THE DAUGHTER OF VALERION

Steel clashed against steel as blades met under the blood moon. Sparks burst from the impact, illuminating the darkened courtyard of Blackthorne Keep. Shadows danced across the ancient stone as Princess Azrael twisted, parried, and struck—each movement a precise answer to the fury of her opponent.

Raphael lunged again, his silver hair whipping through the air like a streak of lightning. Azrael ducked, narrowly avoiding the edge of his blade as it sliced through a strand of her blonde hair.

She moved like a shadow incarnate, each step a silent echo of lethal purpose.

This was the night of the Eclipsed Moon Trials.

And she would not lose.

Dressed in a black battle suit, her golden eyes burned with focus. Her breath came steady despite the pain in her arms, despite the bruises already blooming across her ribs. She knew the court watched from the sidelines, cloaked in silence, judging her every move.

Raphael circled her with a predator’s grin. “You’re holding back.”

“So are you,” Azrael replied, wiping blood from her lip.

They vanished and reappeared in flashes of speed. Each strike cracked the stone beneath them, shockwaves rippling outward like thunder.

Raphael fought with ruthless discipline—every move honed and mechanical. Azrael, in contrast, danced around him with unpredictable grace, her strikes cutting at angles he couldn’t anticipate.

But he was stronger.

His attacks came faster, heavier. She blocked, deflected, spun away, but the sheer force behind each blow sent her staggering. Her arms screamed in protest.

Then, an opening.

Raphael overextended. Just a breath too long. Azrael seized the moment, twisted her blade, and drove her knee into his gut.

He grunted, stumbling back, his smirk wiped clean.

Immediately taking the chance, Azrael vanished and in the blink of an eye, reappeared behind him, her sword flashing forward toward his shoulder.

But Raphael was ready.

He spun and slammed a fist into her stomach.

The air whooshed from her lungs as she was thrown back, crashing into the courtyard stone.

Gasps rang out across the nobility.

Raphael stepped forward, his blade glinting under crimson light. “Stay down, sister. Father already favors me. Surrender and perhaps I’ll show mercy.”

Azrael pressed her fingers into the shattered stone and forced herself upright. Blood smeared across her mouth, her golden eyes aflame.

“I am Azrael Blackthorne,” she said through gritted teeth. “And I do not yield.”

Azrael backed away until she disappeared into the shadows surrounding the courtyard. Raphael spun, his golden eyes darting around trying to find her but before he could even breathe she reappeared behind him, her blade at his throat.

Everyone went still.

The courtyard was silent as a graveyard. The gathered nobles stared in disbelief.

Azrael stood tall, sword steady at her twin brother’s neck.

She won.

Raphael panted, then let out a short, dry chuckle. “Hmph. Well played.”

Azrael’s fingers tightened on her sword. But before she could speak, the sound of clapping echoed across the courtyard.

Her father.

Valerion, the Vampire King, remained seated on his dark throne. His wine-red eyes locked onto them, his expression unreadable.

“Finally,” he said with a smooth and calm voice. “On your tenth duel, you have managed a single victory.”

The words sliced deeper than any blade.

Azrael clenched her jaw.

She had bled for this. Trained relentlessly for this. And yet all he saw was just one win out of ten.

Valerion leaned back on his throne. “You’re improving. But consistency defines strength, not a fleeting moment of triumph.”

Raphael wiped blood from his chin and stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Father’s right, sister. One victory hardly tips the scales. You’ll never be my equal.”

Azrael swallowed her rage. She couldn’t lose control, not now.

Valerion’s gaze swept over them both, cold and final. Then he stood.

The trial was over.

The nobles dispersed in a flurry of murmurs. Some offered Azrael brief glances of surprise, but none looked at her as the heir. Not yet.

She turned on her heel and strode out of the courtyard, fists clenched at her sides.

She had won, and still… it meant nothing.

Azrael’s boots echoed sharply against the stone corridors. She stormed down the halls, tension radiating off her like a storm cloud.

A familiar voice called out. “Azrael!”

She didn’t stop. “Not now, Eva.”

Eva quickened her pace, catching up with her. “Oh no you don’t. Not when you just beat that insufferable brother of yours.”

Azrael scoffed. “Did I? My Father didn’t seem to think so.”

Eva studied her, then smiled. “You were incredible, Azrael. They all saw it. He saw it. Even if he refuses to say it.”

Azrael exhaled sharply as they entered her chambers. The moment the doors shut, she turned, her expression darkened.

“It’s not enough.” She yanked off her gloves, tossing them aside. “I need more than a single victory. I need to prove that I am more fit to rule than Raphael. I need to show the court that I am not some—” She waved a hand in frustration. “—decorative princess to be auctioned off to the highest noble.”

Eva folded her arms. “The suitors again?”

Azrael shot her a look. “They circle like vultures. It’s only a matter of time before my father makes me marry one of them.”

Eva’s lips curved in amusement. “Those poor idiots. They have no idea who they’re dealing with.”

Azrael allowed a small smirk before it faded. “That’s precisely the problem, Eva. They think I’m just another noble daughter to be wed and bred for power.” Her golden eyes burned. “I want more. I deserve more.”

Eva stepped closer, her voice softer. “And you’ll have it. I believe in you, Azrael.”

Azrael’s expression wavered for just a second. Then, a small breath of a laugh. “What would I ever do without you?”

Before Eva could answer, a sharp knock echoed at the door.

Both women turned as a courier entered, bowing deeply.

“Your Highness. Mistress Eva. The King has called a war council.”

—

The war council chamber buzzed with restless whispers. Lords and generals shifted in their seats, the tension thick as fog.

Azrael took her place at the long stone table, opposite Raphael. Valerion sat at the head, his presence commanding absolute silence.

A messenger stepped forward, pale and shaken. “A massacre, my King. At the borderlands.”

Murmurs rippled through the court.

The messenger continued, his voice grave. “A noble family hosted a ball last night. There were dozens of esteemed guests in attendance. At dawn, their estate was found in ruin.”

The air grew cold.

“They were slaughtered.” His voice trembled. “Bodies torn to shreds. Limbs ripped apart. Blood painted across the walls like a savage display.”

A sharp inhale from one of the lords. Another noble covered his mouth, looking sick.

The description alone was enough to curdle blood.

A grave silence fell before Lord Cassius spoke, his voice grim. “Only one explanation fits.”

Another lord nodded. “Lycans.”

More voices joined in agreement, each more convinced than the last.

Azrael’s hands curled into fists. The hatred was instant and instinctual.

Lycans. Beasts. Monsters.

She lifted her chin. “I will handle this matter personally.”

The chamber fell into stunned silence.

Then, Raphael chuckled. “Brave words, sister. But this is no simple task. Father will want someone wh—"

“I wasn't speaking to you.” Azrael’s voice cut cleanly through the room. Her golden eyes turned to Valerion. “Father. Send me. I will uncover the truth and deal with the threat accordingly.”

Valerion studied her for a long moment. The room held its breath

Finally, he inclined his head. “Very well. You may go.”

Azrael's heart nearly jumped for joy but his next words landed like a blade against her spine.

“Do not disappoint me.”

Azrael bowed her head. “I won’t.”

Then, without another word, she turned and left the chamber

As the doors shut behind her, she exhaled slowly.

This was her chance.

A mission. A real mission. A chance to prove herself, not just to her father but to all of them.

And if the lycans were responsible… she would make them bleed for it.