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[ELARA] Contrary to my assumption, Alec is not imprisoned in the dungeons. Neither is he in Morgana’s lair. He’s in a chamber on the highest floor of the palace. A room really, with a proper bed, a wide window, and wardrobes. When Magnus and I get there, he’s standing by the open window with his back to us. His hands are clasped together and he seems to be looking over at the Cursed Gulf. Seeing Alec with nothing holding him tied—seeing him free, sends a strange shiver down my spine. I feel an entirely different kind of fear at this moment. The fear of everything coming to an end. Lila’s tensed voice resonates within me, ‘My mate is lost. I don’t sense him. He’s a stranger.’ Wolfless and with a forgotten memory. That’s the fate written by the Moon Goddess for Alec Tawr of the Lunar Crest pack. Everything he was, everything he had made himself is gone. Just like that. Losing a person in this way—where you can see them, but know that they don't recognise you—is a pain I pr
[MAGNUS]The eerie silence of the Cursed Gulf hangs heavy today, just like it has been for a while now. The storms that once roared through these waters, swallowing ships whole, seem to have taken a hiatus. But it's the calm before the storm, I believe, the kind of chaos that'll break loose once my uncle Eldric sails back into Caelondor.I can't shake the thought that maybe one of those storms will take him down, sparing me the trouble of facing him, blood against blood. It hasn’t even been a full day since we got word of Kian's death, yet I can feel the shift in the air, like everyone's holding their breath, waiting for the dust to settle.They're all eyeing me up, sizing me for the crown they think is mine now that Kian's gone. But I can't bring myself to accept it, not yet at least. My mind keeps drifting to that chamber where Elara's talking with Alec. I want to know what's going on in there, but eavesdropping isn’t right, even if the temptation's there.Still, I'm keeping a close
[ELARA] Even though her face is shrouded with a gray veil, I can still feel her watching me with scrutiny. I know she’s weighing my decision on her scales—because it was certainly not guided by her. I don’t know how I got here. After telling the prince to send Alec away, I kept walking with no destination in mind. Merely straying from one floor to the one beneath, until I found myself here. Face to face with Goddess Luna’s idol. I can’t help but notice that it is oddly placed—not centered, not in a sophisticated corner, just planted along a side like some obstruction just after a turn. Anyone would be startled to come across it. I believe the placement has a good reason behind it—it is easier to not ignore her this way. Knowing she’s always there, keeping a close account of your decisions. It’s scary in a way. I’m certain it’s scarier when you can actually see her eyes, usually sapphire-eyed, staring right into the depth of your soul. I assume that this is not how they usual
[ELARA] “It’ll never stop bleeding,” Morgana repeats slowly, enunciating every word with a movement of her lips that seems to be casting a charm in itself. She gets to her feet and walks to me, swaying her hips as she tucks her black hair behind her ear. She appears cunningly beautiful for the first time. All this time I believed her to be mature—a woman who knew how to hide her intelligence. But now, in this moment, she shows a side of her that’s terrifyingly mesmerizing. When she stops, she’s just a few inches away, towering over me. I sense the unspoken challenge she presents. ‘How dare you try to stop me?’ she seems to scream silently at me. ‘How dare you keep me from getting what I want?’ “You feel powerful only because Magnus lets you use your power,” I tell her, holding my chin high and refusing to cower. “Soon he will realize he doesn’t need you. That you’re just a servant.”Her eyes narrow at my words and the corner of her lip twitches, but she shakes her head. “I don’t
[MAGNUS] This day has dragged on for too long. The thought weighs down on me as I walk behind Cedric to the council chamber. Occasionally, he turns behind to glance at me, and I can’t help but notice the flicker of unease in his eyes. What was he telling Elara? And why does he seem so unsettled? It was just last night that news of Kian’s death and Eldric’s sudden arrival reached me. Yet, in reality, Caelondor has been engulfed in mourning for merely a day. Time feels warped, as I've been thrust into a whirlwind of events. My mind is a tangled web of unanswered questions, each demanding attention. Has Alistair already initiated preparations for Alec’s departure? Why does Elara insist on sending him away? How did Alec lose his memories? Can I truly trust Morgana? What schemes does King Eldric, my uncle, have in motion? And what has triggered Elara’s abrupt change in demeanor? She didn’t need to kiss my cheek. I reach up instinctively to touch my face, momentarily lost in the memory.
