Mira rode hard through the night, the cold wind biting at her cheeks as the gates of Dark Vale came into view. She dismounted, her boots silent against the frost-hardened ground, and strode through the courtyard toward the inner hall. Torches flickered along the walls, casting long shadows that seemed to lean toward her as she passed.Zarek stood at the center of the hall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as always. “Mira,” he said, voice low. “What brings you here at this hour?”She didn’t waste time on greetings. “Lucien took her in,” she said, her voice tight with urgency. “Evelyn. He’s harboring her in his keep.”Zarek’s eyes narrowed, a shadow crossing his features. “And why is that my concern?”Mira stepped closer, leaning in slightly, her amber eyes locked on his. “Because she was exiled from Dark Vale for a reason. You know it. And now she’s with Lucien. What if she… what if she undermines everything we’ve built?”He tilted his head, letting the silence stretch. “She’s
“But you did ask the maids to call Evelyn, I heard,” Mira said.Her voice cut cleanly through the quiet of the breakfast hall. She stood in the doorway, framed by the muted spill of daylight from the corridor behind her, auburn hair caught in a loose fall that made her look far less composed than usual—and yet, she carried herself with the same poised precision, every movement measured.Lucien’s hand stilled over his bread. For a moment, his gaze dropped to the table, the way a man might lower his eyes before a coming storm, though his voice, when it came, was as calm as ever.“Mira,” he said, not looking up. “Would you be jealous of Evelyn again? She is just a visitor we should care for.”She crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, her heels tapping softly against the stone floor. The servants in the hall seemed to sense the tightening air and busied themselves elsewhere, retreating with trays and baskets until the only sound was the faint hiss of the hearth fire.“I hope she w
Lucien stood frozen for a moment longer, eyes locked on the empty doorway as if Mira might suddenly reappear. The faint echo of her heels on stone had already faded, replaced by the low hum of the lamp and the distant rustle of wind against the keep’s outer walls. His fingers flexed once at his side before he pulled the shirt over his head, smoothing it down with the precision of a man trying to erase the evidence of something he wasn’t yet ready to name.Outside, the corridor stretched quiet and still. Mira’s steps carried her swiftly away, her posture a blade of control slicing through the uncertainty gnawing at her. She didn’t allow herself to glance back—not toward Lucien’s door, not toward the corner where she’d first seen Evelyn standing like a thief caught in the lanternlight.Her own chamber sat at the far end of the east wing. By the time she reached it, the fire in her muscles had eased, but the coil of suspicion in her chest remained tight. She pushed the door open, steppin
Evelyn froze for a heartbeat, her pulse still racing from the encounter in Lucien’s office. The cool night air brushed against her skin, the torn nightgown hastily pulled back on, its thin fabric doing little to hide the flush on her cheeks or the disarray of her hair. Mira stood at the end of the hall, her sharp eyes narrowing as they swept over Evelyn, missing nothing. The Luna’s presence was commanding, her dark auburn hair catching the faint moonlight filtering through the keep’s narrow windows, her posture rigid with suspicion.“Where are you coming from?” Mira asked, her voice low but laced with an edge that could cut stone. Her gaze flicked past Evelyn, toward the closed door of Lucien’s office, and her lips tightened.Evelyn smoothed her expression into one of practiced innocence, her mind racing for a lie that would hold under Mira’s scrutiny. She tilted her head slightly, letting her dark hair fall in a way that obscured the faint red mark Lucien’s mouth had left on her thro
The Silvermist kept silent under the weight of midnight, the only sounds the occasional crackle of a dying fire and the distant howl of a lone wolf. Evelyn couldn’t sleep. The furs on her bed were warm, but the cold in her bones wasn’t from the air.The garden was a gamble. Lucien had mentioned it in passing earlier, his voice low as he described the quiet place where he went to think. If he was there, she could use it. If he wasn’t, she’d learn the layout of his territory under moonlight. Either way, she’d win something.The air outside was crisp, the mist curling like ghostly fingers around the roses and ivy. The garden was tucked behind the keep, a maze of stone paths and thorny blooms, silvered by the moon. She found him there, as she’d hoped—leaning against a low wall, his silhouette sharp against the night. His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, as if he’d been pacing for hours. “Lucien,” she said softly, stepping into the light. Her voice was a calcula
The world was nothing but rushing wind and darkness.Then—impact.Pain shot through Evelyn’s ribs as she slammed into something cold, unyielding. Water swallowed her a heartbeat later, its icy grip dragging her under. She kicked, thrashed, lungs burning until her head broke the surface. She coughed violently, the storm above spitting rain into her face.The river carried her, relentless. She clawed at jagged rocks, finally dragging herself onto a narrow strip of mud. She lay there for minutes, trembling, her breath sawing in and out. Her body screamed in pain, but she was alive.Eron thought he’d killed her. Good. Let him believe it.When her strength returned, she staggered into the woods, barefoot, soaked to the bone. The cold gnawed at her skin, but worse was the emptiness in her chest. She’d been exiled. Stripped of whatever power she’d scraped together. Selene had made sure of that.She didn’t know how long she walked before the scent hit her—sharp, metallic. Rogues.A low growl