The next morning, sunlight poured through the tall windows of the east wing, casting golden beams across the cold stone floor. The manor seemed still, almost peaceful — but Aria knew better. Beneath the polished marble and elegant tapestries, this house was full of secrets.
She hadn't seen Lucien since their encounter in the hidden chamber.
She hadn't stopped thinking about him either.
The locket still rested beneath her pillow, its fragile hinge worn but holding the memory of a mother's love and a mystery still unsolved.
"Milady," Elara said as she entered with breakfast, her voice clipped and nervous, "the Viscount of Hollowridge has arrived. Lord Nightshade wishes for you to accompany him to the throne room."
"The Viscount?" Aria asked, pulling on her cloak. "Who is he?"
"A powerful ally," Elara murmured, not meeting her eyes. "Or a dangerous enemy. That depends on how today goes."
---
The throne room was colder than usual.
Lucien sat on the elevated seat carved from blackwood, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable. His eyes flicked briefly to Aria as she entered, the slightest nod acknowledging her presence — but nothing more.
Standing before him was a man in a wine-red cloak, eyes sharp and smile dripping with false charm.
"Lord Nightshade," the Viscount said smoothly, "I must say, your new bride is even lovelier than the whispers claimed."
Lucien's fingers tapped once on the armrest. "You're not here for flattery, Gideon. Speak your purpose."
Gideon chuckled. "Straight to the point as always. Very well. I've come for the debt your father owed me — one soul, untouched and pure."
Aria's heart seized.
Lucien stood slowly. "That contract died with my father."
Gideon's eyes slid to Aria. "Did it? Or did it pass to his heir — and the heir's chosen bride?"
A chill swept the room. Aria stared at Lucien, confusion rising like a tide. "What is he talking about?"
Lucien didn't look at her. "It's nothing. He's bluffing."
"I never bluff," Gideon said softly. "But I'll give you a choice, Lucien. Hand her over… or I'll take what the curse promised me in blood."
---
Later that night, Aria sat in the moonlit garden, knees pulled to her chest, mind racing.
One soul, untouched and pure.
What had Lucien done?
She heard the quiet crunch of gravel behind her and didn't turn.
"You should be inside," Lucien's voice said.
Aria didn't look up. "Tell me the truth. What is the debt?"
Silence.
Then Lucien sat beside her on the stone bench, cloak falling behind him like shadows.
"My father made deals to protect this land," he said finally. "Deals that came with prices no one should pay."
"And I'm the price," she whispered.
He looked at her now, his eyes no longer cold, but filled with something deeper — pain, conflict, fear.
"I chose you because you were strong. I never meant to offer you. I would rather die."
She turned to face him fully. "Then fight for me. Not just against him — but against yourself."
---
Thunder rolled again that night.
Lucien stood at the edge of the courtyard, sword in hand, eyes locked on the dark figure that emerged from the shadows.
Gideon had returned.
But this time, he didn't come for negotiation.
He came for blood.
---
Inside, Aria clutched the locket around her neck and whispered a name she barely remembered reading in the journal she found underground.
"Seraphine… if you're out there, if your spirit lingers… help me protect your son."
At that moment, the wind surged through the open windows, extinguishing every candle but one.
And from the shadows behind her, a faint, ghostly voice whispered:
"He must never know the truth…
Aria stood still, her breath caught in her throat. The voice—soft, distant, and full of sorrow—lingered in the air like a fading perfume.
He must never know the truth…
"What truth?" she whispered, spinning around, but there was no one there. Only flickering candlelight and the cold echo of silence.
She clutched the locket tighter, suddenly aware of the weight it carried. Not just as a keepsake—but as a key. A memory. A curse.
She stepped back slowly, heart racing, until she bumped into something solid.
"Easy." Lucien's arms steadied her.
Her pulse jolted. "You… how long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," he said, eyes flickering to the locket. "You saw something again, didn't you?"
Aria hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her to tell him what she heard. But something about the ghost's words held her back.
"I felt something," she lied. "Like someone was watching me."
Lucien didn't question her. Instead, he took her hand gently. "Come with me."
---
He led her down a narrow passage she hadn't noticed before, behind the dining hall and into a corridor that pulsed with old magic.
"This manor was built on the ruins of the original Nightshade castle," he said. "There are parts even I haven't explored."
"Then where are we going?"
"To the chamber only the bloodline can open."
They stopped before a heavy iron door etched with ancient runes. Lucien pressed his hand against the center sigil. A soft hum filled the air. The runes lit up one by one in a circle of deep blue light before the door slowly creaked open.
Inside, stone walls gleamed with crystal veins. In the center sat a pedestal, and on it—a book bound in dark leather.
Aria stepped forward, drawn to it. "What is this?"
"The Chronicle of Nightshade," Lucien replied. "Every heir must read it when they come of age. I never did. I was afraid of what I'd find."
Aria reached for the book. The moment her fingers touched the cover, a wave of images flashed through her mind—wars, rituals, blood… a woman's scream.
She gasped and stumbled back.
Lucien caught her. "Aria!"
"I saw… her. Seraphine. She was begging for mercy. And then… she looked right at me."
Lucien's grip tightened. "That's impossible. My mother died before you were even born."
"She said something," Aria whispered. "'The heir is not who you think.'"
Silence fell again.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "The heir…"
He pulled the book open to a page sealed with a red wax crest. His hands trembled as he broke it.
Aria leaned in beside him—and what she saw made her knees buckle.
A family tree.
Lucien's name was there. But below his father's name… another branch stretched out.
A hidden child.
A daughter.
Not Seraphine's.
But the product of something darker.
Aria looked up at him, realization dawning.
"Lucien… you're not the true heir."
He stared at the page, then at her. "No. I'm not."
She stepped away, her heart hammering. "Then who is?"
Behind them, the crystals in the wall flickered.
And a voice—low and ancient—answered.
"You are, Aria."
---
The room trembled. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Lucien turned to her, shock rippling across his face. "What did it say?"
Aria was shaking. "It said… I'm the heir."
Lucien's breath caught. "That's not possible. Your parents were commoners. Your family—"
"Was a lie," Aria finished, voice hollow.
The truth was unraveling like a thread pulled from fate's own tapestry.
She wasn't just chosen for marriage.
She was summoned by blood