Chapter 50: Chapter 49. Let Him See
Solendreich Palace, Eregrand Empire Palace
Solendreich Palace had stood at the heart of the capital for nearly a thousand years. Built during the reign of the first Erengrad Emperor, it was designed to be more than just a residence. It was meant to be a symbol, a monument to the eternal strength of the empire and the divine right of the royal bloodline. Every stone, every tower, and every hall carried the weight of history.
The name Solendreich came from an ancient tongue, meaning "the Sun’s Dominion" or "the Realm of Light." It was chosen to remind all who saw it that the empire’s rule was unshakable, blessed by the sun, and protected by steel. Generations of emperors had added their mark to the palace, and now it stood as a vast reminder of both glory and burden.
When Roxanne and Vivianne entered the capital, they were given Solendreich Palace as their residence, at least until they chose to leave. Though grand, the palace isn’t larger than the Borgia stronghold in the North.
Their fortress back home was built for strength, standing tall against storms, monsters, and wars. Solendreich, by contrast, was built for display. Its halls were wide, its ceilings painted with old victories, and its corridors lined with portraits of the royal bloodline stretching back through centuries.
Walking those halls felt like stepping into the empire’s past. Every portrait told a story, some of triumph, others of pride, and a few of scandals whispered from one generation to the next. Even the most controversial figures could not be erased from its history. Among them was the portrait of Princess Morwenna, the royal who had once shocked the empire by mating with the demon king himself.
Her painting hung in full view, unhidden, as though daring people to speak. Morwenna’s beauty had not faded in the brushstrokes of the artist. Her golden hair gleamed, so much like Dietrich’s, and her eyes carried a sharp, commanding presence. For an omega, her gaze was far from gentle. She looked powerful, almost oppressive, the same way Roxanne did when she wore her full strength.
Vivianne paused in front of the painting, her light purple eyes fixed on it. There’s no mocking laughter in her voice, only quiet honesty as she whispered, "She’s beautiful. Your mother."
Roxanne stopped beside her, following her gaze. For a moment, her lips curved into a smirk, then she gave a small laugh. "That’s why my father went mad over her," she said, her tone half amusement, half memory. "People called him the Demon King Ashkareth—the most feared ruler in centuries. Yet for her, he would do anything. He conquered, he fought, and he ruled without mercy. But in front of her, he was only a man who wanted to make a werewolf princess happy."
"That’s cute," Vivianne replied with a soft smile.
Roxanne’s pout was immediate. "What? I can do that for you too." Her voice carried a mixture of pride and childish stubbornness, so out of place in the grand and solemn hall of Solendreich that it almost made Vivianne laugh again.
And laugh she did—her voice clear and bright, echoing through the vaulted chamber like the ringing of silver bells. The sound filled the hall with warmth, so different from the cold stillness that usually lingered within those walls. Even the maids who had been moving quietly nearby stopped to listen, their eyes wide with awe.
When the Borgia envoy first arrived, the palace servants had whispered among themselves, expecting the Grand Duke to be some terrifying figure. The old rumors of demon blood had painted Roxanne as a monster—hideous, cursed, and cruel.
Only a few of the elder staff, who remembered her as a child, knew the truth. Now, standing there without her full armor with her beauty laid bare, Roxanne isn’t the monster people used to talk about. She’s dangerously captivating—fierce, powerful, and alluring in a way that made hearts tremble.
Vivianne reached up, her fingers threading gently into Roxanne’s dark hair. She tiptoed, closing the small distance between them, and pressed her lips to Roxanne’s in a kiss both tender and claiming. The moment is intimate but also deliberate, as if meant to be witnessed.
When she pulled back, her voice was low and sultry, meant only for Roxanne but sharp enough to cut through the air: "Then let’s teach him who owns me."
Her words carried more than affection. They carried defiance, a pointed challenge aimed at the shadow trailing them. Because Vivianne knew well that Dietrich was following them, keeping his distance but refusing to look away. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her back, the hunger in his eyes, and the possessive rage he tried to hide.
