A hunger that won’t die

Autumn came dry and crisp. One would think the weather would be a little milder, but the sunlight remained fierce, like flames dancing on bare skin.

Rippling, firm muscles with veins protruding beneath Lucian's bronze skin. His hand gripped the sword hilt tightly, powerfully swinging each strike toward the opposing Theobald. Theobald blocked the strike with practiced ease, but Lucian's strength drove him back a step.

They were sparring in the royal training yard, eyes burning with challenge as steel clashed under the searing light. Around them, knights who had gathered watched with fervent cheers.

Refusing to be pushed back for long, Theobald countered with a quick spin, landing an elbow toward Lucian's gut. Lucian brought up his knee to intercept the blow and used his blade to force Theobald back. Theobald excelled in close-quarters combat, it was best not to let him get too near.

Though merely a practice match, the eyes of both men sparked with electric intensity. The heat in the middle of the training ground seemed nothing compared to the boiling fire of their duel.

"Your Highness."

The calm voice cut through the tension like water on flame. Lucian lowered his sword and raised a hand, signaling Theobald to pause, before turning toward the figure that had just appeared.

It was Carl, his presence here could only mean one thing. Lucian had assigned him to discreetly follow Seraphina. If he had shown up mid-training, it must concern her.

Carl bowed, taking Lucian's silence as permission to speak.

"Lady Seraphina has left the Asbourne estate. She's heading to Victoria's Tailor Shop downtown."

Lucian took the cloth handed to him by a nearby attendant, wiping the sweat from his jawline and broad, bare chest.

"Prepare the carriage. I'm going to her."

Theobald squinted, clearly irritated their match had been cut short.

"You're just leaving like this?"

Lucian paid no attention to Theobald, striding away from the training grounds.

"Of course. I've got a mate to dote on."

"Don't come crying to me when she kicks your royal ass, you arrogant bastard."

Theobald called after him, half mocking, half amused, smirking to himself.

Lucian didn't bother replying. A lazy wave of his hand was his only farewell. His faint smile gleamed in the searing sunlight, touched with a trace of anticipation—as if already plotting his next move in the game of winning over his fiery mate.

Not long after, the royal carriage pulled up in front of Victoria's Tailor Shop. The townspeople who had already gawked at its arrival nearly lost their minds when the Crown Prince himself stepped out.

Wasn't the palace staffed with the finest tailors in the kingdom? What strange wind had blown their highborn prince down into the common streets?

Lucian wore a simple white tunic, the laces at the collar casually undone, his chest tantalizingly visible beneath the thin fabric. His jet-black hair was still slightly damp, hanging loosely. With effortless confidence, he strode into the shop.

Victoria's Tailor Shop was one of the most prestigious in the capital, run by a forty-something Alpha widow. Unlike most tailors who fawned over noble houses, she never made house calls, ladies and noblewomen came to her instead. Her designs set the fashion trends across the kingdom.

The shop was elegantly designed, understated but refined, with two distinct levels. The lower floor catered to the middle class. The upper floor, strictly reserved for the elite.

The moment Lucian stepped inside, every eye turned to him. His pheromones filled the air without intention, as natural as his breath.

Nearby Omegas visibly swooned at his presence. Some even dared to release their own pheromones in hopes of catching the prince's attention.

But Lucian's mind—and heart—were already full. He only saw one figure.

Seraphina.

There she was, standing near the upstairs railing, radiant as ever beneath the daylight, just as she had been under the fateful moonlight that night. She wore a simpler deep-blue gown that hugged her pale skin, accentuating her every subtle curve. And yet, to Lucian, it was more than enough to parch his throat dry like a man lost in a desert.

Three days had passed since he last saw her. His hunger had not faded. It had only grown—boiling now, like a dormant volcano about to erupt.

Lucian's stride quickened unconsciously, headed straight for her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her thorn-covered frame. He wanted to bury himself in the scent of jasmine hidden beneath her skin. He wanted—

But someone slipped in between them.

Lucian scowled, clearly annoyed. A delicate face. Familiar.

A girl with voluminous reddish-brown curls smiled up at him, lips soft and pink, the air thick with her rose-scented pheromones—so sweet and seductive, no Alpha could ignore her.

Annette, daughter of Viscount De Vandore. The Omega every Alpha in the capital dreamed of marking.

Lucian… once had too.

***