Chapter 1: For Her

To lift the curse, the forgotten must be remembered.

The words echoed in my mind, hollow and distant, as my sharp, velvet-red nails tapped rhythmically against the crystalline surface of the table. A slow, deliberate motion, the only sign of my presence among the voices weaving intricate plans before me. Their discussions held no significance to me—I didn't care for their strategies, their schemes. But my father did. And for him, I would sit through this tedious meeting, biting back the desire to leave.

"She's weak; how can she even remember a thing all by herself? Her instinct is always to seek protection, to be coddled. If you truly want this plan to succeed, why not add a little push? Give her hints, fragments of what she once was, something to stir her memory," I suggested, my voice smooth yet expectant.

I waited. For him.

For Azriel to acknowledge my idea, to at least grant me a sliver of the approval I so desperately sought from him. But he remained silent, unmoving. My fingers stilled, my breath caught—why? Why was it so impossible for him to appreciate me?

"That's a good idea, M'lady."

Calum’s agreement cut through the air, but it was an empty victory. It wasn't his praise I wanted.

My jaw tightened as I turned my gaze to Azriel, searching for any flicker of approval. Nothing. Just that same impassive expression that felt like a blade to my chest.

"We will hurt Agatha?" His voice finally came, firm and dark, carrying a weight of pain he didn't bother to mask. "Even though she doesn’t remember, we all know she still loves Lucien. No matter how many lifetimes she’s lived, no matter how many times she’s lost herself, she always finds her way back to him."

Always him. Always Lucien.

My fingers curled into fists beneath the table, nails digging into my palms. "We have no choice. They are both hurting my father. The more time passes, the weaker he gets. They need to make sacrifices, just as he has. If we don’t act now, it will be too late, and I—" My voice faltered, just for a moment. "I can’t lose him too."

Calum nodded. Marty as well. But Azriel? He merely studied me, his gaze sharp, unreadable. Like he was dissecting my words, searching for something beneath them.

“So, how do we begin?”

Relief loosened the breath in my lungs. Finally, he agreed. I stood, collecting myself before speaking.

"The council is our greatest obstacle. We need to lure them away, distract them long enough to bring Agatha back here. My father will disguise her as a mere mortal—something to bait those who once conspired against my mother. When they strike, the chase begins. He will bring her here, and in her time with us, we will surround her with fragments of what she has forgotten. We will force the memories to surface."

I spoke with conviction, but my eyes never met theirs. I never held eye contact with anyone. Except him. Azriel was the only exception. His gaze was intoxicating, a pull I couldn't resist. I let myself drown in those deep irises for a moment too long before breaking away, regaining my composure.

"So, we keep everything from her and let her piece it together?"

I nodded. Exactly.

The enchantress had been clear—my father’s power, his very life, depended on my mother remembering him before the eclipse. If she failed, he would die. That was the price he had paid to bring her back. And no matter how much I hated him for so many things, I still loved him. He had kept me safe, hidden away from the world. Even if it was a prison, even if it was lonely—I knew it was for my protection.

Because no one knew who I was.

No one knew that I was Lucien and Agatha’s daughter.

A secret born from tragedy.

---

After the meeting, I returned to my house, slipping off my gloves with absentminded precision. The weight of a gaze pressed against my back, familiar and inescapable. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

"Did you forget what I told you?"

I finally faced him, leaning against the nightstand, watching as Azriel stood there, rigid, his presence commanding. His eyes bore into me, a mixture of frustration and something deeper—something I couldn’t name.

"The plan—are you sure it will work?"

So that was what this was about.

"Yes. Why? Don't you trust me?"

"How can I trust a daughter who despises her own mother?"

My breath hitched. The words struck, sharp and unrelenting, and I clenched my jaw, biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

I stared at him, my voice steady despite the rawness creeping in. "Maybe I hate her, but I still need her to remember. For my father. I am not that heartless, Azriel."

But my voice cracked. And I hated it.

I turned away before he could see anything more, retreating to the kitchen, pouring myself a cold drink to soothe something I couldn't name. But he followed, lingering in my space, suffocating me with his presence.

"Can I stay at your house tonight?" I asked, forcing lightness into my tone. He didn’t answer immediately, only watching me as I slid a glass toward him.

"I’m not going home," he finally said.

"Why?"

He looked away. "I’ll be in Crescent. I’m waiting for Agatha."

The glass stopped at my lips, the words hitting like a blade to my ribs.

He said it so easily. So carelessly. As if my heart wasn’t shattering in the silence between us.

I wasn’t sure what I felt. Pain? No. I had made myself strong enough not to feel that. I had built walls so high, so impenetrable, that even my own emotions couldn’t reach me. I had numbed myself to avoid suffering, and I had succeeded.

Hadn’t I?

Azriel finished his drink, placing the glass beside me. His scent lingered, intoxicating, weakening. And then he walked away.

"Be careful," he said, just as his hand reached for the door.

And I snapped.

The glass shattered in my grasp, jagged shards biting into my skin, crimson spilling onto the floor. The pain was distant, a mere whisper. But when he turned back, panic flashing across his face—

I felt it then.

"Lilianna!"

His voice was urgent, his hands gripping mine, carefully extracting the shards from my flesh. His fingers trembled against my skin, but I barely noticed.

I was too captivated by the worry in his eyes.

Not for my mother.

Not for Agatha.

For me.

And for a fleeting second, I wanted to do it again. Just to see that expression one more time. Just to know that, for a moment, I mattered.

"Your mother would be worried if anything happened to you. You need to take care of yourself."

My stomach twisted. Foolish. How foolish of me to think he cared for me alone.

I turned away, cleaning up the mess as he lingered behind me, as if debating something.

"Lilianna, I do care for you. You're important to me. But not in the way you want. You know that. And besides...we’re forbidden. You're a vampire. I am a werewolf."

I could break that law. If only he asked me to.

But he never would.

He left me with nothing but silence, and as the door shut, I clenched my fists, my body trembling with rage.

Because the only rival I had for his love was my mother.

.  . .