GRANDMOTHER IS NOT PURE

MAYA

All through the night, I had my mind on Grandmother.

I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned on my bed, staring up at the dark, cracked ceiling. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her standing near the dining table, her milky eyes fixed on the portrait of Princess Philomena, her lips moving in that silent, terrifying chant.

What does she know about me? And also, how was it possible for her to stop the effect of the picture?

She was supposed to be a simple herbalist from a rural village, an old woman dragged into the palace just because her desperate granddaughter needed college money. But a common herbalist couldn't neutralize ancestral magic. She had pushed back against the full weight of a Princess’s soul, shielding Clara from my curse with a single silent prayer.

Thinking about it made me remember the book.

My heart thumped against my ribs as I sat up in the dark. Underneath the loose floorboard at the edge of my small room lay the ancient, leather-bound grimoire I had recovered from Mr. Orlando. It was the sacred spellbook of Princess Philomena, containing forgotten runic scripts, ancient curses, and dark truths about our bloodline.

I had stopped using it for some time now.

Ever since I noticed how heavy the dark energy felt in my chest every time I turned its yellowed pages, I had hidden it away. It felt too dangerous, too unpredictable. But now, my back was pressed against the wall. Grandmother was actively blocking my magic, Clara was in Edward's private suite, and Maria was spinning her web closer around my mate's throat.

The book also affects Maria, but I was determined to read it and find out what Grandmother knows and how to stop her from letting them know that I am Philomena.

If Grandmother truly recognized my soul, it was only a matter of time before she spoke the truth out loud. If Maria found out that the maid sweeping her floors was actually the reincarnated Princess Philomena returned from the grave, she wouldn't just try to humiliate me—she would order her executioners to burn me to ash.

I crept across the cold wooden floor, my bare feet silent against the planks. I reached into the narrow gap beneath the loose board and pulled out the heavy book. The dark leather felt icy cold against my warm fingers, vibrating with a low, subtle hum that made the tiny hairs on my arms stand up.

I carried it over to my bedside table, striking a match to light a small candle.

I sat down, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and reached out to unbuckle the brass clasp holding the ancient pages shut.

The moment I opened the book, I heard Grandmother and Maria screaming!

The sharp, blood-curdling shrieks tore through the silent night, echoing down the high stone corridors like the cries of souls trapped in eternal fire!

I gasped, dropping my hands from the open pages, and rushed to the small window that looked out over the internal courtyard toward the upper suites.

I looked and saw them with their hands on their heads!

Through the lighted glass windows of the grand hall, Maria was on her knees, clutching her skull so hard her dark hair fell wildly over her face, weeping and writhing on the cold marble floor. A few doors down, in the guest chamber, Grandmother was doubled over her bedside table, her hands pressed tightly over her temples as her body shook with violent, uncontrollable agony!

"AARGH! My brain! It's burning!" Maria's muffled screams carried through the open night air, raw and breathless. "Make it stop! Someone make the fire in my head stop!"

In her room, Grandmother groaned loudly, collapsing onto the floor, her face twisted in pure, agonizing torture as if an invisible vice was crushing her forehead from the inside out.

I stood by my window, my hands gripping the wooden frame, my mouth slightly open as I watched the chaos unfold. Clara was running back and forth in panic, crying for her grandmother, while the guards outside Maria's room banged on the doors, completely helpless.

I looked back at the bedside table where the ancient book lay open under the flickering candlelight. The strange, dark runes etched on the parchment were glowing with a faint, crimson light, radiating a powerful aura that filled my entire room.

Now it makes sense.

A heavy, sudden clarity washed over my mind, making my heart freeze in my chest.

The book affects those with soiled hands or will I say, with some diabolic powers!

It wasn't just a simple book of spells; it was a spiritual mirror! It acted as a divine purge against dark, corrupt magic. Pure, untainted souls felt nothing when the book was opened, but anyone carrying dark magic, diabolic spells, or blood-stained intentions in their heart was instantly struck with excruciating pain the second its sacred pages met the air!

Maria was filled with dark malice, greed, and wicked schemes, which was why the book tortured her brain. And Grandmother... Grandmother wasn't just a harmless elder protecting her family. She carried ancient, forbidden ancestral magic in her veins—diabolic powers she had used to alter fates, block curses, and shield evil!

A slow, cold smile spread across my face as I walked back to the table, looking down at the glowing red runes.

I didn't need to fear Grandmother's secrets anymore. Her own power was her ultimate weakness. As long as I held Princess Philomena's grimoire in my hands, her diabolic magic would burn her from the inside out every single time she tried to raise it against me.

I reached out, my fingers lightly tracing the ancient words on the page, feeling the immense, unstoppable power of my true heritage pulsing beneath my skin.

"Let the war begin," I whispered into the quiet darkness.