Chapter 7: Seraphine, the High Matriarch's Daughter
Elvaria's palace was a thing of moonlight and marble. Towers curved like lilies, halls sang with silence, and every shadow carried expectation.
Riven had walked through it before — honored guest, chosen male, divine seed-bearer. Yet tonight, the air tasted different.
Tighter.
As though the walls themselves watched.
He had been summoned for rest after his trial in the Wilds, bathed and perfumed by silent attendants, given a bed fit for a king. But sleep did not come.
Something stirred.
He turned at the sound — silk brushing stone.
And there she was.
---
Seraphine.
Daughter of the High Matriarch.
First in line for the Silver Seat.
A woman cloaked in reverence and law.
She stood in his doorway, veiled in midnight — a thin robe falling open at the curve of one hip. Her hair was silver-blonde, cascading like frost over her shoulders. Her eyes: amethyst. Bold. Burning.
She stepped inside without invitation, the doors closing behind her on their own.
> "Do you know what this is?" she asked.
> "A mistake," Riven said, throat dry.
> "No. A choice."
She let the robe slide from her shoulders.
---
She was perfect.
Not in the soft, practiced beauty of courtly women — but in the flawlessness of consequence. Her breasts rose with steady breath, nipples already hard. A silver chain wrapped her waist like a promise. Between her thighs, smooth skin gleamed in the candlelight.
Riven stood still, watching her like one watches the edge of a blade. Every instinct screamed to move, to claim — and every rule whispered Don't.
> "They say you've touched the Veilweaver," she said. "And the Warden of the Wilds. They write your name in prophecy now."
> "And you're above all of it," he murmured. "You're sacred."
She moved closer, the heat of her bare skin warming the space between them.
> "I'm tired of sacred," she whispered. "I want to be real."
She took his hand, placing it gently on her bare hip. Her skin was soft, smooth — trembling beneath his touch.
> "If we are caught—" he began.
> "We won't be," she said, guiding his fingers between her legs.
> "And if we are?" he asked again.
She leaned in, her lips brushing his. "Then they'll know I chose my future. Not theirs."
And then she kissed him — a slow, trembling kiss filled with centuries of restraint breaking.
---
They sank onto his bed in silence.
Every motion was reverent. Her hands at his shirt. His lips to her collarbone. Her gasp as his mouth found the peak of her breast. Her thighs opening under the weight of him.
> "No one has touched me," she said, voice breathless. "No one has ever."
> "Then I will be gentle," he said.
> "No," she whispered, eyes wild. "Be real."
And so he was.
---
He took her in his arms, guiding her gently beneath him, her legs cradling his hips. He kissed every inch of her skin as though memorizing a secret. Her fingers dug into his back, holding him closer, as if she could make them one by force of will alone.
When he slid inside her, her cry echoed through the chamber — the sound of a life finally claimed.
She was tight, wet, trembling.
He moved slowly, his hips rolling into her with soft, deep thrusts, letting her adjust. Her hands clung to him, her lips at his throat, and with each motion, she moaned his name with more need.
> "Faster," she begged. "Please."
He obliged — deepening his pace, building pressure with every stroke. Their bodies moved in sync, breath for breath, until the rhythm became wild. She arched beneath him, hips rising to meet his, eyes wide with shock and ecstasy.
> "This is wrong," she gasped. "So wrong—"
> "Then why does it feel so right?" he growled against her ear.
She came undone in his arms — her release crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her body shook, legs wrapped tight around him as she rode out the storm.
And still, he moved within her.
Her mouth met his again — this time desperate, hungry, surrendering everything.
---
When he felt himself near the edge, he paused, trembling.
> "I shouldn't finish inside you," he said.
> "Do it," she whispered. "Make it real."
And with a final thrust, he came — pouring into her, their moans blending as if echoing through the very stones.
---
They lay tangled together, the candlelight low. Her head rested on his chest. Neither spoke for a long time.
Then:
> "Will you regret it?" he asked.
> "No," she said. "They've used me as a symbol since I was born. Tonight, I became a woman. My own woman."
She kissed him once more, then rose silently, gathering her robe.
> "We will never speak of this again," she said.
> "Will I see you?"
She looked back — a smile, soft and sorrowful.
> "Only in your dreams."
And then she vanished into shadow.