Mated To The Last Aetherwyn

Chapter 7

Kaeilth stood in his father’s office, arms crossed as he watched his beta, who stood before them with dirt-streaked boots and a face carved from stone. The Alpha King, Klaevan, sat behind his desk, silent but alert, his gaze sharp as a blade.

“Well?” Kaeilth finally asked.

Beta Xavier nodded, voice steady. “The wolf was Alpha Moren of the Hollowmoon Pack. The witch belonged to Crossnova Coven. The vampire was the leader of the Velgaris Thorns, and warlock from Blackridge.”

The beta continued, “We scouted the territories. What we found was… brutal, clean m******e. No survivors. No tracks or trails. Just destruction purely intentional in its wake.”

Kaeilth’s jaw tightened. “And no neighboring territories saw or sensed anything?” he asked.

“Not a single sound,” Xavier said., then added, “They didn’t seem all that shaken by Moren’s fall. Said he was a shitty bastard. The rest of his pack wasn’t any better.”

Klaevan leaned forward then, steepling his fingers. His voice was low and even, but carried an edge of steel.

“Any signs of the Doomwitch?”

Xavier shook his head. “None, Your Majesty. She left nothing behind—not even a scent.”

Kaeilth exhaled slowly through his nose, the muscles in his cheek ticking. The frustration in the room was thick and unspoken.

The king shifted his focus to his son. “What do you think? Could she be the one pulling the rogues’ strings?”

Kaeilth didn’t answer immediately. His thoughts turned toward the courtyard, to the night she clearly sent her message.

“It’s possible. The timing fits. But she didn't attack from shadows…” He said finally, his eyes narrowed. “She could've let us find out about the attacks in time, but she deliberately made sure we saw her message. That was a declaration.”

He paused, then added, “The rogues are feral. Disorganized. But even they leave signs—tracks, blood trails. What happened in those four territories wasn’t just killing. It was a message.”

Xavier stepped forward again, voice firm. “We found no rogue involvement. No traces of them at any of the sites. Whoever did this… it wasn’t them.”

Klaevan nodded slightly, the furrow in his brow deepening. After a moment, he dismissed Xavier with a curt nod. The beta gave a respectful bow and exited the room.

Kaeilth moved toward the door, but his father’s voice stopped him.

“Kaeilth.”

He paused and looked back.

“There’s something else I need to bring up,” Klaevan said. His tone had shifted—quieter, more cautious.

Kaeilth returned to the chair across from the king, his brow raised, eyes narrowed. “I can tell I’m not going to like it.”

Klaevan offered a faint smile. “Victor sent another proposal.”

Kaeilth stilled.

“For the alliance,” Klaevan clarified. “Through marriage. With Princess Kiara.”

Kaeilth drew in a slow breath, his jaw tightening, though his voice remained composed. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know.” Klaevan’s voice held no pressure, only quiet reasoning. “But you also know what it would mean. A tie to the vampire throne would solidify our front. Especially now—with the rogues rising and the Doomwitch in play—it wouldn’t be a foolish move.”

Kaeilth didn’t flinch.

Klaevan continued. “You’ve known Kiara for quite some time. There’s familiarity. Respect.”

“She’s a friend,” Kaeilth said evenly. “And she deserves more than being used as leverage.”

Klaevan held his gaze. “Not even if it could secure peace?”

Kaeilth’s voice didn’t rise, but it firmed. “I’ll fight for our people. Bleed for them. But I won’t bind myself to someone I don’t love—no matter what it might unite.”

For a long beat, the king was silent. Then he gave a nod, slow but accepting.

Kaeilth stood again, this time without urgency.

“If that’s all…”

With a final nod, Kaeilth turned and walked out.

But as he stepped out into the hall and the door closed quietly behind him, his thoughts lingered on his father's words. Even though he had lost all hope in finding a mate still there was something in him telling to hold on.

....

The skies above the Forbidden Ocean were still.

No wind moved. No birds flew. The clouds gathered low and heavy, carrying the weight of an approaching storm. The air smelled of salt—and something older, something unnatural.

