The Last Aetherwyn: Mated to the Alpha Prince

Chapter 11

Isaldora sat tucked away in the corner of the café, the quiet hum of stillness wrapping around, sunlight brimming on her table. This place was quickly becoming her favorite—no chatter, no bustle, just peace. Exactly what she needed, especially today.

Her head was pounding, every throb reminding her exactly who had ruined her morning. Renna.

The girl hadn't shut up once ever since they began their so-called workouts. Not one second. She spent their entire workout nagging without pause, whining over every single stretch. Squats? Too much. Crunches? Impossible, and don't even get her started on the stretches.

Isaldora pinched the bridge of her nose, her lips twitching with annoyance at the memory. Seriously? These were basic warm-ups, nothing remotely difficult. And yet Renna had managed to make it sound like she was dragging her through hell.

She was the one who said she needed to workout. So why—why, for the love of all things—couldn't she shut her mouth and just do it?

Her fingers had twitched so badly, aching to snap her neck everytime. The only reason Renna was still breathing was because she had enough self-control. And so, thanks to Renna's endless whining, Isaldora's morning was left soured—bitter as burnt coffee and twice as irritating. But she'll make sure to end the torment.

Kaelith stepped into the quiet café, the faint scent of roasted beans greeting him as the door swung shut behind. He needed his damn coffee—after the tedious early meeting, his head demanded it. He was in the city for a few important meetings.

He checked his watch, and signaled the barista for his order. He had another meeting that he had scheduled here, his client due any minute.

He turned to find a seat, and his gaze found someone unexpectedly. There, in the far corner, sat a figure he knew. Isla Aether.

The sunlight spilled across her face, catching the edges of her features and making her beauty seem almost unreal. Still, what struck him more was the expression she wore. Isla wasn't just sitting there—she was scowling, irritation rolling off her in quiet waves.

Kaelith's lips tugged into the faintest smirk. Since his client wasn't due just yet, he figured he might as well pay Isla a visit.

Isaldora was deep in thought when a voice cut clean through her haze of thoughts. Her gaze lifted, and there he was—Kaelith—standing at her table with that infuriating ease about him.

"We meet again, Ms. Aether. Surprisingly," he said,

"What a coincidence, Mr. Bane. Or perhaps…" her lips curved into a cool, sidelong smirk, "…you're following me." Her eyes, sharp and gleaming, held his with deliberate challenge. She looked him over, damn how could he just look so handsome.

Kaelith just gave a low, unbothered laugh, sliding into the seat across from her as though it had been waiting for him.

Her brow arched at his audacity, but she let it pass, masking it with a faint, practiced poise.

Isaldora leaned back in her chair, studying him with a guarded ease. "You seem rather comfortable making yourself at home, Mr. Bane. Should I start charging rent?"

Kaelith's mouth twitched, amused. "Only if it comes with your company."

She rolled her eyes, but the faintest ghost of a smile threatened her lips before she smoothed it away. "Flattery doesn't work on me."

"Good," he replied smoothly, settling in. "Then let's talk about something that does work—business."

That caught her interest. She tilted her head, silently inviting him to go on.

"I've been following your company's growth. Impressive. Perhaps… we could consider a collaboration between Aether and Duskhowl's ventures. Strength meets vision. Could be mutually beneficial."

Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, calculating. Silence lingered as she drummed her fingers lightly against her cup. At last, she inclined her head. "Perhaps. I'll consider it."

His lips curved, as though he'd expected nothing less. But before he could press further, his phone buzzed sharply against the table. He glanced at the screen and exhaled. Perfect timing, he thought dryly. His client had arrived.

"Duty calls," he said, rising with that same unshaken composure. "I'll look forward to your answer."

Isaldora gave a graceful nod. "Of course. Until next time, Mr. Bane."

"Until next time, Ms. Aether." His gaze lingered on her for a breath longer than necessary, then he turned and left, his stride purposeful.

Her eyes followed his retreating form before she pulled her focus back, the trace of a smile flickering at her lips before it vanished. Then, just as silence settled back around her, her own phone buzzed. She glancd at the screen and the ease drained from her face, her expression turning grim.

