Rejecting the King

The moment Selene turned her back on King Ronan Dain, the air in the grand ballroom shifted.

Gasps. Murmurs. Whispers spread like wildfire.

"She rejected the King."

"Did you see that? She turned him down!"

"Who is she? How dare she?"

Eyes darted between the towering warlord and the bold woman who had just denied him. The tension in the air was so strong.

But instead of fury, Ronan smiled.

It was rare for him to be surprised. Even rarer for him to be challenged. His life, despite all the power he held, had become predictable.

Wars were predictable. Betrayals were predictable. Women throwing themselves at his feet—predictable.

But this?

This was new.

"If you'll excuse me, Your Majesty," Selene said smoothly, "I must go mingle."

She turned to walk away, her emerald gown shimmering in the candlelight.

But he caught her arm.

A sharp inhale from the onlookers.

Selene turned her head slowly, meeting his gaze with a smirk—one that sent a strange pulse of heat through him.

"I am your King," Ronan said, his voice low, steady. "I should be obeyed."

She tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Obedience isn't forced, Your Majesty."

A bold statement. Dangerous.

"And like I said," she continued, "I'm conserving my energy for something better."

Ronan arched a brow. Something better?

"What could possibly be better than dancing with your King?"

Selene leaned in ever so slightly, enough for him to catch the faint scent of something—jasmine, and wild lilies, something intoxicating.

"Many things," she said simply.

And then she walked away.

Just like that.

Ronan's eyes followed her.

His men, his council, the nobles—everyone watched him, waiting.

Would he call her back? Would he demand obedience? Would he remind her, in front of all these people, that he was not a man to be denied?

But no.

Instead, he laughed.

A deep, amused chuckle, one that sent another wave of whispers through the room.

The challenge had been issued.

And Ronan loved challenges.

---

For the rest of the night, his eyes were on her.

He barely paid attention to the noblewomen fluttering around him, desperate for his favor. Instead, he watched her.

How she moved. How she laughed. How men seemed drawn to her, each trying to gain her attention, her favor.

And she gave them just enough—a smile, a glance, a small laugh—before moving on, like a queen dismissing her subjects.

Travis leaned in. "You've been staring at her all night."

"Observing." Ronan corrected, not taking his eyes off her.

Travis smirked. "So that's what we're calling it?"

Ronan ignored him.

"Who is she?" he asked instead.

"Her name is Selene. She arrived this evening, escorted by Lord Varrin. No one seems to know much about her, except that she's from the west and she's Lord Varrin's niece."

Ronan hummed in thought.

"And Lord Varrin?"

"A minor noble. No real power, just wealth. But he seems particularly eager to parade her around."

That made Ronan's jaw clench.

Travis, always keen to stir trouble, smirked. "She's definitely a sight for sore eyes. Do you think she'll reject me too?"

Ronan didn't look at him. "Undoubtedly."

Travis chuckled. "You wound me, Your Majesty." He lifted his wine in mock defeat before taking a sip. "But I must admit, there's something deliciously entertaining about watching you brood over a woman who clearly couldn't care less."

Ronan finally turned his head, his expression unreadable. "I don't brood."

"Ah," Travis grinned. "So this is just… deep thinking then?"

Ronan didn't reply.

"Jealousy isn't a good colour on you."

"Ronan smirked, but there was an edge to it. "Jealousy implies insecurity. I have none."

Travis hummed in thought, swirling the wine in his goblet. "No insecurity, yet you haven't taken your eyes off her all evening."

"Observing," Ronan corrected, echoing his earlier words.

Travis chuckled. "Yes, yes, my mistake, observing.

Travis sighed dramatically. "If you won't make another move, maybe I should. She's intriguing, I'll give you that. And undeniably beautiful." He took a slow sip of his wine. "I wonder what she's like when she's—"

"Finish that sentence," Ronan said darkly, "and you'll be drinking through a broken jaw."

Travis barked a laugh. "So, this one has definitely caught your attention."

"Yes," Ronan admitted, his tone firm. "And I don't intend to share—so keep your hands off."

Travis smirked, raising his hands in mock surrender. "You're the King."

Ronan's eyes flicked back to where Selene had been.

Only—she was gone.

Ronan's expression darkened.

"Where did she go?"

His gaze swept the ballroom, searching.

Travis chuckled. "It seems your challenge just walked out of the room."

But Ronan wasn't laughing anymore.

He rose to his feet without another word.

The crowd parted instinctively, sensing the shift in the air. He was not a man accustomed to being denied, and he certainly wasn't one to let something—or someone—slip through his grasp so easily.

His gaze swept the room once more, but Selene was nowhere to be seen.

Travis, still lounging lazily in his chair, called after him with amusement lacing his tone. "Careful, Your Majesty. Chasing after her so soon? People might think you're desperate."

Ronan didn't bother with a response. Instead, he ignored him and moved toward the exit leading to the halls of the castle. The moment he crossed the threshold, the noise of the ballroom faded behind him.

The corridors were dimly lit, the flickering sconces casting long shadows. His footsteps were silent against the marble floors, his sharp eyes scanning every corner.

Where are you?

A rustle of fabric caught his attention.

He turned.

At the far end of the corridor, a figure in an emerald gown slipped around the corner.

Ronan's lips curved into a smirk.

Found you.

He quickened his pace, his long strides eating up the distance between them. Selene wasn't running, but she wasn't waiting for him either. She moved with purpose, as if she knew exactly where she was going.

Interesting.