The grand hall of the citadel was chillier than Emereah remembered. Darkness clung to the corners like ink and crawled toward the raised throne where Vladimir sat, his expression unmoved beneath a crown heavy with black vows.The instant Emereah appeared, the bracelets were gone, but the energy of power now coursed through her like wildfire—unbridled, unchained. Her every breath sparked with magic, a storm restrained.Vladimir stood up, his grin twisting into a malevolent curve."Ah, well," he said softly, his voice as soft as silk around a knife. "The little ember dares to be a roar."Emereah's eyes blazed. "I am no ember. I am the wildfire you tried to smother."He laughed, a chill, soulless sound. "And here you are, still alive. Still wearing my brand."Emereah's hands trembled—not with fear, but with the burning desire for justice. "Your mark? You speak of this?"She curled her fingers, and the air resonated, bits of light spinning like broken stars around her hands."The cuff-lin
Helena's silence dragged out long and heavy, its weight bearing down on the stone walls of the chamber like a condemnation. Her lips parted ever so slightly, but it took her a moment for the words to emerge—when they did, they were as heavy as centuries."I never asked for your thanks," she said finally, her voice low. "Only your survival."Survival?" Laughter, bitter and furrowed. "Survival?" "I've been wiped out." A puppet stretched on silks and lies, and a tiara of a name that was never mine. Tell me, Helena, is that mercy?" The fragment of the scroll in her trembling fingers quivered like cut wings.This—this spell? This curse that's consumed my memories, broken my mind, trapped my soul? You saw when they applied these shackles to me. When they removed my name from history."Helena drew closer, her aged face creased in sorrow, not horror."I stood watch the night Altheya bled upon the altar for your protection," she panted. "I was there when your mother sealed your magic into you
The moon hung heavy and full, its silver veins carved on the stone floors of the east wing. All thought that the archives were shut for the evening. Guard shifts had rotated. Doors were closed. Eyes were averted.But Emereah had learned to listen to silence in another way now.It wasn't absence—it was invitation.Her feet hurried, silent on the marble, the dark cloak she wore rippling like a second shadow. The further down she went, the colder and more thick the air was, not merely cold but… alive. As if the very walls breathed in drawn breath.When she arrived at the locked iron door to the off-limits archives, she hesitated.The bracelets on her wrists flared once more. Warm. Pressing.She placed her hand against the seal.And it opened.No key. No spell. Just recognition.The door creaked, groaned as if not opened in years, and she slipped inside, breath held.The scent of age first hit her—old parchment, dripping wax, dust with something. older. The room went on forever, shelves s
The eastern wing no longer spoke secrets—it bellowed them through stone and glass and memory.Emereah stood frozen before the massive glass doors, where the morning sun cut through like a blade. Her fingertips rested at the edges of the silver ringed bracelets on her wrists—those accursed lunar cuffs. Today, they pulsed—not as wildly as before, but enough to betray the war brewing beneath her skin.They were waking.And so did she.Not in flames of fire. Not with fists or rage. But with something more subtle. Deadlier.It was in the quiet of her fingers when she spoke to the guards.In the lack of stuttering in her voice when she gave an order.And when a servant quailed at her passing, she didn't draw back.She smiled.Not to comfort. Not to threaten.But because she no longer dreaded what she was becoming.She was Luna.And it was time the whole court understood what that was.The council chamber was slow to assemble—no invitation had been sent out.That was deliberate.She wanted t
