Chapter 25

Selene’s POV

I watched them from the balcony.

Silent.

Unseen.

Waiting.

Below me, in the grand entrance hall, Hannah clung to her mother like a child who had been lost for years.

Tears streamed down her face without restraint.

Her voice cracked.

Her shoulders shook.

And yet

She smiled.

That smile irritated me more than it should have.

My fingers tightened slightly around the cold metal railing.

So tight that the metal groaned faintly under the pressure.

“How touching.”

The words slipped from my lips, low and bitter.

Mother and daughter reunited.

Hope restored.

Faith rewarded.

Pathetic.

I leaned slightly forward, watching as Hannah helped the weak woman toward the inner halls.

Her steps were slow.

Careful.

Protective.

Like she was afraid the woman would break if she breathed too hard.

Elara Valen.

The fragile human who had caused all of this trouble.

If she had simply died in the human world…

None of this would have happened.

No ritual.

No girl.

No disruption.

No Hannah.

My jaw tightened at the thought.

“She should have stayed where she belonged.”

Dead.

Forgotten.

Gone.

But fate had other plans.

And now

I had a problem.

I turned away from the balcony slowly, stepping back into my chamber.

The doors closed behind me with a soft click.

The room instantly felt colder.

Darker.

More fitting.

The candles flickered as I passed.

Responding to my mood.

To my anger.

I moved toward the center of the room, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

Each step steady.

Measured.

Controlled.

But inside

Rage burned quietly.

Hannah had arrived like an accident.

A temporary inconvenience.

Nothing more.

At least…

That’s what I believed at first.

But now?

Now she was something else entirely.

A threat.

Not because she was strong.

Not yet.

But because of what she represented.

Change.

And I hated change.

Especially when it didn’t benefit me.

I reached the long wooden table at the far side of the room.

Rows of herbs and small glass bottles were arranged neatly across the surface.

Carefully sorted.

Carefully prepared.

Power always required preparation.

Patience.

Precision.

Something Hannah clearly lacked.

I picked up one of the bottles slowly, holding it up to the candlelight.

The liquid inside shimmered faintly.

Dark.

Heavy.

Lethal.

“She looks happy,” I murmured softly.

Almost thoughtfully.

And that…

That was unacceptable.

Happiness made people stronger.

Hope made them stubborn.

And stubborn people were harder to control.

My lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.

“If she loses her hope…”

I whispered.

“…she loses her strength.”

Simple logic.

Simple solution.

I placed the bottle back onto the table carefully.

Not yet.

Not today.

Because rushing this would be foolish.

And I was never foolish.

Instead, I began sorting through the herbs again.

One by one.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Foxglove.

Nightshade.

Silverroot.

Each one deadly when used correctly.

Each one harmless if used wrong.

Just like people.

My thoughts drifted back to the entrance hall.

To Hannah’s expression.

To the tears in her eyes.

She believed she had won.

She believed she had saved her mother.

She believed everything would be alright now.

That belief made me laugh softly under my breath.

Poor, naive girl.

She didn’t understand this world.

Didn’t understand power.

Didn’t understand sacrifice.

And most importantly

She didn’t understand me.

My fingers paused over a small bundle of herbs.

Dark green.

Sharp-smelling.

Rare.

Very rare.

A slow smile spread across my lips

“There you are.

I picked it up carefully.

Rolling the stems between my fingers.

Testing its strength.

Its dryness.

Its readiness.

Perfect.

This would not kill immediately.

No.

That would be too easy.

Too quick.

Too merciful.

Instead

It would weaken.

Slowly.

Quietly.

Without suspicion.

And when the time came…

The final blow would be simple.

Unavoidable.

Permanent.

I placed the herbs into a small silver bowl.

My movements calm.

Steady.

Practiced.

“Elara Valen…”

I whispered softly.

Your death will be the beginning.

Not the end.

Because once her mother died

Hannah would break.

Completely.

Irreversibly.

And broken people…

Made terrible queens.

My smile widened slightly.

Cold.

Satisfied.

Certain.

“She will fall apart,” I murmured.

“And when she does…”

I paused.

Letting the thought settle.

Letting the image form.

“…they will come back to me.”

Because in the end

They always did.