She didn't even bother finishing her coffee. Instead, she pulled a few bills from her purse, left them on the table, and rose swiftly leaving the place.

——

Screams ripped through the trees, sharp and short before they cut off. The Emberthorn coven's hideout was falling apart—stone walls cracking, roots splitting under fire, the whole place caving in on itself. Smoke and ash choked the air.

Isaldora walked in like she owned the ruin. Not a speck touched her boots. Her hood shadowed her face, but her silver eyes gleamed from beneath, face calm, dead calm, while everything burned around her.

From her peripheral view, she saw a witch screaming, lunging towards her with a whip of fire. But before the whip could touch her, a clean flash of silver light shot from her hand at the witch. The man didn't even have time to cry out before his body hit the ground in two halves.

She saw another one shriek, raging towards her like a bull, red ruins clawing through the air. Isaldora smirked and the next heartbeat, she was behind the witch, blade appearing in her hand, shimmering with a glow— she swung it and then the witch's head rolled across the floor.

[FLASHBACK – AFTER THE CAFÉ]

Isaldora stood by the window, arms crossed, while one of her girls shifted nervously in the chair. She had rushed back the moment Renna's message came through—one of the girls picked up something about Aetherwyn. Though none of them knew what Aetherwyn truly was — she had made her instructions damn clear to report any whisper, any shred of information, anything tied to it to her at once. That was the job. That was their job. What they didn't know—neither Renna nor the girls—was that every man they were to entertain belonged to the supernatural world.

The girl cleared her throat. "He was drunk. Big mouth, actually. Then just started bragging—couldn't even shut up."

Isaldora said nothing. Just stared at the girl; her patience was thinning.

"He said he was from some coven… Ember-something." She squinted. "Emberthorn, I think? Kept talking about his 'glory days,' said they were part of… the royal fall? Yeah. Aether… something—"

"Aetherwyn," Isaldora cut in, her tone flat, her face hard.

"Yeah. That. Said the royals trusted them. Said they were too dumb for their own good."

Isaldora's fists clenched at her sides. The Emberthorn. One of the covens her parents had trusted most.

The girl bit her lip, looking down. "I don't know what it means, but he mentioned deals. Barriers. Magic seals, something like that. I don't know." She swallowed. "Is that… important?"

"Very," Isaldora said, voice clipped.

[PRESENT – EMBERTHORN RUINS]

The last few witches staggered back, bloodied and desperate. They tried to raise a barrier, hands shaking, voices cracking through chants. Isaldora stepped straight into their circle. Their magic cut out instantly, drained dry. They froze, leaving their mouths hanging open in horror.

The high priestess dropped to her knees, blood running down her face. She lifted a trembling hand toward her. "Please… mercy—"

Isaldora crouched down, her face inches from hers.

"Mercy?" Her voice came soft, almost kind — but empty.

"You betrayed your king. Your queen. You helped burn the ones who trusted you. And now you dare ask me for mercy?"

The priestess sobbed, shaking her head in despair.

"There is no mercy," Isaldora whispered. "Not for traitors." Her eyes narrowed. Silver light caught in them, cold as knives.

She flicked her fingers, and the witches began to convulse, bones snapping like dry sticks. Bodies bent inward, folding like broken dolls, ribs tearing through skin, skulls collapsing with wet crunches. Blood sprayed across the floor in thick, wet spatters.

One witch tried to crawl away, dragging what was left of herself across the ground. Isaldora turned her wrist. The woman's spine arched until it broke in three places, snapping like firewood before she dropped in a heap, twitching once before going still.

The Emberthorn burned the same way Aetherwyn once had.

Isaldora stood in the center of the c*****e. She held up her fingers, frowning at the red spatter.

"Damn it," she muttered with a pout, looking at her nails. "I just got an expensive manicure the day before yesterday."

She stepped over a body split wide open, tiptoeing over it like it was garbage on the curb, her lips curling into a twisted smile. "Guess I'll have to spend another whole day at the spa."