was nothing delicate about the line of her shoulders.
The phoenix gown clung to her like molten flame, red and gold fanning behind her. Her hair poured down her back in waves the color of fresh-spilled blood, catching the light with each step. Her hands were clenched, then deliberately relaxed.
Her gaze met mine.
For a moment, I forgot there was anyone else in the cathedral.
Her eyes were molten gold. Not the bright, shallow glitter of court jewels, but deep, as if fire burned somewhere further in.
Nervous. Yes.
Fragile?
No.
Interesting.
The priest’s voice droned through the formalities. I answered when prompted, the words familiar from a hundred treaties and oaths.
“I do.”
Of course I did. I would do most things for my kingdom.
I had fought a dozen battles to keep the mountains of Thal’Ryn free of human banners. I had watched my father die with a spear through his chest and my people starve when the snows came early.
If binding myself to a human girl in a golden cage of a cathedral meant no more children died on the Shattered Plains, I would sign that contract in blood.
The priest lifted the tome. “Seal this vow with the joining of hands and magic.”
Seraphina’s fingers trembled as she reached for me.
I did not let mine shake.
Our palms met.
The power exploded.
For a breathless instant, all I knew was heat. Golden threads leaped from the phoenix pendant at her throat, coiling around our joined hands like living flame. My own magic surged to meet it, the lion within me rearing with a roar no one else could hear.
Her power was wild. Untamed.
Not like the controlled, rigid spells of Solarian conjurers.
Not like anything I’d felt from a human before.
She gasped, but did not pull away.
Good.
I narrowed my eyes, watching her.
Her pupils thinned for a fraction of a second, almost like a predator’s. The aura blazing around her flared not in panic, but in startled recognition.
Like fire recognizing fire.
Surprise stirred in my chest. Then curiosity, sharp as glass.
When the light finally died, she listed sideways. I tightened my grip on her hand, steadying her before she fell.
The priest was still staring. The first rows of nobles looked like they’d swallowed coals.
I stifled a snort.
Cowards.
The ceremony concluded in a blur of formal words and hollow blessings. Somewhere behind the veil of tradition, the political machine ground on, satisfied. Treaties signed. Land borders redrawn. Trade routes reopened.
But my attention kept snagging on the small, fierce human woman now bound to me by fire and law.
Princess Seraphina Aurelle.
Who—if I’d read that look in her eyes correctly—was just as confused by all of this as I was.
And maybe just as angry.
That, at least, was something I understood.
By the time the ceremony ended, my head was pounding.
The magical flare had left a phantom warmth on my skin, like heat lightning running under the surface. Every breath sounded too loud in my own ears.
The moment the power let go of our hands, the crowd surged forward—one mass of carefully dressed vultures.
Nobles offered congratulations. Beastman envoys nodded stiffly. Words blurred past me in a haze of titles and etiquette I didn’t own.
I smiled when Lyria elbowed me discreetly. Bowed when the priest gave me a look. Curtsied to my new father-in-law’s ambassador. Tried not to stare at the wolf-headed warrior glaring at me like he wanted to rip my throat out purely on principle.
King Kael barely spoke.
He stood at my side like a statue carved from golden stone, responding with a nod or a word when addressed. If he was as exhausted by this circus as I was, his face didn’t show it.
Finally, mercifully, it was over.
Servants peeled the crowd away like a tide. Lyria appeared at my elbow again, murmuring something about a “bridal chamber” and “rest before the feast.”
They led me through corridors of marble and gold, my skirts whispering around my ankles. I caught glimpses of city rooftops through arched windows, shards of blue sky, people in the streets below cheering as bells rang.
For them, this was a storybook day. The war was “over.” Their princess had married the Beast King. Those things happened in songs, not real life.
“Real life,” I thought, my fingers tightening on the phoenix pendant, “was me scraping together rent and protein powder money.”
Now I was here.
In a world where my reflection wasn’t mine, where magic exploded when I touched someone, and where my life apparently came with a crown and a target all at once.
Lyria opened a door and ushered me into yet another ludicrously ornate room.
“At least you’ll have good lighting when they assassinate you,” I muttered.
“Your Highness?” she asked, puzzled.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Thank you, Lyria. I…need a moment alone.”
Her face softened.
“Yes, Princess.” She curtsied and slipped out, closing the door with a soft click.
Silence rushed in behind her.
I sagged onto a cushioned bench by the window and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes.
Think.
Panicking was allowed. Sitting and shaking was allowed. But only for a minute.
I’d been in bad spots before. Underground fights where somebody brought a knife. Alleyways that smelled like danger. Going into a match with a sprained wrist and still needing to win because the payout covered two months of utilities.
You survive by focusing on what you can control.
Right now, that wasn’t much.
But it was something.
I inhaled slowly. Exhaled slower.
“New body,” I said aloud, ticking points off on my fingers. “New world. Political marriage. War background. Magic fire that is somehow mine. Beastman husband who looks like he eats swords for breakfast. Unknown enemy count. Unknown rules.”
My throat tightened as another thought slipped in.
“And a kid I never checked on.”
I didn’t know if he’d lived.
The memory of his small hand twisting in my grip as I threw him out of the way clawed at my chest.
I clutched the phoenix pendant.
“Please let him be okay,” I whispered to no one in particular.
The metal pulsed faintly beneath my fingers, warm as a heartbeat.
Night fell quickly over Solaria.
They called this the City of Light, but from the palace balcony all I saw were candles against the coming dark.
My cloak fluttered in the evening wind as I leaned on the balcony rail, looking out across a foreign kingdom. Their architecture used too much glass. Too many delicate spires. I preferred stone that could take a blow.
Behind me, distant music floated from deeper halls—the first sounds of the wedding feast. Laughter. Clinking glasses. Hollow celebration.
I allowed myself a moment’s quiet before returning to be their symbol.
My guard captain, Joran, stood just inside the balcony doors, respectfully silent. He knew better than to interrupt my thoughts.
I wasn’t thinking about treaties or supply lines.
I was thinking about the way the princess’s eyes had flared when our magic collided.
Not fear.
Not just fear, at least.
Recognition.
Something about it tugged at an old story my nurse had told me when I was a cub, about souls thrown across lifetimes by the whims of spirits. I’d dismissed it as a fireside tale then.
Now?
I wasn’t sure.
A soft rustle below caught my ear.
My hearing was better than any human’s. I tilted my head, listening.
“…what did you think of her?” A rough voice, quietly amused.
“I think,” another voice answered—my aunt Sera, calm and sharp as a blade—“that she is not what anyone expected.”
A shadow moved in the courtyard gardens below. I focused, eyes narrowing.
Vark Ironclaw leaned against a pillar, arms folded, the silver of his armor catching the lamplight. His ears were perked, tail flicking lazily. He looked up at my balcony with a predator’s lazy interest.
Our gazes met.
He bared his teeth in a grin that wasn’t friendly.
Then his lips moved, barely forming words, but my ears caught them anyway.
“I might just steal her myself,” he murmured.
Heat pricked under my skin.
Joran shifted behind me, sensing the change in my posture. “Your Majesty?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Not yet.
But as I turned away from the balcony, my jaw tight, I knew three things for certain.
The war might officially be over, but new battles were already lining up.
Princess Seraphina Aurelle was not the timid pawn I’d been promised.
And whatever game Vark thought he was about to play with my new wife—
I had no intention of losing.
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