The door was not even closed yet.Alexandria's heels still shook the floor like the phantom rumblings of thunder, but Emereah stayed rigid in her posture. Not due to the stinging on her cheek, or Vladimir's hot, blazing breath down her back, but because something inside her had burst.The slap had struck more than flesh.It tore something asunder.And now—it bled.Her hand trembled where it gripped his tunic. She could sense Vladimir's pulse beneath her fingers—strong, safe, possessive. But that pulse no longer held her in thrall.It taunted her.For it no longer matched the pulse within her breast."I. I must sit," she grated out, her voice husky."You're shaken," Vladimir stated, escorting her over to the bench situated at the base of the bleeding-heart trees. "She had no right.""No." she whispered, unfocused eyes. "But she had truth."He wincing."What do you mean?"A flash and Emereah's lips opened, but no words emerged. A river. A scream. Her name—not Emereah. Another name. But
The fire now had a name.Emereah.It was not only in her eyes, or in the touch of her hands, or in the whisper of Vladimir's name like a prayer gone sour—it was present in the very air she surrounded herself with. A slow-consuming, unstoppable blaze that consumed everyone too close to her into dust.And Vladimir?He was already ablaze.He sat in the window of the eastern wing at dawn, the sky still bruised from night, gazing over her sleeping form on the divan. She had insisted on remaining near him, refused to let him sleep in his own rooms, had cried when he'd even spoken of it.And there she was now.Serene. Beautiful. Deadly.Her lips curled once in sleep, and she murmured something—his name, maybe. Or a threat. With her nowadays, there was no difference.Helena slipped in behind him, holding a creased report."She broke Mireille's arm," she breathed."I know.""She threatened another noble's mate in the corridor. We had to postpone the afternoon audience.""I know."Helena stood
The great hall of the Red Crescent Moon Pack hummed with tension. Guards stood against the stone walls, nobles spoke in hushed tones behind velvet sleeves, and advisors kept looking toward the high throne where Vladimir sat by himself.By himself, for Emereah was late again."She's developing unpredictability," one of the elders whispered."She's developing danger," another growled.The doors groaned open before anyone could comment.Emereah strode in, barefoot, her long dark red robe flowing behind her like spilled blood. Her eyes raked the room—not with innocence or poise, but with the ravenous, unbalanced desire of a wolf unfed for days.She spied Vladimir.And smiled. "There you are," she chimed in saccharine sweetness, as if she hadn't just left an hour before. "Missed you?"Vladimir rose to his feet. "Emereah, this is a council session—""Council?" she repeated. Her eyes drifted to the nobles in the ring below. "They are still trying to keep you apart from me, are not they?""Em
"Touch what is mine, not." Emereah's voice was cracked like lightning. Bare slaps resounded as she barefooted it across the marble, but she appeared to be volcanic, she was so immovable. "You do not lay hands on what is mine."Gossips spread like fire consuming dry ground."Your Lady Emereah—" the Beta began."I am Luna," she mocked him, her eyes iced with fire-like frost. "Say my title correctly, or farewell to tongue."The Beta bowed forthwith, droplets of perspiration at temples. "Yes, Luna."Vladimir had had his fill at last.He stood, deep, commanding voice. "Emereah. With me. At once."Her eyes stabbed him. The fire faded—but lingered. "Why? To protect her?""Now."Her jaw was clenched. And then, like a sulky mollified child who scorned anything but a precious toy, she walked to his side and curled her fingers around his. She clung like ivy—slow, elegant, stifling.They moved silently through the castle corridors until the doors to their own room softly creaked shut behind them.
"Did she attempt to persuade you to leave?""Yes."She spun around."And what did you reply?""I said I won't.""Did you enjoy your little conversation?" she asked gently."Emereah—"She spun about, anger dancing in her eyes. "Don't say my name like that. Like a child having a tantrum. Like I had no idea what was happening."He hesitated. "Nothing is happening."She laughed with acid venom. "Liar.""Emereah—""Liar!" she yelled, and the mirror she stood before vibrated, the glass groaning across its image like a wound.Vladimir's wolf stiffened.Her magic had never been so strong before. Not even in combat.She moved towards him warily, shaking with rage. "And what is Helena to you, Vladimir?" Her voice was husky, deadly. "Once, you had Alexandria. Your beautiful Alexandria. The one you locked up in your dungeon but cherished in your heart.""That's not true—""And now it's Helena. Helena with her whispers. Her history. Her devotion. You let her speak to you as if I didn't exist!""He