CHAPTER 84: CHAPTER 83. FENCLADE DOMINION

"That’s your lord?" Leonhart’s younger sister, the omega lion beastman with soft brown eyes, mouthed to Mara in disbelief, her jaw nearly dropping.

Mara didn’t answer right away. She only gave her cousin a flat look, the corners of her mouth twitching with restrained irritation. Her family, warm and tightly bonded as most beastmen packs were, had never truly understood her path. They thrived on connection, on knowing one another’s every joy and sorrow, but they could never accept the truth of her bloodline.

Her mother’s choice to mate with a demon had condemned their family. To the beastmen, such a union was blasphemy, an insult to their strength and pride. They were cast out, branded as tainted. It was Morwenna de Erengard and Ashkareth who offered them refuge.

It was under Roxanne de Borgia’s leadership that everything changed. Roxanne built the North, a haven where mixed bloods could live freely without fear or shame. There, the exiled and the unwanted found safety and strength. The world called them abominations, but Roxanne called them her people.

Over time, that sanctuary flourished. Mixed-bloods, who are stronger and more adaptable than many pure lines, usually get killed or eradicated when they are young. Because the pure blood are so scared of the mixed blood taking their place in the future.

And under Roxanne’s protection in the North, they began to thrive under the Borgia banner. To Mara, her lord isn’t just a ruler; she’s a symbol of survival, of defiance, of belonging. So when her cousin gawked again, eyes wide and full of awe, Mara finally rolled her eyes. "Yes, that’s my lord," she mouthed back sharply, crossing her arms.

Still, she couldn’t blame her cousin for being so awestruck. Ever since she followed Roxanne de Borgia after the latter had beaten her into the ground during her challenge. All the omegas who have met Roxanne share that kind of awestruck expression.

And because of that also, Mara had learned firsthand what true dominance felt like. No longer did she boast about her power as a mixed blood. Since then, she had sworn her loyalty to Roxanne without hesitation.

Her cousin isn’t the only one. Mara had seen countless omegas drawn to Roxanne, entranced by her power, her beauty, and her aura that seemed to demand submission and admiration in equal measure. It wasn’t just attraction; it was instinct.

Roxanne de Borgia is the kind of alpha who commanded the world’s attention the moment she stepped into a room—strong, graceful, and untouchable. Every movement she made carried quiet dominance, and every glance held the weight of authority. She didn’t need to roar to be obeyed; her very presence demanded it.

"Of course she’s speechless," Mara thought with a small, knowing smirk. "Who wouldn’t be, after seeing Roxanne de Borgia?"

But the truth lay in the woman beside her, the Grand Duchess herself. Vivianne de Borgia had been the only one who didn’t fall silent in awe or tremble beneath Roxanne’s power.

Mara remembered that first meeting vividly: Vivianne’s wide eyes, not of fear or admiration, but of disbelief, like she was confused that the Grand Duke was the one she was going to marry. She didn’t swoon like the others, didn’t lower her gaze, or stammer a word of flattery. At the time, Mara had thought Vivianne naive. But now, watching the two of them together, she understood.

Her eyes shifted to the duchess. Vivianne stands next to Roxanne with poise, her silver-white hair glowing faintly under the light, her violet eyes soft yet sharp, like moonlight over steel. She didn’t need to flaunt her beauty; it’s always otherworldly, effortless—ethereal in a way that even alphas found disarming.

"It made sense," Mara thought, her lips curving into a faint smile. Someone like Vivianne wouldn’t be dazzled by Roxanne’s dominance. She matched it in her own quiet, graceful way. A storm veiled in silk, calm yet unyielding, steady in the face of power.

And she saw it, the flicker in her cousin’s eyes. Leonhart, the mighty Beast King, rarely showed surprise, yet his golden eyes widened the moment he laid them on Vivianne.

"A spirit bearer," he muttered under his breath, his deep voice echoing faintly through the grand hall. "So that’s why your envoy walked through the wilds untouched."

Roxanne’s lips curved into a proud, knowing smile. "My wife," she said, her tone rich with affection and quiet triumph, "the Grand Duchess of Borgia."

Leonhart tilted his head, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. "You’re quite smitten with your wife, Grand Duke. Not at all like the rumors I’ve heard." His grin widened, revealing a hint of fang. "But I suppose that’s what makes it interesting, isn’t it? The mixed-blood alpha who fell for the one that the spirit chose." Roxanne only smiled in reply, her hand resting protectively at Vivianne’s back.

"Come," Leonhart said at last, throwing his arms open in grand welcome. "You’ve crossed mountains and monsters to reach Gorhal. Let us feast! The Dominion’s table awaits you and your remarkable wife."

-

Leonhart led the way from the throne hall, his heavy steps echoing against the stone floors. The vast corridor opened into a grand dining chamber lit by warm torches and the soft glow of enchanted crystals embedded in the walls. The air carried the rich scent of roasted meats, wild herbs, and sweet fruit wine, a feast worthy of a royal welcome.

