CHAPTER 125: CHAPTER 124. SERAPHYNE DE BORGIA

Roxanne stood beside the crib in her daughter’s room, the soft glow of lantern light tracing warm hues across the carved wooden edges. Behind her waited two maids and the nanny Vivianne had personally chosen from dozens of applicants, a young omega demon from the House of Drethar.

Vivianne said she could feel a gentle vibe from her, a calming aura that wrapped around the room like a warm blanket. Honest. Soft-spoken. She possessed magic strong enough to soothe an infant born with two powerful bloodlines.

Inside the crib lay a tiny baby, sleeping soundly beneath a plush blanket. Roxanne stared at her—her daughter. The small, perfect creature had hair as silver as Vivianne’s and eyes that shone crimson when they were open.

If someone had told her three years ago that she would have a wife and a daughter, she would’ve laughed in their face and told them to get lost. Because years ago, she had never imagined marriage, much less parenthood. She never imagined softness. Warmth. A family of her own.

Now, not only did she have a wife and a daughter, but she also ruled over an entire continent. Things she had never imagined for herself, things she had never even desired. But she took them because she could... and because protecting her mate required power. Because to keep Vivianne safe, she needed to be the absolute alpha across the continent—untouchable, unquestioned, unchallenged.

Roxanne rested a hand lightly on the crib’s edge, watching the gentle rise and fall of her baby’s chest. "She’s not going anywhere," came her wife’s soft voice from behind.

Vivianne stepped into the room, dressed in a white silk nightgown. It had only been a month since she gave birth, yet she already looked as radiant as she had before, perhaps even more so. The only thing that had changed was the faint mother’s line across her stomach, a mark Roxanne adored. To her, it’s proof of everything her omega had endured to bring their daughter into this world.

"I know," Roxanne murmured. "I still can’t believe it."

"What? That we have a daughter?" Vivianne smiled, warmth in her voice.

"Yes. And you." Roxanne reached out and pulled her into her arms.

She still remembered the first time she saw Vivianne, astoundingly beautiful but fragile, her eyes heavy with things Roxanne couldn’t decipher then. Not just fear or trauma, but layers of burdens no one her age should’ve carried.

But now, the omega standing beside her no longer held any of that in her gaze. She carried herself with confidence, walked with grace, and spoke without shrinking or justifying her existence. And every bit of that made Roxanne impossibly proud.

"So," Vivianne asked softly, "are we settled on the name?"

"Yes. Seraphyne de Borgia," Roxanne said. "Seraph—from Seraphim, beings of fire, purity, and divine power. And phyne—the Old Tongue word for light, breath, or life-spark."

She brushed her fingers along the crib’s railing. "The living flame of the Borgia Empire."

"She’s beautiful," Vivianne whispered, resting her head on Roxanne’s shoulder.

The moment Roxanne finished speaking, as if the little one accepted her name, the baby stirred. Her tiny eyelids fluttered, then opened slowly—wider this time. Huge, round eyes, crimson with a glint of molten gold. Everyone in the room gasped. No matter how many times they had seen it, they could never get used to how startlingly beautiful those red eyes were.

In demonkind, draped in their dark colors, their shadows, and their ominous aura, red is always the color of terror, of blood and old legends. Yet here, in a crib lined with soft blankets, lay a girl with hair as silver as her omega mother’s and eyes as red as her alpha mother’s, radiant, not frightening.

The baby let out a tiny burp, made a few soft cooing sounds, then drifted peacefully back to sleep. "I can never get used to that," Roxanne murmured.

"Why?" Vivianne asked, amusement in her voice.

"Someone with red eyes and silver hair," she answered softly.

"She came from inside of me, after you came inside of me," Vivianne said without hesitation. "Can’t believe the two of you have both been inside me."

Her words made the two maids and the nanny shift awkwardly, cheeks warming. Roxanne laughed, a low, rich sound. "I still can’t get used to how blunt you’ve become after giving birth."

"Get used to it," Vivianne replied, lifting her chin with playful pride. "We’re in it for life."

