DRAKENFELL — GRAND HALL

Serena and Elara were walking through the grand hall when Serena stopped.

“HOLY…”

The words died in her mouth.

The mural was massive enough to require its own zip code. Floor to ceiling. The entire Drakenfell royal family stood in full regalia, painted in oils so vivid they bordered on moist. Tiberon commanded the center like a man who had never once been told to relax. Bellatrix was attached to his arm, looking serene, crowned, and painted into permanence. Dexmon stood to the left, every sharp line of his face and posture captured with the accuracy of a threat assessment.

Serena was painted beside Dexmon, fingers laced with his, white hair cascading, green eyes lit up like someone had left the high beams on. She wore a crown that was still under warranty, permanently inserted into a family she’d joined through pure chaos, actual fire, and a matebond that had tried its best to kill them both.

She was on the fucking wall of the grand hall in a mural.

“That is a big mural,” Serena finally said.

Elara mirrored her exactly: mouth open, eyes tracking across the massive painting like two people who had just discovered they’d been added to a family portrait without consent, warning, or so much as an invite.

“Very big,” Elara agreed.

“When did this—”

“No idea.”

“Did Tiberon know about this?”

“Tiberon is in the center of it, Serena. He’s not in the center of things he doesn’t know about.”

“We should go before someone sees me staring at myself on a wall.”

“Agreed. This is already embarrassing for you.”

“Thank you for that, Elara.”

“You’re very welcome, Serena.”

A warm voice came from behind them.

“Ah, there you are. Both of you.”

Serena and Elara turned simultaneously and saw Bellatrix Drakenfell walking towards them with a smile on her face.

Both girls looked at each other. The glance lasted one second and somehow included a risk matrix, a prayer, and a quiet ’hell has frozen over.’

The Queen of Drakenfell was fucking smiling at Serena specifically. A phenomenon that had occurred exactly zero times.

Elara hadn’t told Serena about the invitation she received the other night to Bellatrix’s parlor. She and Hyran endured two full hours of Bellatrix being nice and it feeling like a bomb might explode at any second. It had been an exhausting night.

She had planned to tell Serena about the tea. In fact, she had planned to tell Serena about a whole list of things. The list kept getting shoved down the priority queue by unconscious Gammas, collapsing Betas, and matebond marks that insisted on glowing like they were trying to get caught.

Bellatrix arrived in front of them, still smiling.

“I need both of you in my parlor,” she said. “It is urgent.”

“What’s urgent?” Elara stepped up and asked, because she was the designated specialist in Bellatrix-related diplomacy, and her training was the only thing standing between this moment and a full-scale conversation.

“A matter of the court. Time-sensitive. I will explain when we are seated.” Bellatrix’s eyes moved to Serena. “Serena, you look lovely today. That training suit is very flattering.”

Serena had never been complimented by Bellatrix Drakenfell. She had been insulted, humiliated, assaulted, and poisoned by her.

Unbeknownst to Elara and Bellatrix, Serena Drakenfell had decided last night that she was done with the bullshit.

The queen was one day too late.

To Elara and Bellatrix’s surprise, Serena didn’t hesitate.

“Hard pass.”

She turned on her heel and walked the other way. Yes, Serena was walking away from the Queen of Drakenfell.

Elara wanted to clap. Elara wanted to laugh. Elara wanted to produce the specific, full-body reaction of a woman who had watched her best friend endure months of cruelty from this woman and was now watching her best friend tell the woman to fuck off with two syllables and a pivot.

The clap stayed in her chest. The laugh stayed behind her teeth. The holding was professional and the holding was killing her.

Bellatrix’s smile cracked.

“Excuse me?”

Serena kept walking. Her pace was unhurried, giving go-fuck-yourself energy, and she was fine with it.

Nope. Bellatrix wasn’t worth the response.

“Serena. I am speaking to you.”

Silence. Serena was still walking.

Heels clicked faster behind her. Bellatrix was following.

Serena’s first thought was, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“IF YOU TAKE ONE MORE STEP, I WILL HAVE YOU REMOVED FROM THIS CASTLE.”

There it was. The Bellatrix Serena knew well.

She continued forward, ignoring the queen of Drakenfell. No one would ’throw her out of the castle.’ If anyone tried, Serena would fabricate a gold cage around them no problem. Or she would just burn their asses and she would live with the consequences just fine.

Bellatrix tried a different approach.

“Serena, I think you misheard me. I am inviting YOU to MY parlor.”

“I heard you,” Serena answered.

“Then come back here.”

“No.”

Three servants froze. Two guards made eye contact.

The Crown Princess had just told the Queen no in public. The nice Crown Princess was standing up for herself in public.

Bellatrix’s composure flickered. The warmth she had been performing shifted, the mask slipping by a fraction, the real Bellatrix pressing against the surface of the nice Bellatrix the way magma presses against the crust of a volcano.

“SERENA.”

Bellatrix caught it, pulled the mask back, and adjusted her tone. “I understand we have had our differences, dear. I am trying to extend an invitation. A genuine one. Please.”

Serena stopped. Turned. Looked at Bellatrix from twenty feet of pure, intentional space, the kind of gap that said the conversation could continue from exactly where it was or not at all.

“A genuine invitation,” Serena repeated.

“Yes.”

“From you.”

“From me.”

“The woman who called me a slut at my own pack initiation. The woman who told me my dead mother would be ashamed of what I have become. The woman who watched Agnes Viremont assault me in a fitting room and laughed. The woman who threw wine at me at my first dinner here. The woman who told Gavriel, to his face, that I was a hole her son was sharing with other men. The woman who brought flowers I am deathly allergic to into my infirmary room after she tried to poison me the night prior.”

Serena paused.

“That woman is inviting me to tea? That woman can fuck off. The answer is no.”