The wedding of chains

The grand hall of Ebonhold Castle was dressed in gold and blood.

Heavy silk banners draped from the towering blackstone walls, each marked with the sigil of a ruling Alpha. The three banners stood side by side, an uneasy truce woven into fabric: The Black Wolf of War, The Silver Fox of Trade, and The Crimson Serpent of the Wilds.

The chandeliers blazed with candlelight, casting flickering shadows over the assembled guests—lords, warriors, and highborn courtiers who had traveled from the farthest reaches of the shattered kingdom.

This was a marriage no one had ever seen before.

An Omega with three Alpha husbands. A girl sacrificed to beasts.

“It’s obscene.” A noblewoman’s whisper cut through the hum of the crowd. She held a gloved hand to her mouth, as if speaking the words aloud would damn her. “No Omega has ever been married to more than one Alpha. This is a mockery of the matebond.”

“And yet here we are,” her companion replied, a man in a velvet coat embroidered with silver. He swirled his wine in his goblet, watching the altar with sharp eyes. “A union of necessity. Without this marriage, the kingdom will tear itself apart.”

“She will be torn apart.” The woman shuddered. “One Alpha alone can break an Omega in half. Three? It’s cruelty disguised as politics.”

The music changed, signaling the arrival of the bride. A hush fell over the hall.

And then she entered.

Seraphina Vale moved like a specter draped in gold.

Her wedding gown was spun from the finest Myrran silk, threaded with tiny diamonds that glittered under the candlelight. A sheer golden veil covered her face, but even through the fabric, her beauty was undeniable—delicate features, high cheekbones, full lips pressed into a careful line. A crown of pale silver adorned her long, dark hair, but she did not look like a queen.

She looked like a prisoner.

Each step she took toward the altar was measured and controlled by her father. Not a single tremor betrayed her. She had been trained for this moment since birth—to be obedient, to be silent, to be the perfect Omega for the highest bidder. But no amount of training could prepare a woman for what awaited her at the end of this bloodstained aisle.

Her father, Aldric Vale, walked beside her, his grip firm on her arm. A man known for his ruthless ambition, his face betrayed nothing—no sorrow and no hesitation.

“You do understand what is at stake, don’t you?” he murmured just low enough for her to hear.

Seraphina did not answer.

Her father exhaled through his nose. “This is the only way to prevent war. You will be their wife, their mate, and their Queen. If you fail—”

“I won’t fail,” she cut in menacingly.

She reached the altar. And there, waiting for her, were her three husbands.

The crowd held its breath as the Alphas stood in a line, their presence suffocating everyone present to witness the wedding of the century.

King Darius Blackmoor stood on the left, a predator carved from battle-worn steel. He was the largest of the three, his powerful frame dressed in dark armor, edged with blood-red embroidery. The Wolf of War. His face was all sharp angles—brutal, scarred, devastatingly handsome in a way that promised ruin. His eyes, a piercing gold, watched Seraphina with a hunger that was not entirely human.

Lord Cassian volk was in the center, the most finely dressed of the three, his silver cloak flowing over his broad shoulders. The Silver Fox of the West. His beauty was different—refined, dangerous in its coldness. He held himself with an air of effortless superiority, as if he were above all this, as if even this wedding were a game he had already won. When Seraphina’s eyes met his, he smirked.

And then there was Lucien Graves, the most unpredictable of them all. The Crimson Serpent of the Wilds. He did not wear the polished armor of a king, nor the elegant robes of a noble. No—Lucien stood barefoot on the ceremonial stones, clad in dark leather, a fur cloak draped over his shoulders. His reddish-brown hair was unkempt, his smirk sharp with amusement. But his eyes were the worst. Deep, wild, filled with something too close to madness.

A woman whispered in the crowd, “Gods help her.”

Seraphina stopped before them, and the High Priest raised his voice. “The bond between Alpha and Omega is sacred. Today, three kings swear their claim over one.”

Darius was the first to speak.

“By blood and war, I claim this Omega.” His voice was deep, heavy with finality. “She is mine to protect. Mine to rule. Mine to break, if need be.”

Seraphina’s heart slammed against her ribs, but she did not look away.

Cassian’s lips curled into something almost amused. He reached out, brushing a single gloved finger along her jaw, tilting her chin up.

“By mind and wealth, I claim this Omega,” he murmured silkily. “She will be my queen, my jewel. And she will learn that obedience is rewarded…and defiance is punished.”

A shiver danced down her spine as she could hear the loud gasps of shock and pity from the crowd. But the three Alpha kings cared less.

Then came Lucien. He did not step forward like the others. Instead, he circled her, slow and deliberate, like a beast assessing his prey.

Then, with a wicked grin, he whispered, “By instinct and bloodlust, I claim this Omega.” He leaned in close, lips just above her ear. “And I do so hope she runs. Hunting is my favorite game.”

The audience murmured in shock. Seraphina forced herself to stay still, to keep her expression calm.

‘They think I’m prey. Let them.’

The High Priest turned to her. “And you, Seraphina Vale? Do you take these Alphas as your mates?”

There was no choice. No escape. No salvation.

Seraphina lifted her chin and answered, voice smooth as silk.

“I do.”