A shift cut through the stillness as a figure appeared at the foot of the cliff around the ocean, covered in a cloak, the hem brushing against the stone in the breeze that blew more wild with waves below. The wind rose, lifting the hood from her head.

Isaldora.

She stepped down onto the rocks and into the shallows. The water lapped at her boots, cold and biting. She knelt without hesitation, dipping her fingers into the sea.

The surface responded instantly. A pulse of energy passed in the water, like a door unlocking.

She closed her eyes—and vanished. A heartbeat later, she stood deep within the ocean, untouched by its weight.

The world around her was dry, veiled, ancient. Hidden beneath the sea’s skin lay a sanctum no being dared trespass and mostly no one knew of— a place woven of magic, salt, and vow.

The sirens’ lair.

“You don’t seem like the type to visit again so soon.”

The voice came from behind her—smooth, sharp, and faintly amused.

Isaldora turned.

Lyna.

The sirens’ leader.

She stood tall in her human form, long-limbed and elegant, the sea practically clinging to her skin. Her dark hair hung damp around her shoulders, and her skin had that faint sheen most sirens carried, like the ocean had marked her as its own. Her presence was magnetic in the way all sirens were—danger wrapped in beauty.

“I need another favor,” Isaldora said. No preamble. No greeting. Only intent.

Lyna’s brow rose, amusement flickering across her lips. “Of course you do. I wouldn't even wonder that you passed by just to meet me.”

Isaldora met her gaze without humor. Steady and silent, with no emotion.

Lyna's smirk faded, replaced by something quieter. “What kind of favor do you need now?”

Isaldora stepped closer, her voice low but deliberate as smirk formed on her lips. “I want your skills to lure prey.”

Lyna’s eyes lit up—sharp, delighted. Sirens lived for the hunt. For the fall of the unsuspecting.

“Mm, that’s rather tempting,” she purred, lips curling into a predatory smile that bared the gleam of her sharp teeth.

“I trust you’ll cooperate without any hesitation,” Isaldora added smoothly, a single brow lifting in challenge, her tone had a bit tease that went utterly unnoticed by the siren.

Lyna hissed—offened by Isaldora's remark, clearly oblivious of the tease. “Don’t insult me. You already bound me in blood, remember?” Her tone had cooled. “There’s no need to twist the blade of distrust.”

Sirens were prideful creatures and they lived by it. They would do anything to satisfy and keep their pride intact. Isaldora was well known with the fact that the siren will abide by her with loyalty but she didn’t give a reply to tend Lyna's pride. Instead her smirk widened—slight, sharp, and still cold. But not ungrateful.

She turned away, ready to vanish, but then she stopped as a thought crossed her.

“…Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice edged with something raw, a sincerity. “For the gift. Even though it wasn't your task.”

Lyna’s gaze shifted, surprised by the gratitude in Isaldora's tone. The sharpness dulled—just a little.

“I only told you what I thought I owed.” she replied with a sigh but there was a bit hesitation in her tone.

Isaldora nodded once. It was small, measured. But meaningful. Then she moved to leave again.

“Queen of Aetherwyn,” Lyna called. Her voice carried conviction.

Isaldora halted mid-step.

The title hung between them like a shard of glass—gleaming, fragile, undeniable.

“You should know,” Lyna said, her voice lower now, almost reverent, “we sirens don’t break our word. We’re treacherous, yes. But never to those we swear ourselves to.” Her gaze held. “Aetherwyn knew that. And so do you.”

Isaldora didn’t turn fully—only glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Lyna’s across the stillness.

“I know,” she said. A beat passed. “But I don’t trust anyone anymore.”

After another pause, her voice stern, devoid of any emotion she said. “And I am no queen.”

And then, with the wind and sea, she vanished.

Lyna stood in the silence that followed, unmoving.

Then, she stepped to the water’s edge and dove in—her form slipping beneath the surface, vanishing into the depths with the grace of a shadow swallowed by the tide.