Chapter 13: Delphine

I didn’t mean to fall asleep.

One minute, I was sketching a new containment glyph on the edge of the anchor map. The next, my head tilted against the stone table, and the world shifted—softly, then sharply, like the floor dropped out from beneath me.

I wasn’t in the annex anymore.

I stood in a long hallway bathed in golden light—too warm, too vivid. The stone was unmarred. The air smelled of sage and blood-roses. Every flickering lantern glowed with steady flame, and laughter echoed from nearby rooms.

Castle Thorne—but not as I knew it.

This was the castle as it had been. Before the wards cracked. Before the magic soured. Before something ancient and hungry rooted itself beneath its bones.

I wore different clothes—soft black velvet and silver thread, too fine for work. My hands were bare. My magic thrummed just beneath my skin, vibrant and steady, as if the castle recognized me not just as a guest—but as its own.

I walked.

I didn’t tell my legs to move. They just did, down corridors that should’ve been sealed, through doors that had long since rusted shut.

I descended familiar stairs, deeper and deeper into the earth.

And I knew—without question—that I was headed for the vault.

Even in the dream, I felt it: that wrongness wrapped in magic, the echo of something sealed so tightly it had forgotten how to scream.

The door was already open.

The sigil on the floor—my family’s mark—glowed with moonlight, overlaid with the ancient royal glyph of the vampire court.

And standing in the center of it all, waiting, was a woman.

She wore my face.

Not exactly. Her hair was longer. Her frame finer. She stood straighter, as if carrying something heavier than pride. But the eyes—storm grey, defiant—were mine.

Or maybe I was hers.

“You’re early,” she said softly.

I didn’t speak.

She smiled faintly. “That makes sense. The seal is fraying. The dreams always come sooner when it’s close.”

I tried to ask her name, but my throat wouldn’t open.

She stepped toward me. “It’s all right. You don’t have to speak. You’re here to remember.”

Behind her, the mirror shimmered. Not like it had in the West Tower—this one pulsed like a wound. Blood glistened beneath its surface. Shadows danced behind the glass.

“The castle isn’t cursed,” she said gently. “It’s bound. And it’s starving.”

She walked around me, slow, graceful, echoing steps. “They asked me to seal it. They didn’t tell me what the seal would cost. Or who I’d have to leave behind.”

I turned.

Theron stood at the threshold of the vault.

Not the man I knew. Younger. Softer, somehow. Not in appearance—but in how he looked at her.

Like she was everything.

Like he’d already lost her.

“You’re not ready yet,” she said, cupping my cheek. “But you will be. And when the seal breaks—choose differently than I did.”

I blinked.

She was gone.

So was the vault.

So was the light.

Darkness poured in, thick and choking, and from the mirror—now alone in the chamber—something moved.

A voice whispered.

You returned.

And then I woke, gasping, drenched in sweat.

The annex was dark, candles burned to stubs. My glyphs were scattered. The map was gone.

No—not gone.

It had rewritten itself.

There were two names scrawled in bloodred ink across the central seal sigil now. One I didn’t recognize.

And one I did.

Delphine Ashwood.

-

I didn’t knock.

I pushed open the tower door with more force than necessary, the hinges protesting as I stormed inside, still half-smeared with chalk dust, my pulse pounding from the dream.

Theron looked up from the war table, eyes narrowing slightly at my entrance.

“I assume this isn’t a social call,” he said coolly.

“No,” I snapped. “We’re way past polite now.”

His brow lifted. “Something happened.”

“You think?” I flung the scrap of parchment across the table—my name, scrawled over the central seal glyph, still wet with magic ink that hadn't been there before I passed out on the floor.

Theron didn’t move. He just stared at it.

“I had a dream,” I said, voice sharp. “Except it wasn’t a dream. It was memory. Or magic. Or prophecy. I don’t know what the hell to call it.”

He remained silent.

“I saw her,” I went on. “The one who sealed the vault. My ancestor. She knew I was coming. She spoke to me. She said I was early. And then she told me to choose differently.”

That got his attention. The stillness in his posture fractured. He stepped around the table slowly, as if approaching something volatile. Something dangerous.

“You weren’t supposed to dream of her yet,” he said softly.

I narrowed my eyes. “Then maybe you should’ve mentioned I would.”

He exhaled. “The castle shows you things when it begins to accept you. When it thinks you’re ready.”

“Well, surprise,” I said bitterly. “Apparently I’m ready. Or cursed. Or both.”

He reached for the parchment, and I slapped my hand down on it first.

“No,” I said, quieter now. “No more secrets.”

His gaze locked with mine, storm meeting storm.

“You knew,” I accused. “Didn’t you? That I was more than a contractor. More than an Ashwood. The castle’s not just reacting to me—it’s responding. It’s pulling me in.”

“I suspected,” he said, voice low. “After the first night. When the seal stirred under your touch.”

“And you said nothing.”

“What would you have done?” he asked, stepping closer. “If I told you the truth outright—that the castle might claim you? That your blood might be the key it’s been waiting for?”

“I would’ve run,” I admitted, breath catching. “But you should’ve let me make that choice.”

He looked away then, jaw tight. “I’ve watched too many people die trying to fight what they didn’t understand. I didn’t want you to be one of them.”

I paused. The anger simmering beneath my skin cracked—but didn’t vanish.

“Do you even trust me?” I asked, voice quieter.

His eyes returned to mine. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

A beat.

Then he said, “I’ve dreamed of her too.”

That stopped me cold.

“I see her in the vault,” he went on. “In the mirror. Not often. But when I do—it’s not her face I see anymore.”

I swallowed. “It’s mine.”

He nodded once.

The silence stretched between us like wire—tense, thin, vibrating with something unspoken.

“You think I’m meant to die the same way she did?” I asked.

“No,” he said immediately. “I won’t let that happen.”

“You might not get a choice.”

“I’ll make one,” he snapped, voice sharp now. “Even if it means tearing the seal apart myself.”

I stared at him.

And then—without thinking—I crossed the space between us.

“You have to stop deciding what I can survive,” I whispered, inches from him now. “You’re not my shield. I didn’t ask for one.”

“I know,” he said, voice rough. “But I don’t know how to stand by and watch this place take someone else I—”

He cut himself off. Too late.

My breath caught.

“You what?” I asked, heartbeat roaring in my ears.

He didn’t answer.

Not with words.

Just a look—raw and wide open.

Then, very carefully, he reached out and touched my cheek, fingers trembling slightly.

“You’re not hers,” he said quietly. “But gods help me, I think you might be mine.”

I didn’t speak.

I didn’t breathe.

And I didn’t pull away.