King Damien's P.O.V

“She’s deadly, no doubt.” “But he is insanity itself."

The voices murmured in the corners of the grand ballroom, just beyond the golden-lit chandeliers and polished marble floors. They spoke in hushed tones, stolen whispers exchanged like secrets laced with fear. King Damien. The Insanity. The man who had bathed the throne in blood. And now--The Poison Rose.

A woman just as ruthless, just as untouchable. Some said she had been carved from the same darkness as him. “They say she wiped out an entire rogue faction by herself.”

“They say he crushed an Alpha’s skull with his bare hands.” Silence. Then, softer... “If they ever stood against each other…” A pause. “No one would survive.”

Damien heard them. Every word. He didn’t slow his steps. Didn’t even glance in their direction as he passed, his heavy black cloak trailing behind him.

He hated this place. The wolves. The way they bowed, the way their voices dripped with false loyalty. They feared him, as they should, but it was a fear soaked in cowardice, not respect. Their eyes begged for mercy they didn’t deserve. He had no use for them. His wolf growled inside him.

" Not all of them." Damien’s steps faltered for half a second. He clenched his jaw. "Who?"

"The blue-eyed beauty." A flicker of white hair. A sharp tongue. The scent of ice and steel. Alpha Aegis. The Poison Rose. Damien exhaled, slow and controlled.

His wolf had never reacted to anyone like this. Neither had he. Not in his years on this cursed earth. His mate had died as a child. His fate had been sealed. No second chances, no soft touches, no whispered claims of mine.

And yet. The moment he saw her in his grandmother’s piano room, something had shifted. No. Not shifted. Snapped.

She was his. She just didn’t know it yet. Damien reached the throne, settling onto the cold seat of power. The weight of the crown was nothing compared to the weight of his own control. His wolf stirred, restless.

"She had white hair." Damien’s fingers tightened slightly on the armrest. He knew why "he" had it. His bloodline. The old magic running through his veins. But her? It only made his interest grow. It only made his obsession deepen. He tilted his head slightly scanning the ballroom.

She was there. Dressed in black. A queen without a crown. His lips curled slightly. Perfect. Jaxon, his Beta, stood beside him. “Your Majesty,” he

murmured, low enough for only Damien to hear.

“You planned to stay out of the crowd.” Damien glanced at him. A slow smirk. “I changed my mind.” Jaxon blinked. “We ought to mingle, after all.”

A pause. Then Jaxon let out a slow breath, nodding. “Understood, Your Majesty.” Damien rose from his throne, the crowd parting like the sea before him. And in the distance, The Poison Rose stood, unaware, and not in his arms. For now.