-

Fenclade Grand Duchy, The Fenclade Palace

Liselotte had been sent away for her safety, and Leonhart had been surprisingly accommodating, partly because she’s still Vivianne’s half-sister, and partly because even in Fenclade, her former status as empress consort carried weight. But ever since arriving, Liselotte had changed.

She’s no longer the sheltered, pampered daughter of House Rothschild. The title she once wore like a crown now felt like a shackle she had broken free from.

When Leonhart returned from the capital, he delivered the news that her family had been searching for her. But Liselotte only looked at him with cold, steady eyes. She wanted nothing to do with her family.

After learning the truth about Dietrich, what he had done, and what he could have done to her, something inside Liselotte broke and pieced itself back together in a way that would never be the same again. She could have been his final victim. If she hadn’t run that night, if she had stayed obedient like her brother and mother ordered her to, she might already have a name carved into a memorial, nothing more than a tragedy spoken of in the past tense.

Knowing that—truly knowing it—set everything inside her into sharp alignment.

And when she realized her family had ignored her pleas, dismissed her fear, and chosen greed and ambition over her safety, the last threads of loyalty to the Rothschilds snapped. Any lingering hope that they might have cared, even a little, dissolved completely.

Yet the person she had despised the most, the girl she once bullied, belittled, and dismissed, Vivianne, was the one who saved her. Vivianne, of all people, had given her freedom.

"I’m not going back to them, Your Grace," she said quietly but with a firmness Leonhart had never heard from her before.

"A family that almost killed me doesn’t deserve me. Send me to the North after this—I’m fine with that. Better that than returning to the Rothschild." She continues, knowing that she can’t just stay here for long.

Leonhart let out a slow breath. "And what will you do there, my lady?"

Liselotte lifted her chin, eyes bright with a strange mix of fear and determination. "I don’t know. Live, maybe. Work. And... find a proper alpha." She swallowed, her voice softening. "One who can love me. One who’s willing to mark me. An alpha who only loves me, and no one else."

Her fingers curled in her lap, but she didn’t look away. "For once," she whispered, "I want to choose a life that’s mine."

"Then let me mark you," Leonhart said, completely nonchalant.

The first time he saw her, her scent hit him from a distance—sweet, laced with the cool green of a forest after rainfall. Unlike any omega who had ever approached him, unlike any who had come to his bed during his ruts. He had been keeping an eye on her from that very moment.

Hearing his words now made Liselotte’s heart hammer painfully against her ribs. "M-mark me?" she stammered, her gaze snapping downward.

Leonhart is a massive alpha—muscular, broad-shouldered, and carved like the embodiment of raw power. Even Dietrich, in full wolf form, was smaller when compared to Leonhart’s beastman physique.

His fur and mane are strikingly white, almost luminous, a rare majesty etched into every line of him. His mane cascaded around his head and down his shoulders in thick, silken waves, wild yet regal.

"Oh, it’ll fit," Leonhart said, as if he knew exactly where her thoughts had wandered. "Bigger than your ex-husband, I can tell."

"That’s not it!" Liselotte’s face burned red.

"Because I’m a beastman?" He asked, tilting his head, voice low with curiosity. "And I can tell you’ve never been marked."

"No! I’m fine with that! You’re—you’re very attractive, and your scent—I mean—" She’s rambling now, completely undone, hands fidgeting at her dress.

"And yes, I’ve never been marked." Her voice dropped, bitterness slipping through. "He rejected me."

Leonhart’s gaze sharpened. The omega in front of him isn’t as breathtaking as the current empress is known to be, but she has a kind of allure that draws his eyes without effort. Her deep green eyes shimmered with emotion, framed by long, dark lashes that made each glance feel impossibly tender.

Her brown hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, catching the light and warming her fair skin. And her lips—full, gently tinted—added a quiet, irresistible charm to her face. Everything about her felt soft, earnest, and painfully genuine.

She’s beautiful enough to make him want to claim her. "What a foolish alpha," Leonhart growled under his breath.

"Then what?" he pressed, smirking as he stepped closer, closing the space between them with the slow confidence of a predator who already knew his prey wouldn’t run.

"I just feel... that I shouldn’t be happy," Liselotte said softly. "And if I’m with you, I think I’ll be... happy."

"Enlighten me, my lady," Leonhart murmured, now standing close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.