Chapter 28

"You're going where?"

Luna stared at Aria like she'd suggested swimming with sharks. Which, given the circumstances, wasn't far off.

"The restricted archives. Morgana's spirit told me there's a book—white leather binding. Something Knox's family has been hiding."

"Morgana told you. The dead witch who's living inside your wolf told you to break into a restricted section of the royal archives in the middle of the night."

"When you say it like that, it sounds crazy."

"It is crazy."

"Are you coming or not?"

Luna grabbed her cloak. "Obviously I'm coming. Someone needs to keep you alive."

They slipped out of Aria's room at midnight. The castle was quiet—guards rotated at predictable intervals, and Blake had given Aria the patrol schedule weeks ago. She'd memorized it. Thirty seconds between the east corridor guard turning the corner and the west corridor guard appearing. That was their window.

"Left here," Aria whispered. "Then down the stairs. The archives are in the basement level, behind the council chambers."

"How do you know this?"

"Blake showed me the castle maps. I've been studying the layout since week two."

Luna shook her head. "And here I thought you were just reading romance novels in your spare time."

They descended a narrow staircase, the stone walls growing colder with each step. The basement level smelled like dust and old paper and something else—something metallic, like the air before a storm.

Magic. The archives were warded.

Aria stopped at a heavy wooden door. Iron bands crossed its surface, and a faint shimmer covered it like heat rising off pavement.

"Warded," Luna whispered. "How do we get through?"

Aria placed her palm flat against the door. Her wolf surged forward—not to shift, but to push. Silver light flickered beneath her skin, traveling from her chest down her arm and into her hand.

The ward shivered. Then dissolved. Like ice meeting fire.

Luna's eyes went wide. "Since when can you do that?"

"Since about three seconds ago." Aria stared at her own hand. "The First Luna's power. It's growing."

"That's both amazing and terrifying."

"Welcome to my life."

They pushed through the door. The restricted archives were vast—rows and rows of shelves stretching into darkness. Books, scrolls, bound journals, loose manuscripts. Centuries of knowledge, locked away from public eyes.

The air was thick with the smell of old paper and candle wax. Dust motes floated in the faint light of enchanted wall sconces that glowed blue-white, casting everything in a ghostly pallor.

"White leather binding," Aria murmured. "It could be anywhere."

"Then we split up. I'll take the left side, you take the right."

"Luna, if someone comes—"

"I'll howl. Now go."

They separated. Aria moved through the shelves, her fingers trailing along spines. Black leather. Brown leather. Red cloth. Green canvas. Book after book, none of them white.

She passed sections labeled in faded ink: Royal Decrees, 1400-1500. Witch Trials, Northern Territories. Bloodline Records. Curse Studies.

Curse Studies. She paused and scanned the shelf. Dozens of volumes, most dealing with minor hexes and pack-level curses. Nothing about the royal curse specifically. But the shelf had gaps—spaces where books had been removed. Someone had culled this section.

Knox. Or his ancestors. Cleaning up evidence, generation after generation.

Her wolf guided her. Not with words this time, but with feeling—a pull, like a string attached to her sternum, drawing her deeper into the archives. Past the main collections, past the historical records, into a back section where the shelves were older and the dust was thicker.

There. On a bottom shelf, pushed behind a stack of loose papers like someone had deliberately hidden it.

A book bound in white leather.

Aria pulled it free. It was small—barely larger than her two hands. The leather was soft, almost warm to the touch. No title on the cover. No markings at all.

She opened it.

The pages were filled with handwriting. Elegant, flowing script in an ink that had barely faded despite what had to be centuries of age. The language was old but readable—an older form of the common tongue.

She scanned the first page.

"I write this in my own blood, so that the truth cannot be altered or erased. I am Morgana Ravencrest, and what I created was never meant to be a curse."

Aria's hands trembled.

Morgana's journal. Written in her own blood. The actual truth, in the witch's own words.

She flipped through the pages quickly. Names jumped out. Dates. Descriptions of spells and rituals. And one name, repeated over and over in increasingly desperate handwriting.

Aldric Knox.

The man who corrupted her spell. The man who turned protection into destruction. The ancestor of the Royal Beta currently sleeping in a room above Aria's head.

"Aldric did not love me," one passage read. "He loved what I could give him. Power. Access. When I tried to protect the royal twins, he saw opportunity. He waited until I was dying—until my magic was at its weakest—and he twisted my spell. Changed the words. Reversed the intent. What should have guaranteed true love for every generation of twins became a trap that ensured their suffering."

Another passage, further in: "I write this for the one who will come after me. The daughter of my blood who will feel the pull of two kings and know the weight of an impossible choice. She must know: the curse can be broken without death. Aldric hid the true method because it would destroy his family's power. The answer is in the blood bond itself. Not sacrifice. Transformation."

Transformation. Not sacrifice. Transformation.

Aria's heart was pounding so hard she could hear it echoing off the stone walls.

"Aria!" Luna's voice, sharp and urgent, cut through the dark. "Someone's coming!"

Footsteps. Above them. Moving toward the stairs.

Aria shoved the journal into her cloak and ran. She found Luna at the archive entrance, her face pale in the dim light.

"The guard rotation changed," Luna hissed. "There's someone in the corridor above us."

"The ward—I need to put it back."

Aria pressed her palm to the door. Silver light flared. The ward re-formed, settling over the wood like a veil. It wasn't perfect—any powerful witch would notice the difference—but it would hold against a casual inspection.

They ran up the stairs, paused at the landing, and listened.

Footsteps passed overhead. Moving away. They waited ten heartbeats, then slipped through the basement door and into the servants' corridor.

They didn't breathe normally until they were back in Aria's room with the door locked.

Luna collapsed on the bed. "That was the most terrifying thing I've ever done."

Aria pulled the journal from her cloak and held it up. Her hands were still shaking, but her voice was steady.

"Morgana's journal. Written in her own blood. She says the curse can be broken without death."

Luna sat up. "What?"

"She calls it transformation. Not sacrifice. The answer is in the blood bond itself." Aria clutched the book to her chest. "Luna, this changes everything."

"How?"

"I don't know yet. I need to read the whole thing. I need to understand what she meant by transformation." Aria was pacing, her mind racing faster than her feet. "But if there's a way to break the curse that doesn't involve me dying—or losing my soul forever—"

"Then Knox has been hiding the truth for three hundred years."

"Exactly. His family buried this journal. They kept the real solution secret because breaking the curse properly would destroy their power base."

Luna stared at her. "Aria. This is it. This is the answer."

"Maybe. I hope so." She sat on the bed, the journal heavy in her hands. "I need time to read it. And I need to keep it hidden. If Knox finds out I have this—"

"He won't. We'll protect it." Luna's eyes were fierce. "Read it tonight. And tomorrow, we plan."

Aria nodded. She opened the journal and started from the beginning.

Outside, rain hammered the castle walls. Thunder rolled across the sky like drums of war.

And in the restricted archives, on the bottom shelf where a white leather book had sat for three centuries, a gap waited.

It wouldn't take long for someone to notice it was gone.