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[ELARA]“What’s going on here?” Magnus’ voice cuts through the air, sharp and angry. He storms into the library, his golden eyes glaring at the spot on the table where Valen’s hands intertwine with mine. I let go of Valen’s hands abruptly, rising from the chair. “Magnus,” I mumble his name as he stops right in front of me. “What’s going on here?” he asks again, his eyes searching for an answer while brimming with anger. “What are you doing here alone with Lord Blackbane?”Valen answers the question even though it's not directed at him, his voice smooth, “As I said last night, Your Highness, I’m offering the Princess some distraction from our current troubles. Trying to indulge her into the habit of reading. And, I’m pleased to inform you that she has shown a keen interest in gaining knowledge.”Magnus’ eyes narrow at the vampire’s words before they stray over the open book on the table. He draws in a sharp breath. “I think that’s enough knowledge gained for today,” he announces, and
[ELARA]We’re not even given the opportunity to answer him, forget about the irrational anger I feel on being interrupted. Celeste barges in, pushing aside Alistair before she faces me, her eyes red and swollen with tears. Her demand comes in a desperate, hard voice, “Where is my daughter?”“Lady Celeste, you must calm yourself,” Alistair tells her in a relaxed voice, barely bothered with being pushed aside. “You cannot barge into the Prince’s chambers like this.”She ignores him, instead reaching for me. Her arms splay out as she nears me, but Magnus steps in front. “Lady Celeste, I’ll take you to see your daughter,” he assures her. “But I need you to be patient.”“Patient? You want me to be patient? When my daughter has been turned into a rogue? I need to see her now,” she urges, her eyes widened in manic fury. “Now!”“That’s not possible,” Magnus answers simply, shaking his head. It is the calmness in Magnus’ voice that sends her over the edge. She lets out a blood-curdling screech
[MAGNUS]Although I’m headed straight for the dungeons, my path is intruded by the young Lord Jaromir. He notices me before I do and halts, bowing when I near him. “Prince Magnus,” he greets in a heavy voice that doesn’t match his frail figure. The redness of his swollen eyes has faded. But there’s a resolve in them which is quite hard to miss, a sort of anger I recognise quite well. My father was once taken away from me as well. Unjustly. At least he didn’t have to see his father’s head being cut off with his own eyes. The Goddess spared him that cruelty. A sigh escapes my lips, annoyance striking me. Time is the most valuable asset at the moment. The more I delay meeting Rasmus and bringing him closer to Ruelle, the more likely I am to be forced to make a rash decision to save my sister. An alliance with Qaiven will be beneficial in the long run. Not just to me, but to the Kingdom I'll rule one day.Aren’t all these efforts made in the name of becoming a king? ‘First try and survi
[MAGNUS]I clear my throat, bracing myself for the words I’m about to say. “A wedding I do not approve of. I’d rather have my sister marry you.”Rasmus frowns, his gaze unwavering as he studies my face. “That was direct,” he mutters, the words almost swallowed by the growls coming from Alina’s cell. I shrug, but keep my voice firm as I reply, “I’m an emissary of the council now. It is my job to improve ties with other kingdoms.”“Through a marriage…” Rasmus echoes, his tone thoughtful. His gaze drops to the floor as he shakes his head. “To Qaiven? My councilors wouldn’t approve. We’re a neutral kingdom. And marriage is a hasty task… Besides, I don’t want to interfere with the trade.”For some reason, his words ignite a flicker of hope in me. “Is that the only reason? Does that mean you’d consider Ruelle?”“Only reason?” he repeats, this time with a mocking grin. “Well, those are the ones I can think of right now,” he answers, the words almost playful. “Frankly, marriage doesn’t intere
[ELARA]I’ll run away.Ruelle’s words echo in my mind long after she’s gone. There can’t be any seriousness to them, but I saw the determination in her eyes.Where will she go if she truly runs away? And how far can she go before she’s caught?Eldric won’t let her off so easily, and perhaps after discovering her attempt to escape, he will claim her a traitor and punish her. Anything in his capacity to humiliate and hurt Magnus.And Magnus? How will he take this? There’s no way Magnus will know of Ruelle’s plan and actually let it be successful. He wouldn’t pick this over letting her marry Zander.And there are far more dangerous things out there for a princess on the run…‘Don’t tell Magnus,’ Lila voices her advice, making me gasp.This isn’t something I can keep from him. Can I?‘Don’t you care for Ruelle?’ are Lila’s next words. ‘She doesn’t want him to know.’Of course, Ruelle doesn’t want Magnus to know about this. But that doesn’t make it right.A rustle from behind me pulls me ou
