Chapter 11

SAPHRA'S POV

Sleep does not come gently.

It drags me under like I'm drowning.

I fall into it unwilling, body exhausted beyond resistance, mind still blazing with the image of Lucien on that bed— his grip, his heat, his eyes, the knife sliding toward me like an invitation I could not accept. The moment my eyes close, darkness does not stay empty.

It fills.

At first, it is only sound.

Laughter..... Music..... Clinking goblets.

The distant strum of harps and the rhythm of drums beating in celebration.

Then light bursts through the black.

Warm, golden, radiant light spilling across a vast hall.

I am no longer in my chamber.

I am somewhere else entirely.

A grand feast hall stretches before me. Arched ceilings carved with intricate reliefs, banners of deep blue, and silver hanging from towering pillars. Tables run the length of the room, laden with roasted meats, bowls of fruit, bread stacked high, and goblets brimming with wine that glows like liquid ruby beneath torchlight.

The air smells like honey, smoke, and fresh bread.

People laugh everywhere, nobles in fine garments, warriors in polished armour, servants weaving between tables with trays held high. Music pours from a raised dais where musicians play with unrestrained joy.

And at the centre of it all....A family.

My breath catches.

They sit upon an elevated table near the far end of the hall, positioned like living crowns above the revelry. A man and woman flank a young boy who cannot be more than ten years old.

Lucien.

Younger version of him.

His hair is softer, his face less carved by war, his expression open in a way I have never seen in him. He smiles freely, cheeks flushed with excitement as he leans toward his mother, whispering something that makes her laugh.

She is beautiful.

Not merely pretty but radiant.

Her hair falls in dark waves over her shoulders, her gown shimmering like starlight woven into fabric. Her hand rests gently on Lucien’s shoulder, protective and affectionate at once.

His father sits beside her. He is tall, broad-shouldered, kingly. His laughter is deep, his presence commanding without cruelty. He raises a goblet, and the entire hall erupts in cheers.

Joy radiates from them like warmth from a fire.

It is so overwhelming that my chest aches.

I try to move toward them but my body doesn’t obey. I am not standing in the hall.

I am inside Lucien.

I see through his eyes.

I feel through his body.

I taste sweetness on my tongue, wine mixed with honey. I feel the warmth of his mother’s hand on his shoulder, the comforting weight of his father’s presence beside him.

For a fleeting, fragile moment, there is only happiness.

Then the doors crash open.

The sound is thunderous. Wood splintering and iron hinges tearing free. A blast of cold night air sweeps into the hall, snuffing out torches in violent gusts. Laughter dies instantly, replaced by screams.

Warriors pour inside.

Wolves in human skin.

Their armour is dark. Their faces painted in ash. Blades gleam red in the flickering light.

And at their head, my father.

I see him clearly, as if he stands inches away. Tall, broad, powerful, his hair pulled back, his armour bearing our pack’s sigil.

But his eyes

They are wrong.

Pure black.

No warmth. No recognition.

They are voids, hollow pits of darkness that do not belong to him.

Panic floods me, not my panic, Lucien’s.

His heart hammers wildly beneath my ribs. His breath comes in short, frantic gasps. He freezes, unable to move, trapped between terror and disbelief.

His mother surges to her feet.

“Elara—” his father begins.

But she is already moving.

She pulls Lucien behind her body, spreading her arms wide as if she can shield him from the entire world. Her back straightens, her chin lifts, defiance blazing in her eyes even as fear trembles in them.

Chaos explodes.

Tables overturn. Glass shatters. Blood splashes across marble floors. A councillor is cut down before he can rise. Servants scatter screaming.

My father strides forward with his blade raised.

And Lucien watches.

Through his eyes, I watch.

His mother stands between him and the blade.

She does not beg.

She does not scream.

She meets my father’s gaze unflinching.

“Run,” she whispers over her shoulder.

Then steel pierces her chest.

The sound is sickening.

A wet, tearing strike that I feel like it is driven through my own body. Blood blossoms across her gown, dark and shimmering. Her breath leaves her in a shattered gasp.

She crumples.

Her hand slips from Lucien’s shoulder.

He screams.

The sound rips from his throat, raw and animal, shattering the air.

“ELARA!”

The name burns into me like fire.

Elara.

It sears through my consciousness, branding itself into my bones. I feel his agony as if it is my own—pure, blinding, and unbearable.

He lunges toward her body.

Arms wrap around her as she falls.

Her skin is still warm. Her blood is slick against his hands. Her eyes flutter once, then go glassy.

The world shatters.

Fire explodes through the hall. Torches topple. Flames lick up curtains and banners. Smoke chokes the air. Warriors howl in victory, their blades dripping with blood.

My father stands above them.

Blade red.

Eyes black.

And when he looks down at Lucien—at me, there is no recognition.

Only darkness.

The dream dissolves into blood and fire and screaming.

Faces blur into nothing.

The feast hall crumbles.

The world falls apart.

And then—

I wake.

I sit upright with a scream tearing from my throat, so loud it feels like it rips my lungs apart.

“Elara!”

The name bursts from me before I can stop it, ringing through the chamber, raw and terrified.

Sweat drenches my skin. My hair clings to my face and neck. The sheets twist around my legs like snakes as I gasp for air, chest heaving, heart pounding so violently I feel it in my ears.

The room is dark and silent.

My hands tremble as I clutch my chest, trying to steady my breathing, but the dream clings to me like a second skin. I can still feel her blood. Still hear Lucien’s scream. Still see my father’s eyes, those empty, black, unnatural eyes.

My door bursts open.

Light floods in.

Mara rushes inside, hair loose around her shoulders, face pale with alarm. She moves fast, skirts whispering across the floor, kneeling at my bedside without hesitation.

“Saphra...gods, Saphra, what happened?” she gasps. “I heard you screaming from the corridor.”

She reaches for me.

I flinch, then collapse against her instead, my body shaking so hard I can barely hold myself upright. Her arms wrap around me, warm and steady, pulling me close.

“I’m here,” she murmurs, voice low and soothing. “You’re safe. You’re in your room. You’re safe.”

But I am not safe.

Not inside my own mind.

The dream hammers through me again and again. My father’s face twisted by something dark I do not understand.

“Elara,” I whisper hoarsely, clinging to Mara’s sleeve.

She stiffens.

“Who?” she asks softly.

I shake my head, tears blurring my vision. “I...I don’t know. I don’t know how I know it.”

My breath catches, breaking into ragged sobs I can’t control. “I saw her die. I felt it. I was... I was him.”

Mara’s grip tightens.

Her brow furrows, confusion and concern warring across her face. “Saphra, you were dreaming. Just a nightmare.”

A shudder racks my body.

Questions spiral through my mind, multiplying with every breath.

Why did I see this?

Why through Lucien’s eyes?

Why did my father look like that? Like he was possessed, hollow, and not himself?

And why do I know the name Elara as if it belongs to someone I loved?

Mara holds me as I shake, offering warmth when my thoughts offer none. She whispers reassurances I barely hear, smoothing my hair, rocking me gently as if I am the child now.

Eventually, my sobs fade into trembling breaths.

But clarity does not return.

Only dread.

Because I know, deep in my bones, that this was not just a nightmare. It was a memory that does not belong to me.

A truth I was never meant to see.

And somewhere in this palace, Lucien sleeps carrying the same scar I just bled through.

I clutch Mara’s hand in the darkness and stare at the far wall, eyes wide and heart aching.

Something impossible has bound us.

And whatever shadows moved through my father that night...

I must find out what it is.​