NYXORA The chamber smelled of foxfire and judgment.Whispers rippled through the gathered court, a tide of rumors too loud to drown out. My nails dug into my palms as I stood in the center, forced to face them.“They say she carries the pearl,” one elder whispered.“They say the goddess chose her,” another hissed.I lifted my chin, eyes hard, though my throat tightened. Felyndra. Always Felyndra. The whore with her false innocence, her baby, her glowing pearl.I would not kneel to her.The only mother I had known, the Fox queen sat high upon her throne, silver hair crowned in foxfire light. Her eyes cold, sharp — never left me. She didn’t look like the woman who always doted on me with affection.Nightbane stood beside her. Back from war. Armor still scarred, wolf still breathing though fading. His face was unreadable, jaw locked. When his gaze brushed me, it wasn’t even anger. It was nothing.That stung more than hatred.And behind them, the elders, draped in crimson robes. The hal
The Fox court glittered with gold and deceit. I had learned to stop staring at the jeweled mosaics on the ceiling or the foxfire lanterns in the corridors. Pretty things here were dangerous things.That morning, a maid came. Her name was Mara.She bowed low, her hands cradling a small wooden chest, lacquered red and carved with fox sigils.“From the Queen’s cousin in the South,” she said. “A token of allegiance.”Her eyes didn’t meet mine. Her voice was too smooth.I looked at the chest. “What’s inside?” I asked.“A charm for protection, Princess.” She answered.I felt Roses stir at my hip, wrapped against me in her sling. Her tiny fists clenched as if she knew something I didn’t. A faint glow around my neck gave a faint pulse, like a heartbeat answering hers. I was told it was a pearl and it could pulse anywhere in my body.Mara stepped forward. Too close.And then, Roses cried. Not a soft whimper but a shrill, panicked scream. The pearl flared, white-hot light spilling from it, so b
AURONLies. All of it. I had stopped being a listener to my own heart. I had started being an arsonist of my own conscience—burning things so others would not see my cowardice.When the camp went still and the wolves slept fitfully, I walked the perimeter. The moon was a thin nail in the sky. I pressed my forehead to the rough wood of the palisade and breathed.I had not chosen right. But at least I moved. At least I tried to balance. The fracture inside me split the deeper for it.Night passed with fever in my bones. By the time the sun clawed out of the black, the rumors had reached us. They called me a hero. They spoke my name as if praise could stitch a wound. It did not. Praise is just sound. It does not fill the hollow spaces guilt digs.I sat alone with a wet palm pressed to my mouth and decided, with a clarity that hurt, I would stop doing only half the right thing. I would sabotage Bowman where I could, but I would not let Snow be taken by him. If she chose Bowman willingly,
AURONThe smell of smoke had a way of clinging. It burrowed under skin, into hair, into the throat. It never left, not even after rivers of blood and weeks of battle. Tonight it pressed down like a curse, curling from the ruins of the vanguard village we had reclaimed. Wolves dragged Bowman’s corpses into heaps, torches cracking them to ash. But for every body we burned, Bowman made sure to leave us ten more.He was everywhere. A shadow with teeth. And with him was my sister, Snow. Swollen with his baby.I saw her again tonight.Not the sister who used to climb apple trees and smear jam on her cheeks, but someone sharpened by grief into a blade. Bowman had wrapped her in his cause as tightly as he’d wrapped his cloak. She stood in their war council like she belonged there, silver braid coiled like a crown. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t need to. I could feel when her gaze slid past my shoulder; I knew the way she could still read me …. like an old bone.My throat tightened. Nails b
The fox court was nothing like Grithim’s shadowed throne room.Where Nightbane’s halls thrummed with the scent of blood and iron, this place glittered with foxfire lamps that cast the marble in shifting shades of gold and violet. Courtiers in flowing silks drifted like smoke, their sly eyes following me wherever I moved.I hated it.They bowed too deeply. Smiled too sweetly. And behind every greeting, every reverent murmur of princess, I heard the truth: they had not wanted me before. I was a ghost they had not looked for. A daughter stolen, abandoned to wolves.And now, suddenly, I was everything.The fox queen, my mother, sat high upon the throne. Her presence alone commanded the chamber. Regal, terrifying, every inch a ruler. Her gaze found me, pinned me like prey.“Felyndra,” she said, her voice carrying like steel over water, “step forward.”My feet obeyed before my mind did, carrying me across the marble until I stood at the center of the court, Roses strapped to my chest. The w
NYXORA The shards of the mirror still glistened at my feet, tiny slivers of my own face staring back at me. Mocking me.“The true fox princess.”The words wouldn’t leave me. They echoed in my head like bells tolling for my funeral.I sat there in silence for a long while, blood dripping from my knuckles, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. My rage trembled inside me, wild, dangerous, hungry.“She thought she had won” I breathed.“She think because she had the wolves whispering her name and the foxes calling her princess that she had stripped me of everything.”But she was wrong.I wasn’t a woman who accepted defeat. I was a woman who burned the ones who stood in my way.I stood slowly, wiping the blood from my fist across my gown, smearing the fabric with dark stains. A queen’s gown ruined, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, except her.“Felyndra.”I hissed her name, the syllables sharp on my tongue.The guards outside my chamber jumped when I pulled the door open,