The marble floor beneath Selene's knees was cold, but not as cold as the silence that filled the imperial throne room. Dozens of nobles watched, their jeweled eyes gleaming with either pity—or satisfaction.
No one dared to speak in her defense.
Not even the man who made her empress.
Selene, with her silver-white hair braided down her back and eyes like frozen starlight, looked every inch the queen they once paraded before the empire. Her high-collared gown, which was black, regal, and torn near the hem, due to the past weeks of captivity. Yet her posture remained perfect, her spine unbowed.
On the dais, Emperor Cassian Ardan IV sat upon his golden throne, his expression unreadable. Golden-haired and broad-shouldered, Cassian had once been considered the realm's most eligible ruler—until his heart grew colder than the crown he wore.
His hand now rested protectively on the stomach of the woman beside him.
Lady Cyrinne Valora—a vision in pale blue silk—bowed her head as though meek, her honey-blonde curls cascading like spun gold around her delicate face. One hand rested on her slightly swollen belly, the other clutched Cassian's sleeve with trembling fingers. Her eyes—wide and doe-like—shimmered with tears no one questioned.
"You tried to harm my child," the emperor said at last, his voice echoing through the vast hall like a verdict already carved in stone.
"You broke your vows, plotted in secret, and shed innocent blood. The punishment is death."
Selene didn't flinch.
She had cried the day she lost her child.
She would not cry today.
"The only blood on these floors," she said calmly, her silver eyes fixed on him, "was mine."
Gasps rippled through the room like whispers of guilt no one would claim.
Lady Cyrinne leaned closer to the emperor, her voice trembling like wind through broken glass.
"She's lying, Your Majesty. I heard her myself. She said she would see me bleed as she bled."
The emperor's jaw tightened, but his eyes remained cold.
Selene tilted her chin, forcing him to see her—not the empress, not the prisoner, but the woman who once stood beside him when the empire was burning at its borders.
"I gave you loyalty. You gave me silence.
I gave you my youth. You gave me chains.
And now, you give me death?"
Cassian's gaze flickered. A moment. A twitch.
But it passed.
"Enough."
The guards moved.
Chains clinked as they stepped forward—two men in imperial black, helmets polished, eyes lowered.
So this was how it ended.
Not in glory. Not in love. But in disgrace… while the real traitors stood unshackled.
Let it end, then. Let him kill me. At least I'll be free.
The emperor stood, his golden robes trailing like judgment behind him as he descended the steps of the throne.
"By royal decree, Selene Virellia—former Empress of Ardan—is hereby sentenced to death. Her execution will be carried out in one week's time, after confinement in the Northern Dungeon."
Gasps again. Even the nobles shifted uneasily at the name.
The Northern Dungeon. A place spoken of only in rumors—where light was a myth, and mercy a forgotten language. A punishment not fit for traitors... but monsters.
"Let it be known," Cassian said, "that her blood will cleanse this court of deceit."
Selene didn't scream. She didn't weep. She simply bowed her head as the guards seized her arms.
---
Later that night,
The iron-barred prison carriage groaned as it rolled across the frozen terrain, its wheels crunching through frost and gravel. The skies above were bruised with storm clouds, and a crescent moon hung overhead like a silent witness.
Inside, Selene sat in the dark, her wrists bound, her gown torn further from the struggle. The iron cuffs bit into her skin, and the silence of the road only amplified the weight in her chest.
The two guards outside laughed and spoke freely, convinced she was broken. One of them called her a "wolf-whore" under his breath. She didn't respond.
But something did.
Somewhere beyond the tree line, a howl pierced the cold night air.
The horses shifted nervously.
"Wolves," one guard muttered, tightening his grip on his sword.
Wolves? Selene thought. Why would there be any wolves on Ardan land?
Another howl answered. Closer this time.
And then—nothing. Just the eerie hush of the forest breathing in.
Until the attack came.
The carriage jolted violently, one wheel exploding into splinters. A guard screamed. Something heavy slammed into the wood. Another cry—and then silence.
Selene's head throbbed as the carriage tilted on its side. The door was ripped off its hinges like paper.
And then he appeared.
A man stood against the backdrop of the shattered night—brown-skinned, his black hair wet with rain and blood, and green eyes glowing like emerald fire.
He wore no armor, but the world bowed around him like he needed none. Cloaked in shadow, crowned by the moon.
