The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate-Chapter 179: Every Woman Wants A Wedding, Dexmon

Nightspire looked at Serena the way people look at ghosts.

His grief was not a wound. Wounds close. His grief was architecture. It was built into his posture, his jawline, the way his face softened against his will every time Serena’s face caught the light at a certain angle.

And now the room understood.

"Maelor Vantheos. Born in the Isle of Eldoria. The Fae call him Mage. The Mages call him Fae. He has used this to claim the best and reject the inconveniences of both bloodlines."

"He considers himself the most talented mage in any room he enters. The ancestors would like him to know that Hyran Thornfell is in this room."

Maelor’s nostrils flared once and he lifted his chin, as if the comparison itself was an insult.

"Blood mix of old and new. The most connected Eldorian in the new world. He has served Riven Nightspire faithfully for years. He has also redecorated his throne room without permission. Twice."

"They have argued about décor, protocol, seating arrangements, the wording of treaties, and on one occasion, the appropriate width of a border on a royal invitation. The border dispute lasted three days. Nightspire conceded."

Riven closed his eyes exhaling a deep breath with the expression of a man reliving a memory he had buried and the dead had just exhumed.

"Maelor has threatened to resign from Nightspire’s service on eleven occasions. Riven has accepted on zero. They make up every time. It’s a toxic relationship that they both are fine with. It works. They are each other’s best friend but never would admit it. The ancestors approve."

"He was chosen by the Moon Goddess for a task he knows with the chosen daughter."

Hyran glanced at him sideways. That had just been added to his mental list of things to investigate after this ritual was over.

"Tiberon Drakenfell, a Dragon King Descendant. Known by the Gods as the Wise King. A ruthless commander, brilliant mind, and his word is bond. He has, however, kept one lie for twenty-four years. The ancestors neither condemn nor endorse. They observe."

Dex went still, eyes cutting to Tiberon. Twenty-four years. His age. That wasn’t a coincidence. His father didn’t do coincidences. Tiberon’s expression gave nothing.

"He also tunes out his wife, to a degree the ancestors applaud. The ancestors have been watching this for over two decades and consider it the single greatest act of endurance in Drakenfell history. Including the wars."

Somewhere in the castle, Bellatrix sneezed. She didn’t know why. The ancestors did.

"Dexmon Drakenfell, Son of the Wise King. The Dragon King Incarnate, carved in his image. Master Commander of the Ironclave Army at fifteen and the Draken Forces at seventeen."

Serena knew he was impressive, but hearing it all laid out like that was something else entirely. The pure pride she felt for him in that moment, flooded into Dexmon through their matebond. His chest expanded half an inch.

"He was also grounded by his mother at seventeen. For something the ancestors will not repeat. His father remembers."

"Destined to be the greatest Dragon King in history. He almost marked his fated mate at three sacred ceremonies. The ancestors were present for all of them. They may or may not have been disappointed at the first and upped the difficulty at the two following."

Gavriel snorted, smart-ass comments loaded, but the ancestors kept going not giving him the chance.

"A thread broken to another, allowed his to awaken, to claim what the dragons and his wolf already knew. The Daughter of the Moon Goddess, known as the First Dragon Queen. A love so deep that the gods sealed it. Forged in fire, blessed by dragon, and endorsed by fate through every life since."

"In this life, he moved her things into his room then pretended he forgot about it. He didn’t tell her for days. He also filed paperwork giving her his name without a ceremony or her explicit knowledge. The ancestors would like to remind him that every woman wants a wedding, even if they say they don’t."

Serena turned beet red, staring at the fire. Hale gave Dex a knowing look, because he had done the exact same thing with Elara.

"The ancestors would also like to commend him on how quickly he moved. It almost makes up for the two weeks he didn’t claim her and let his Gamma almost do it."

Gav felt both pairs of apex eyes on him at that. He stared at the fire like it was the most interesting thing in the room. A popular strategy tonight.

"In this life, the inverse came to pass. When it was severed by dark magic not of his making, his soul refused to let go. The fated matebond broke on her side. Yet not on his."

The fire flared pink, then back to gold, the two colors warring against one another.

Every eye went to Serena.

"Serena Drakenfell. Heir of Frostborne. Danced with death thrice. Once at a war summit, once four moons past, and once more this evening."

Serena fought to roll her eyes. She’d danced with death so many times she’d lost count.

The ancestors paused, as if they heard her.

"The actual count is higher. She is correct. The ancestors chose thrice because it sounded nice."

Elara snorted, while Alaric exhaled through his nose. He’d been the one stitching her back together after many of those dances and his professional opinion was that the number was offensive.

Fin and Dex, meanwhile, looked up at her at the same time. Identical furrowed brows. Identical tight mouths. Identical refusal to acknowledge that they’d just had the same reaction at the same time. Again.

The voices continued.

"Incarnate and daughter of the Moon Goddess, carved in her image. A moon-blood, golden in manifestation. The sole living White Wolf. The Dragon Princess."

"In all past lives, she’s fallen to slave and risen to queen."

"Incarnate of the First Dragon Queen."

"Incarnate of the First Queen of Wolves."

Fin’s chin lifted. Dex’s chin lifted. They did it at the same time. Aeron looked at Hyran, who closed his eyes.

"Identified but not titled as Queen of Drakenfell."

"Identified but not titled as Queen of Shadowclaw."

Gav watched both alphas puff up like territorial birds and wondered if either of them realized they were doing it. They did not.

Serena didn’t react, forcing her expression neutral. Of course they would drop a bomb like that while both of the men who she was tearing herself from the inside out over were in the room. She would table all of that for tomorrow. A pile that was now structurally unsound and leaning dangerously to the left.

Her neck rash, however, was a whistleblower, blooming crimson and contradicting every ounce of composure she was projecting.

"She is currently pretending she did not hear this. The ancestors confirm: she heard it."

"It took her three days for fourteen Alpha Kings to kneel."

"Damn straight," Elara said behind Serena, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"The ancestors agree with Elara Ironholt. Her commentary has been noted and endorsed."

Serena actually rolled her eyes this time, shaking her head at the ridiculousness. Almost as ridiculous as danced with death thrice.

The ancestors did not care. In fact, they doubled down. Her disapproval was fuel.

"Already known as the most beautiful woman in Skardos. She walks among wolves and mages as a mortal, but is seen by the gods as one of their own."

Serena’s internal monologue was a running commentary of corrections. ’Most beautiful’ was subjective. And someone should have a conversation with these ancestors about oversharing.

"She disagrees with this. The ancestors overrule her. It is not a debate. It is a census."

She exhaled, now fully understanding. Clearly, the ancestors were like mages. They gossiped. They had been waiting centuries for an audience this good and had absolutely no intention of wrapping up.

"She is entirely unaware of the destruction she leaves behind her. Emotional, structural, and architectural. The library fireplace still hasn’t been put back to normal. The ancestors would like her to close it when she’s not using it so the hearth may still be used. They remind her that she is not the only person living in this castle."

Hyran’s head turned toward Serena with the slow precision of a man who had been waiting for this to be publicly acknowledged. His vindication was quiet and total.

Dex, meanwhile, looked at her with open affection. She was being roasted by the dead and her face was doing that thing where she was furious but couldn’t argue because she knew they were right.

The fire flared again, tone shifting. The room cooled instantly. When the voices returned, they were no longer entertained.

"Your Fae abilities were only able to awaken under very specific criteria, something the High Emperor of Orosia didn’t account for."