The fire had burned down to embers. The scent of Selene's teleportation lingered in the air—smoke, magic, and something unspoken. Lucien stood there in the inn room, utterly still, the dagger still in his hand, half-sharpened, half-forgotten.
He didn't move for several heartbeats.
Then, with measured grace, he set the blade down on the low window table and pressed his fingers to the lingering shimmer in the air. Traces of the spell clung like static to his skin.
Witchcraft.
Subtle. Elegant. Laced with emotional suggestion. Whoever crafted the teleportation seal had wrapped it in deceit and secrecy. And Selene had carried it for hours, maybe longer—right under his nose.
He turned toward the door but didn't reach for it. Not yet.
His eyes narrowed. "You left without a fight," he murmured to the empty room, "but you were already fighting the moment I returned."
His mind combed through her words, her silences, the too-quiet way she'd asked about his motives, her magic. The letter. It must have come while he was away scouting.
He had been careless.
Lucien crossed to the edge of the room and leaned against the frame of the fireplace, one hand tightening.
He knew the Witch Tower had many hands—cloaked agents, spies, and seers who specialized in sowing doubt. But to breach Selene's trust that deeply… someone had crafted more than just a lie. Someone had studied her.
Someone knew how to drive a wedge between them.
His jaw tensed. "Clarity wouldn't have the finesse. She was always fire, not shadow."
He closed his eyes.
"And Moriah…" The name came with heaviness, not hatred. "She couldn't. She might not have spoken for me, but she wouldn't strike like this. She never used deception, not even when she betrayed me."
And yet, the seal bore all the markers of Witch Tower magic.
Which meant either the Tower had birthed a new player—or someone had risen in his absence. Someone clever, quiet… and utterly unknown to him.
Lucien's fingers drummed once against the mantel.
I cannot find her by force. Not yet. If she was transported using a Tower seal, her destination was either veiled or redirected—layered behind false arcana. Tracing it would take time… and allies I no longer have.
He looked out the shuttered window, to the sleeping terraces of Valmoura below.
I should never have let my guard down.
His voice was quiet, almost a vow.
"I will find you, Selene. And when I do, whoever turned your heart against me—will learn why I once ruled the Eastern Reaches in silence."
Far from Valmoura, where dawn had yet to breach the curled peaks of the Shadowbound Hills, Selene stood in a quiet vale of gnarled birches. Magic crackled faintly in the air, like a storm trapped just above the clouds.
She wasn't alone.
A young woman stood a few feet ahead, draped in black and midnight-azure robes stitched with silver thread. Her presence was elegant and strange—beauty born of deliberate contrast. Her hair was white-blonde, short, and her skin the shade of twilight. Her smile, however, was the strangest thing—neither kind nor cruel. Just knowing.
"You came," she said simply.
Selene took a wary step forward, the wind lifting strands of her silver hair.
"You sent the letter."
"I did."
"Why?"
The woman tilted her head. "Because you're standing at the edge of a story you don't understand—and the man at the center will never tell you the truth. Not all of it."
"And you will?"
"In time." The woman reached out and plucked a frostleaf from a branch, then crushed it between her fingers. "But I won't lie to you and say you'll like what you hear."
Selene frowned. "Who are you?"
"A friend," she answered. "Or an enemy of your enemies. That should be enough for now."
Selene didn't trust that answer. Not yet. "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing," the woman said, eyes narrowing slightly. "I want you to have what he denied you—truth. Choices. Freedom."
Selene stepped back slightly. "Why do you care?"
The stranger smiled again. "Because if you keep walking beside Lucien, you'll never stop burning for him. And in the end, you will be ashes. Just like the last girl who believed she could stand beside a fallen king."
The words struck something tender and raw. But Selene held her ground.
"Where are we?"
"A valley outside Aemon's Hollow. A quiet town where no Tower mage looks and no demon-lord would think to search. I prepared it in case you said yes."
Selene turned slightly, gazing up at the pine-dark ridges around them. The landscape felt... unassuming. Hidden.
"And if I stay?"
"I'll tell you what he refused to. About the day he was sealed. About the Tower. About why your blood was never just fate—it was design."
That caught Selene's breath.
"I can take you there now," the stranger said gently. "Or you can go back."
"Back?" Selene's voice cracked slightly. "To what? A man who doesn't even know what choice he'd make if it came down to my life or his power?"
Silence.
Then the stranger extended a hand.
"Come. Let me show you what he won't."
Selene hesitated… then slowly, with trembling fingers, she placed her hand into the stranger's.
As they vanished into a swirl of cloaked teleportation, only one thought lingered in Selene's mind.
If Lucien truly loved her… would he come?