Selene stared.
"Who…?" she whispered, throat raw.
He stepped inside the broken carriage and knelt before her. His scent was forest and fury, ancient and wild.
"I'm sorry it took so long," he said, reaching for her chains.
"But I couldn't let them kill you."
"Who are you?" she breathed.
He met her gaze—and smiled, just slightly.
"I'm the Alpha of the Nightfang Pack... and my name is Rhydian," he said, his voice low, almost reverent.
"And you, Empress… you are mine."
Selene recoiled.
"Yours?" she choked, struggling against the chain as if her own body betrayed her. "In what way? I don't belong to anyone."
Rhydian didn't flinch. He simply reached forward, and with a flick of his fingers—claws shifting through his knuckles like bone-forged blades—he snapped the manacles from her wrists.
"I didn't mean to claim you," he murmured. "It just means… you're my mate."
Mate?
No.
No. That word—that bond—belonged to beasts and whispered legends. Not her. Not the woman the empire tried to erase.
"Don't worry," he said gently, as if calming a wild thing. "You're safe now. Don't be scared."
"Safe?" Selene hissed. Her hand moved faster than even she expected—crack!—slapping him across the face.
"I didn't ask to be saved by a nasty wolf!"
Rhydian's head barely turned from the blow.
But Selene was already pushing past him, stumbling from the carriage into the snow-dusted clearing. Her breath rose in bursts of white fog, and the world spun briefly as she tried to run.
She made it three steps.
And then—
A low growl cut through the air.
She turned—and froze.
A massive figure blocked her path.
A she-wolf in human form stood at the edge of the clearing, dressed in dark leathers, a silver streak braided through her raven-black hair. Her amber eyes gleamed with warning.
"How dare you lay hands on our Alpha?" she said coldly.
"You seem to be filled with energy, Empress. Let's drain some of that."
Selene barely had time to react.
The woman raised her hand, and a circle of runes ignited mid-air, pulsing with moonlight. Selene's vision blurred, her knees buckled—
And everything went black.
---
Darkness folded over her like silk.
But in that dark, memories stirred.
She stood in a sunlit garden, the scent of roses clinging to her skin. Laughter echoed faintly—hers, not yet hollow. She wore white, woven with gold thread. A coronation gift.
"You will make a fine empress," Cassian had told her that day.
But even then, he hadn't kissed her.
The day she found out she was pregnant, the world had felt soft again. She had woken before the palace bells, one hand on her belly, the other covering her mouth in quiet disbelief. Joy was a fragile thing, but it had bloomed inside her like light.
"Cassian," she had whispered as he dressed for court.
"I'm with child."
He had turned slowly. Blinked once.
"Good," he said, adjusting his cuffs.
No smile. No embrace. Just "good."
In the following weeks, she was told to stay indoors. "Too delicate," they said. "Too important."
Court matters were shifted to Lady Cyrinne, who rose swiftly in favor.
Selene would sit by the window, watching carriages roll in and out, forbidden from attending meetings in her own empire.
"Rest, Your Majesty," Cyrinne would coo. "You mustn't overexert yourself. The child is all that matters now."
Cyrinne's hands were soft. Her eyes, softer.
Her words? Barbed silk.
Selene didn't know which day it started—the bleeding.
A faint rust stain on her nightgown.
A low cramp in her back.
She rang the bell once. Twice. No one came.
When she finally stumbled into the corridor, she found Cyrinne whispering with Cassian behind the garden doors.
"She's not fit to rule—"
"You said the potion would only weaken her—"
Selene turned away before she heard more.
---
Then came the stairs.
She remembers the chill of the stone beneath her bare feet. The silence. The way her vision tilted suddenly—
Was it her own misstep?
Or did someone nudge her from behind?
She fell.
A sharp, sickening twist in her lower back. Pain burst behind her eyes. And then—warmth. So much warmth. Flowing between her legs. Coating her palms.
She screamed.
Cyrinne arrived first.
Her voice was honeyed panic, her hands fluttering uselessly.
"The Empress fell!" she cried. "Oh gods, the baby—someone help her!"
But no one rushed.
And when Cassian did arrive, his face was contorted. Not with grief. Not with rage.
With calculation.
Selene lay there, drenched in pain, something gone from inside her. A void where a heartbeat had once bloomed.
"My baby…" she whispered.
And the world went dark.