[ELARA] "Mother, people are getting suspicious. I overheard a guard tell another that he thinks Magnus is dead," Ruelle voices out meekly to Lady Celia, who’s standing beside her with her hands clasped together. "It’s been three days, and no one has seen him." They’re both dressed in pale gray gowns held together by metallic wolf heads at the shoulders. Ruelle resembles her mother, albeit younger and, if I dare say, more beautiful. Beatrice told me that Celia was stripped of her title as ‘Princess’ when it was found that her husband, Magnus’ father, was guilty of treason against the kingdom of Caelondor. While her husband was sent to the guillotine, Celia was shamed for not stopping him from committing the crimes. Magnus was spared because he was only ten at the time, seemingly innocent and unaware of the scheme. I felt bad when I learned of it, as anyone else would. The horror of Magnus’ past hasn’t left my mind since. The image of him being a young boy and witnessing his father's
[ELARA] Minutes pass but I don’t move from Magnus’ side. I know I’m no help to him here, but I can’t bring myself to leave. He stayed by my side when I suffered for days. Even the thought of leaving him feels like betrayal. Magnus is quiet. Too quiet—as if he’s already dead. According to the royal physician who is sworn to secrecy, all we can do is pray and wait for him to recover. These were his words two days ago. Since then the only thing I’ve noticed is the life draining out of him. There’s no improvement. I note Alistair’s tensed face from a distance. He looks like he’s about to cry but somehow he’s holding back, his jaw clenched hard. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he wishes to talk. “Alistair,” I begin, but my voice comes out unsure. Regardless, he steps forward at once. “Are you alright?” I question him For a moment, I’m convinced he’s not going to answer me. Even if he does it’ll be something short and submissive, letting me know that he doesn’t want to open
[ELARA]Blood trickles from Magnus’ nostrils and down the sides of his face, staining the blanket beneath him scarlet. No, this can’t be happening. The royal physician had managed to stop his nose bleeding before, but he warned us that if it happened again it’d mean he was beyond saving. That he was close to death. “Magnus,” I whisper his name helplessly as I bring a cloth to his nose. He begins to choke, emitting a guttural noise with his eyes closed. “Hold on, Magnus,” I plead. “I’ll call the royal physician. Just hold on.”The distance between the bed to the exit of the chamber, albeit small, seems to stretch for miles. ‘Magnus can’t die, he just can’t,’ I tell myself repeatedly. I even trip on the length of my gray gown and topple over an urn from a table.Alistair is at the door guarding, but he’s not alone. Morgana is with him, and he’s blocking her way. I ignore her and inform him hurriedly, “Magnus… his nose is bleeding again. We have to call the royal physician at once!”“
[ELARA]I notice, somewhere between the refilled goblets and the swelling melody of the Bard’s latest song, that Magnus is gone. And Alistair with him. Not that I was informed about it. The feast carries on without them. The Bard, ever the showman, soaks in the attention, strumming his lute with a smirk that suggests he’s well aware of the effect he has on the court. Thornhall has something new to play with tonight. The dancers sit sulking in a corner, forgotten. The musicians find themselves disagreeing with the songs. “I will bed this man tonight,” Lady Brook announces, her words thick with drink as she leans forward, nearly spilling from her seat.I arch a brow. “The Bard?”“Who else?” she breathes, eyes heavy-lidded. “Look at him. That mouth was made for more than singing.”“That’s ambitious.” I huff a quiet laugh, lifting my goblet to my lips. “Don’t let Edith know.”“If I had a mother like that—” she begins with a lazy grin, then downs the rest of her wine. “What do you think
[ELARA]“Did you enjoy the ballad, Your Highness?” Valen’s teasing voice curls around me, his amusement barely concealed. He rises from his seat with effortless grace, extending his hand as if he knew—knew—I would come to him. “I worked with the man himself to craft it.”Every movement in the hall slows. A royal woman should not do this. A wife should not do this. The weight of a hundred eyes presses upon me, mouths whispering, hands tightening around goblets—a scandal. But let them watch. Let them see what their beloved prince has wrought. Let them murmur about the disgrace of Magnus’ mate, the woman who was meant to stand at his side.I take Valen’s hand. His skin is cooler than Magnus’, his grip lighter, but no less commanding.“Do not speak,” I say, my voice a blade, and he only grins.“Remember when I told you last night that when you command me, you’re even—”I cut him off. “Will you dance with me or not?” My words are steel-wrapped velvet, laced with something desperate and rec
[ELARA]I want to leave. No—storm off. Let every guest see, let them know I do not stand by their beloved Prince, their cold and callous Magnus. Let them whisper about the insult, the blatant disrespect. I would not care. I want them to see. I want him to see.How dare he? How dare he shatter my heart so effortlessly, as if it were made of glass? If this is his response—if this is how he welcomes another into his arms so easily, so publicly—then what has he done in the quiet of the past five months? How many nights has he spent like this, without hesitation, without guilt?I knew Talisa—Morgana… kept him company, but I thought… no more. Not since he learned what we are to each other. Not since he learned I am his mate. But now my heart burns, set upon a spit, roasting in the heat of my own foolishness.I told myself he wouldn’t. That he couldn’t. But I see now—I was wrong. I was so wrong.And I kept Valen away because it was him I thought of. Even when Valen’s hands traced my skin, I