And she knew exactly what would break him. It’s not anger, nor threats, nor power plays in the throne hall. What would shatter his ego and rip apart the illusion he clung to is seeing her, the omega he always dreamed of owning, claimed completely by another. Not just any alpha, but one far stronger than him, one whose dominance filled the very air of the Erengrad Empire.
As Roxanne carried Vivianne through the dimly lit hallway, the soft glow of afternoon sun flickered against the walls from the large window, casting shadows that danced in rhythm with their movements. Vivianne’s breath is uneven, her head resting against Roxanne’s shoulder, her fingers still tangled in the alpha’s dark, tousled hair. She could feel the steady, powerful heartbeat of her wife beneath her palm, a comforting reminder of the bond they shared.
Roxanne’s gaze never wavered from the path ahead; she’s acutely aware of Dietrich’s eyes on them, but she refused to let it unsettle her. Vivianne’s quiet defiance, her daring smirk as they left the room, had only fueled Roxanne’s resolve.
When they reached their bedroom, Roxanne’s hand gripped Vivianne’s hip, her fingers digging in as she pushed her wife’s face down into the mattress. Vivianne gasped, her breath catching as Roxanne’s weight pressed her into the sheets. The alpha’s lips are on her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, claiming her. Vivianne’s back arched, a sharp cry escaping her as Roxanne’s fingers slid between her thighs, finding her already slick with need.
Roxanne didn’t wait, didn’t linger. She’s rough and possessive, her movements driven by an unrelenting hunger, by the thought of Dietrich staring at them. She yanked Vivianne’s hips back, positioning herself, putting the tip of her hard shaft, and with one sharp thrust, she was inside her. Vivianne’s nails clawed at the sheets, a strangled moan tearing from her throat as Roxanne filled her completely.
The alpha’s pace is relentless, each thrust deep and unforgiving, her hands gripping Vivianne’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. Vivianne’s cries were muffled against the mattress, her body trembling as Roxanne took her with a ferocity that left no doubt about her ownership of Vivianne.
Roxanne leaned over her, her breath hot against Vivianne’s ear. "Mine," she growled, her voice low and guttural. Vivianne could only whimper in response, her body surrendering completely to the alpha’s dominance.
Dietrich’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening as he watched from the shadows, his eyes burning with a seething rage. The sight of Vivianne’s flushed face, her lips parted in ecstasy, her body writhing beneath Roxanne’s rough hands—it twisted something deep inside him. The omega’s moans, low and unrestrained, echoed in his ears like a taunt, a reminder of what should have been his.
His teeth ground together as Roxanne’s grip tightened on Vivianne’s hips, the alpha’s dominance on full display. The way she claimed Vivianne—possessive, unyielding, merciless—is a slap in the face to Dietrich. It isn’t just the act itself that infuriated him; it’s the way Vivianne responded, the way she arched into Roxanne’s touch, and the way she cried out her name like a prayer. She isn’t just submitting; Vivianne is reveling in it.
"Mine," Roxanne’s voice growled, low and guttural, as if she could sense his presence, as if she wanted him to hear it. The words cut through Dietrich like a blade, stoking the fire of his hatred. He could feel it boiling in his veins, a dark, consuming need to tear Roxanne apart, to make her pay for stealing what’s rightfully his.
Vivianne’s eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, her gaze meeting Dietrich’s through the haze of her pleasure. There’s something in that look—defiance, perhaps, or maybe even a challenge. She knew he was watching, and she didn’t care. If anything, it seemed to spur her on, her moans growing louder, her body moving with even more abandon. It’s as if she’s mocking him and flaunting her bond with Roxanne in his face.
Dietrich’s nails dug into his palms, drawing blood. He couldn’t take it anymore. Every sound, every movement, every possessive touch is a reminder of his failure, of the life that had been stolen from him. He turned away, his footsteps heavy as he stormed down the garden to go back to his palace, his mind racing with dark, violent thoughts.
Roxanne would pay for this. She had taken what was his, and he would make her regret it. Vivianne might belong to her now, but Dietrich would make sure it didn’t last. He would tear them apart, even if it destroyed him in the process. The sound of Vivianne’s cries followed him, a haunting echo that only fueled his rage. He would have her. No matter what it took.