Chapter 1
Serna
I stood in the twilight, watching the blue-green waters of the Valasyne River flow past like liquid emerald beneath the dying light. Vaktaire. My home world. I hadn't set foot here in nearly seven years, and its beauty threatened to crack my carefully maintained composure—the way the twin moons cast their silver glow across the water, the way the air smelled of night-blooming sarrys and the rich, dark earth of the riverbanks. This was the world where I'd learned to fight, to lead, to become what I was—the Alliance Prime. The world I'd left behind when duty called me away.
The ancestral home rose behind me, ancient stone draped in mourning banners that snapped in the evening breeze. I could hear the river's gentle song, the same melody I'd fallen asleep to as a child. How many nights had I spent on these banks, dreaming of adventure beyond the stars?
Now I was here for a funeral.
My mate Chavon's body lay on the ceremonial barge—carved from a single log of the arydis tree, engraved with scenes from his life, adorned with his personal belongings. His favorite blade. The star charts he'd studied. Gifts from our sons and the people who'd loved him. The boat drifted slowly downstream, carried by the current toward the place where Charick and Kavek stood on the deck of our home, silhouetted against the darkening sky. My sons. Warriors both, though their paths had diverged.Once I'd had three sons—my youngest son, Enslak, lost to the Vaktaire/Romvesian skirmish a century ago. That loss had carved a wound into my heart that never fully healed, a reminder of the price of war. Charick and Kavek held their flaming arrows with steady hands as their father had taught them, waiting for the moment when tradition demanded they act.
I felt the weight of hundreds of eyes on me—the mourners who lined both sides of the river, come to pay their respects to a man who'd been bound to the Prime by politics and protocol. They expected me to be stoic, unbreakable. The Prime does not weep.
But beneath the ceremonial robes, I was just a female watching her best friend's final journey.
The boat passed before our home, and my sons released their arrows in perfect synchrony. The flames caught instantly, hungry and bright, consuming the vessel in a rush of orange and gold that reflected off the water like a second sunset. The heat reached me even from this distance, and I closed my eyes against the sting of smoke and memory.
Chavon had been a good male. A good father. A good friend. But he had never been mine, not truly. Our mating had been arranged by our families, a political partnership to strengthen Vaktaire's position in the Alliance and assist my ascension to Prime. We'd shared a bed, raised children—but we'd never shared our hearts. That privilege had belonged to someone else.
I opened my eyes and let my gaze drift across the crowd until I found her. Ilayta. She stood among the mourners, a little younger than me, her face wet with tears that fell freely, unashamed. She made no sound, but her grief was palpable, radiating from her like heat from the burning boat. She had loved him. He had loved her. And I had stood between them,bound to him by custom and duty, denying them both the completion of a true mate bond.
The guilt twisted in my chest like a blade.
This was what it meant to be Prime. This was the sacrifice demanded—not just of me, but of everyone who touched my life. Chavon had given up his true mate. I had given up any hope of finding mine. We'd built a life together on the foundation of duty, and it had been... enough. It had to be enough.
But watching Ilayta weep for the male she'd loved and lost, I wondered what might have been different if I'd been born someone else. If I'd been allowed to choose my own path, to follow my own heart. If Vaktaire had been a home I could return to, rather than a memory I carried like a scar.
The flames consumed the last of the boat, and the crowd began to disperse. Hundreds of people, all of them looking to me for strength, for leadership, for certainty. I gave them what they needed—a nod, a gesture of acknowledgment, the mask of the Prime firmly in place.
But inside, I was drowning in the blue-green waters of my childhood, in the weight of all the years I'd been away, in the knowledge that I could never truly come home again.
"Serna."
Willa's voice cut through my reverie, warm and grounding. I turned to find my daughter-in-law approaching, Titus balanced on her hip. The human woman was tall and strong, her shoulder-length dark brown hair catching the fading light, a smattering of freckles dusting the bridge of her nose beneath those bright blue eyes that seemed to see far too much. In her arms, Titus squirmed with toddler energy—a perfect blend of his parents with his father's striking blue-gold eyes and light tan pelt combined with his mother's delicate features and dark brown hair.
"Nana!" Titus reached for me with chubby arms, and despite the weight in my chest, I couldn't help but smile.
I took him from Willa, settling him against my hip as he immediately began patting my face with curious hands. "Hello, little warrior," I murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Willa studied me with that perceptive gaze of hers, the one that had made her such a good match for my son. She didn't speak immediately, just stood beside me as we both watched the last of the mourners drift away from the riverbank. Ilayta remained, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Then I felt the weight of another gaze.
It was a prickling sensation at the back of my neck, the kind of awareness that had kept me alive through a century of political maneuvering. I turned slightly, scanning the crowd of mourners still gathered along the riverbank, and found him.
Cullen.
He stood apart from the others, his gray-green eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch. He wasn't looking at the Prime. There was no deference in his expression, no careful neutrality of someone addressing their superior. He was looking atme—at the female standing with her grandyoungling on her hip, at the vulnerability I'd allowed to show in this moment of grief.
Our eyes locked across the distance, and something electric arced between us. It was recognition, but not of rank or title. It was something deeper. His gaze held understanding, compassion, and something else I couldn't quite name but felt in the sudden quickening of my pulse.
My body wanted to hold that connection. Wanted to cross the space between us and let him see all the fractures beneath my carefully maintained composure.
But I couldn't.
I forced myself to look away, turning my attention back to Ilayta's grief, back to the river and the ashes drifting downstream. Titus patted my cheek, oblivious to the war happening inside me.
Protocol. Duty.