[MAGNUS]Valen parts as if nothing has transpired between them—as if he didn’t just openly challenge me. He moves leisurely, as though this is his court, and not mine. A smirk ghosts his lips as he settles into one of the crowded rows, plucking a goblet of wine from a passing maid’s tray with effortless ease.His gaze doesn’t stray from Elara. He watches her as if she belongs to him. He dares to do this. Right in front of my eyes. In a castle I rule.Alistair steps forward to replace the bent chalice without a word. The wine’s poured again, but I no longer care to drink more. If the barrier in Elara’s chamber wasn’t breached, and Valen did not leave his chambers the whole night, when could he have given her the gift? And what did he give her? Before I can demand an answer from Elara, I’m interrupted by a lord whose name I do not recall. “Your Highness,” the human begins, bowing impressively low despite his age. “This humble servant has brought you an offering.”His voice draws Ela
[MAGNUS]As the sun dips down the horizon, the Small Hall of the castle packs up with guests. Among the crowd are those who reside in the castle, lords and ladies from all corners of Tassel, and some from beyond the borders. And then there are the performers—the usual musicians, and the new dancers. And the bard—invited by Lord Valen. The air is already filled with lively music by the time I make my entry into the hall. I put on my persona—one I’ve perfected to please the masses, a mask that has efficiently erased my image as the crippled, wicked Prince of Caelondor, a name whispered across the continent. I smile, laugh, and greet people. It doesn’t matter who they are, they all get the same wide mouthed grin. They bow and curtsy. Others who are more touchy are removed by Alistair effortlessly. I don’t even sense her at first due to the shield. But she’s there, sitting on a chair behind the banquet table, hands clasped in her lap, looking ethereal in a golden and white gown. I forge
[MAGNUS]To His Highness, the Rightful Heir,Your Highness,I pray this letter reaches you in safe hands, for I write in desperate times. The kingdom you once called home trembles under the weight of the false king’s rule. His greed knows no bounds—lands are seized without cause, coffers are drained by insatiable taxation, and noble blood is spilled for the mere crime of questioning his judgment. Once-loyal houses now stand divided as their heirs are taken as hostages, their warriors forced to fight in unwinnable wars against territories that were never our enemies. Your father’s kingdom is on the brink of ruin. The people whisper of rebellion, but they lack a leader to rally behind. Many among the nobility look not to the throne in the capital, but to the exiled prince, the rightful ruler, the son of a true king. If you would return, you would not stand alone. There are those of us willing to defy the tyrant and restore honor to the crown, even if he refuses to name you heir, we nee
[ELARA]I find myself on the shore of the Cursed Gulf yet again. The sky above me is the colour of flames—golden, orange, streaks of yellow and black, the world tilted on its axis in my perspective. My feet are hidden beneath the sand, but I don’t panic. Yet, I still wonder. Why am I back here again? My dreams haven’t been plagued by the Soulkeeper in months. Not since Valen taught me how to stop acknowledging its presence. I know I didn’t sleep with poison beneath my pillow last night.And I still am here, trapped in this nightmare. This is not real, I tell myself, willingly for this to fade, for me to wake. But it doesn’t happen. I suppose I will have to endure. And so I do. The boiling water of the sea lashes on the shore with each wave until it freezes, a cold mist enveloping me. This time when the Soulkeeper comes on his cog, his face isn’t hidden. No, the hood is drawn back, and staring right into my soul is the one red eye of Valen Blackbane. And despite everything I know a
[ELARA]Valen moves easily, peeling away the layers of his clothing until he is left in little more than a linen shirt, loose at the collar, and dark trousers that sit low on his hips. The candlelight casts long shadows over the ridges of his body, tracing over sharp angles and defined muscle, a reminder of what he is—what he can do—something I only had a glimpse of minutes ago. I watch, trying not to. Trying not to compare. And yet, I cannot stop myself from thinking of another man in another bed.Back in Caelondor, when Magnus cared, our chambers had been connected by a hidden passageway. I would slip through in the dead of night, and he would let me in without a word. He would wait for me to come. It was the place where I felt most safe. I would curl into the warmth of him, listening to his steady breaths. In those moments, I could almost pretend that our marriage was more than duty.I remember the way he would shed his royal armor piece by piece, leaving himself bare in ways he n
[ELARA]On any other night, I would have been cautious, wary of the vampire’s seductive pull, the way he ensnares his prey, just as mentioned in the passage. But tonight, the Burn eclipses reason, and every brush of Valen’s touch sets me alight, leaving me aching, craving.And he looks prepared to give me all I demand and more. Valen doesn’t need further assurance. His lips drag slowly from the curve of my shoulder, up my neck, to finally halt at my earlobe, nibbling it gently. My eyes roll to the back of my head as the sensation consumes me completely. I’m gasping, my breath shaky as I struggle to find something to do with my own hands, while his left arm snakes around the front of my waist, pressing my back against his hard body. The sound of his breath in my ear is maddening. It’s fast, irregular. A lot more intense than what breathing should sound like. He pauses from my ear, returning to press kisses to my shoulder only to push the sleeve of my shift down my arm with his teeth.