The palace doors hadn't fully closed behind Renee before Sylus was already on his feet.

The shattered remnants of Elias’s pride still echoed faintly behind him, but Sylus didn’t care. Not about Elias. Not about the dissolution. Not even his father’s curious glance as he left the chamber without a word.

Because she was walking away.

And something in him — deep in him — refused to let her go without at least a word.

She moved like war dressed in white silk.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about her voice and power.

He caught up to her just outside the ceremonial hall, down the side corridor leading to the southern balcony. Sunlight poured through high windows, painting pale gold over black stone.

Renee walked ahead, posture perfect, each step composed. Xavier flanked her, quiet, sharp-eyed, a silent blade at her back.

Sylus didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward to intercept, positioning himself cleanly in her path.

She stopped. Slowly.

Renee’s gaze lifted to meet his, calm and precise, not surprised in the slightest.

He offered his hand with practiced charm. Confident. Relaxed. Deadly smooth.

“Renee Arcadia Nosfera,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I’m Sylus Drakareth Vezmera.”

She looked at his hand.

Then back at him.

And didn’t move.

“No,” she said flatly.

Sylus blinked — not in confusion, but in interest. “No?”

“I’m not shaking your hand,” Renee replied. “Not until I know exactly what you think you’re doing.”

He let out a small laugh, low and rich. “Introducing myself. A royal formality, no more.”

“You don’t do anything without a second layer,” Renee said smoothly. “I’ve read your reports. I know what your family deals with. Weapons, favors, smuggled magic, proxy rebellions, sanctioned sabotage.”

She tilted her head. “And I don’t judge that. You operate where the law needs someone dirty enough to do the work.”

Sylus crossed his arms casually. “Then what’s the issue?”

“It’s not the black-market diplomacy,” she said, stepping closer. “It’s your reputation.”

Her gaze narrowed.

“You sleep through every noble court with two legs and no spine. I’ve heard stories of you bribing your enemies with their daughters’ phone numbers.”

Sylus smirked. “I never bribed anyone. I let them offer.”

Her eyes didn’t waver.

“I’m not impressed.”

His smirk faltered, just a hair.

Then returned, sharper.

“You don’t have to be impressed, Princess. I just wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

“About getting to know each other,” Sylus said, his tone cooling into that easy confidence he used like a second skin. “Maybe a drink. No stakes. Just curiosity.”

She looked him over — top to bottom — and her face barely masked the disgust she didn’t bother softening.

“I respect my bond with my chosen one far too much,” she said clearly, “to entertain games like that.”

Something flickered in Sylus’s expression.

Then he understood.

She didn’t feel it.

She didn’t know.

The bond.

The pull.

His dragon snarled low, pacing in his chest — furious and stung.

But Sylus was too well-trained to show the hit. He straightened, arms still loose, expression relaxed.

She didn’t notice.

Or, instead — she noticed and didn’t care.

She stepped closer — not enough to touch, but enough to slice.

Behind her, Xavier remained still — silent but watching everything.

“I’ve had enough men approach me after power changed hands,” Renee continued. “You’re not the first to come chasing after a woman once she’s bloodied a prince and walked away standing.”

“You misunderstand me,” Sylus said, voice low.

“I don’t misunderstand anything,” she replied coldly. “You’re used to people chasing your name. But I am a name. And I don’t chase.”

She stepped past him, the scent of magic and iron trailing behind her.

Xavier followed without a word.

Sylus stood still in the golden light, pulse tight, the bond flaring in his chest like an unanswered call.

His dragon coiled inside him wounded and waiting.

And Sylus — the man who had never been denied, never once left in the wake of someone walking away without looking back — realized he had no idea how to undo this.

Because she was the one fated to him.

And she hadn’t felt a thing.

The echo of her heels faded down the corridor, swallowed by Arcadia’s old stone.

Sylus remained where she’d left him—back straight, hands in his coat pockets, jaw tight. The air around him felt heavier now, like the palace had shifted against him.

She had walked away.

Unshaken. Uninterested. Unreachable.

And worse—she’d mentioned it again.

That word.

Chosen one.

The phrase scratched at the inside of his skull like static. Sylus wasn’t unfamiliar with bloodline bonds or ancestral ties. But hearing her say it like it was settled—like she’d already given herself to someone—knocked something loose in him.

He turned, jaw flexing, only to stop dead at the familiar figure behind him.

King Thareon Drakareth stood in the middle of the corridor, his black formal coat still immaculate, expression sharp with restrained irritation.

“Sylus,” he said, voice low but steel-edged. “What in hell just happened?”

Sylus exhaled once through his nose, slow and tense.

“She has a chosen one.”

Thareon’s brow arched faintly. “Yes. She found him about two weeks ago, during her recovery. I was told the bond locked on her twenty-first birthday.”

Sylus looked away for a breath, then nodded slowly.

“She mentioned him,” he muttered. “Didn’t say the name, but… I assume it’s the bodyguard.”

“Damien Sinclare,” Thareon confirmed with a faint tilt of his head. “They’ve been bound for years in practice. The official lock only made it visible to others.”

The king took a step closer.

“I need you to stay put.”

Sylus’s eyes snapped back to his father. “What?”

“I mean it,” Thareon said. “Don’t chase her. Don’t poke it. Don’t make this personal.”

“I’m not chasing her,” Sylus said, defensive.

“You don’t understand what you’re stepping into,” Thareon said bluntly. “Renee is not one of your court hobbies. Not one of your flings. She isn’t the kind of woman you charm, then forget.”

“She’s not like the women you’ve played, Sylus.”

The words hit harder than Thareon meant them to.

Sylus turned toward him, voice tighter now. Not angry—just raw.

“She’s my mate.”

The hallway stilled.

Even the castle air seemed to quiet.

Thareon froze in place, lips parting slightly as the words settled.

“You’re sure?” he asked, tone sharper, lower.

Sylus didn’t blink.

“I felt it the second she entered the room,” he said. “My dragon hasn’t shut up since.”

Thareon exhaled slowly.

“…Shit.”