[ELARA]Ruelle refuses to meet my eyes during dinner. She eats quietly, almost as if the meal is a duty, not a comfort. Her fingers tremble as she grips her fork, and I notice the way she keeps her hands close to her lap, her shoulders slouching, as if trying to make herself smaller beside the Queen Mother. Even when Princess Daphne tries to strike up conversation, Ruelle’s responses are clipped, distant — just a single word falling from her lips like she’s afraid she’ll slip up her plan. I’m not the only one who notices the change in her demeanor, Magnus does too — but I’m most certainly the only one who knows the reason behind it. Magnus must think this has to do with her marriage with Zander. Soon, the conversation at the table shifts from delicacies in Wyvern, to the wedding preparations, and Ruelle pales visibly. It is Daphne who begins the topic. “Why are you marrying off your only niece with such haste, Your Grace?” she asks Eldric with a smile. Only Daphne can dare to questi
[ELARA]The heavy doors to Magnus’ chambers close behind us with a soft thud, echoing through the dimly lit room. The silence between us feels suffocating. Magnus stands near the hearth, his back to me, his shoulders still taut with anger. I know the source of that tension, but I also know that’s not all that’s weighing on him.Prince Rasmus knowing the truth about the hydralith and Alina. Valen following us into the woods. The murder of the council member who trusted him. Morgana’s disappearance. Eldric’s harsh words. Zander’s ploy to force me into poisoning him when he barely made it out alive the last time he was poisoned… only because of Morgana’s help.A sigh escapes my lips as I think of how much easier things would’ve been right now if Morgana was here. Her powers could help solve so much… Alina. Ruelle too, perhaps?Could I burden Magnus now with what Ruelle told me? When he’s already being crushed under the weight of everything else?Perhaps it is best if Ruelle runs away… if
[ELARA]To the few members of my pack who accompanied my family to Caelondor, Alina’s death remains a brutal mystery. The funeral is a small affair held on the coast of the Cursed Gulf where Alina’s body is burned on a wooden pyre. There’s a moment where I realize I’ve attended more funerals than feasts since my arrival in this kingdom, and a cold shiver runs through me. The Goddess is cursing us, the strange thought enters my mind. What wrong have I done though?It dawns on me with mockery that I barely have been granted a chance to act on my own. I have truly become a pawn in a game that began decades ago in this land that’s still so foreign to me. Eldric doesn’t care to show up. Not even for a performance. Queen Seraphina is brought to the pyre, but she doesn’t stay long, her eyes welling up with tears as she likely recalls the funeral of her own son, Kian. The rest gathered speak in whispers, discussing the most probable cause of Alina’s death. From what I hear, the most favored
[ELARA]I stare at the ceiling, breathing a little too loud. I’m aware of the sweat covering my naked body, of the puncture wounds on my neck that are still blazing, eliciting waves of pleasure although Valen is no longer feeding on me. The desire to curl up and close my eyes and shut myself from the world feels too overwhelming. What have I done?A slow breath drifts against my shoulder.I go still.He’s awake.Heat creeps up my neck, shame curling in my stomach. I don’t dare look at him. If I do, I’ll see it—the smug amusement in his expression, the satisfaction, the knowing.I close my eyes, as if I can will myself back into ignorance. As if I can pretend I didn’t just let Valen—the last person I should have touched—consume me whole.“You're thinking too much,” his voice breaks the silence. It’s unbothered. I flinch.He chuckles. “I can hear it, you know. That frantic little heartbeat of yours.”My fingers curl into the sheets, my breath catching. “Go away,” I murmur.Valen shif
[ELARA]Something tells me Valen knows I’m here, and that I’m watching him, but doesn’t stop. “What do you think you are doing?” I hiss at him when I finally find my voice again, daring myself to walk closer. He glances at me leisurely, licking his bloodied lips as he lifts his head from her neck. “I was hungry,” he says with a shrug, and casts Tara aside like a doll. She leans against the wall, the euphoric smile on her face still lingering. “You look… displeased.”I hesitate. I did not think I would Tara here. I really believed she was with Magnus. “She’s our guest,” I whisper, my fingers twitching to reach her, to check if she’s okay—but I don’t. Somehow, I can’t bring myself to touch her. Not when she looks like she’s floating in some distant bliss. “You can’t harm her.”Valen cocks his head slightly, amused. “Harm?” He gestures lazily at Tara’s boneless form. “Does she look harmed to you?”I scoff. “You—” I swallow, forcing air into my lungs. “You drank her blood.”He smirks,
[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