The long table was set with care, though in true beastman fashion, it was more abundant than refined. Whole boars roasted over open flame, platters of river fish glazed with honey, piles of fresh bread, and bowls of fruits from the northern orchards filled the space. Servants hurried to pour wine and water, their tails flicking nervously under the presence of so many powerful alphas in one room.

Roxanne de Borgia sat at the head of the table across from Leonhart, her posture elegant and composed, though her crimson eyes carried the faint shadow of exhaustion from the journey. Vivianne sat beside her, calm and radiant, her pale hands resting neatly in her lap.

Not far from them sat Mara, still armored, eyes flicking between her cousin and her lord with thinly veiled curiosity, while she was busy with Marvessa. She jumped on her when she saw Marvessa walk behind the Grand Duchess. Purring on her and holding on to her tightly.

Leonhart raised his goblet and grinned, his fangs glinting in the light. "To our honored guests, the Grand Duke of Borgia and her beloved wife. May your strength prove true in battle, and may your stay here be remembered fondly."

Roxanne raised her cup in return, a small smirk touching her lips. "And to you, King Leonhart Fenclade. May our duel be one of honor, not enmity."

The toast is met with cheers and the thunder of fists against the table. Plates were passed, laughter filled the hall, and for a time, the tension between demon and beastman eased into something almost friendly.

Mara leaned back in her chair, sipping her wine, her sharp eyes tracing every movement of Leonhart. From the days of sparring she was done with him; she could tell Leonhart isn’t just a brute warrior. He’s watching Roxanne closely, studying her poise, her manner of command, and the way she seemed effortlessly in control. He’s preparing, even now.

Vivianne ate quietly beside Roxanne, though "quietly" wasn’t quite the right word. The Grand Duchess was delicate in manners, yet her appetite betrayed her grace—she favored meat, carving through roasted venison and boar ribs with quiet efficiency. Each bite was savored, each chew deliberate. The sight drew a rare, soft smile from Roxanne, who watched her wife as though the rest of the hall didn’t exist.

Without a word, Roxanne reached for the carving knife again, slicing another piece of meat and setting it gently on Vivianne’s plate. The gesture was tender, almost intimate, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Leonhart’s sharp golden eyes gleamed with curiosity, his grin widening as he leaned back in his chair.

"What kind of stories have reached your throne, I wonder," Roxanne said suddenly, turning her gaze toward him. Her tone was light, but her words carried a pointed edge. "You look at me and my wife as though you can’t quite believe what you’re seeing. Tell me, dear Beast King—what news reached you from the North?"

Leonhart chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the hall. "A cold Grand Duke," he said with amusement. "The demon of the north who ruled with an iron will. Not a loving wife who feeds her mate with such tenderness."

Roxanne’s lips curved slightly, the kind of smile that hinted at mischief. "Perhaps that was right." She leaned back. "You should marry and find your mate, Beast King. Perhaps then you’ll learn that strength and gentleness are not enemies."

Leonhart’s laughter echoed again, rich and booming. "I have yet to find a proper omega for myself," he admitted, running a hand through his white mane. "The ones in my court either fear my blood or seek my throne."

Roxanne tilted her head, her crimson eyes gleaming with knowing amusement. "Perhaps," she said softly, "your mate isn’t among the beastkin at all. Maybe fate has set your heart toward another race."

The words hung in the air like a spark on dry grass, dangerous and provocative. The nearby council members stiffened, their ears twitching in discomfort. Such a suggestion is near heresy for a king whose rule depended on the purity of beastman blood. But Leonhart only grinned wider, baring his fangs in something between defiance and intrigue.

"If you win against me, Grand Duke," he said at last, lifting his goblet high, "I’ll follow your lead, and then maybe we can talk about it."

He downed the wine in a single swallow, the crimson liquid staining his lips like blood. Across the table, Roxanne met his gaze with a calm, unflinching smile, her hand resting lightly on Vivianne’s. And though the feast continued, laughter echoing again, the real challenge had already begun.

When the last dish was cleared and the hall grew quiet again, Leonhart leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You’ve come a long way from the North," he said, his tone softer now. "And I would not have you face me weary from travel. The fight will be held in three days’ time. Rest, recover, and let your strength return. I want no excuses when we meet in the arena."

Roxanne inclined her head, her expression serious but appreciative. "A fair request, and one I respect. I’ll meet you at my best, King Leonhart."

He smiled, sharp and satisfied. "Good. I’d expect nothing less from the demon who conquered the North."

Servants entered again, leading the guests toward the prepared chambers. As they departed, the flicker of torchlight danced against the stone walls, and Mara glanced back once more.

"In three days," she thought, her lord and the beast king would clash, and the world would remember who stood tall when the dust settled.