Elena stood in the heart of the moonlit training ring, a circle of chalk and ash inscribed with ancient runes. Torches burned low along the perimeter, their flickering flames making the night feel like it held its breath.
"Again," Mira said from behind her, calm but commanding.
Elena groaned softly. Her arms ached, her legs trembled, and sweat soaked through the back of her tunic. But the real pressure wasn't physical—it was magical.
She could feel it crawling beneath her skin now. Like something wild trying to stretch after centuries of slumber.
"I don't know what you expect from me," Elena muttered, brushing damp hair from her face.
"To stop thinking," Mira replied. "Magic responds to emotion, instinct, blood. You're trying to shape it with logic. You need to let it speak."
Elena exhaled slowly. "Easy for you to say. You were born with it."
"So were you."
Elena rolled her eyes but faced forward again. The runes beneath her feet glowed faintly, whispering of moonlight and memory. Mira's voice lowered.
"This time, feel for the pull. Don't force it. Let it rise."
Elena closed her eyes. The night wind stirred the trees around the courtyard. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.
She breathed in—and the world tilted.
Suddenly, her senses sharpened. She felt the texture of the air. Heard the heartbeat of a bat hanging in the rafters. Smelled pine sap from trees over a mile away. Her skin prickled, and something within her unfurled—slow, spiraling tendrils of heat and silver.
There.
She grasped at it, and with a flash, the runes beneath her feet flared blindingly bright.
A wave of force burst outward from her body, knocking over several torches and sending Mira stumbling back, cloak whipping in the wind. The air shimmered with lingering power.
Elena opened her eyes, heart racing.
"What was that?" she gasped.
Mira looked stunned for the first time since Elena had met her.
"That," she said slowly, "was raw lunar magic. Unfocused. Untamed. But powerful."
"I didn't mean to do that," Elena said.
"That's why we're training."
Elena looked at her hands. They were still tingling. She didn't know whether to feel proud—or terrified.
Before she could speak, Lucien strode into the ring, his presence instantly commanding. His hair was windblown, eyes darker than usual.
"We have a problem," he said, his voice like distant thunder.
Mira stiffened. "What kind of problem?"
"Someone tried to break into the Royal Vault. They were after the Scroll of Oaths."
Elena blinked. "What's that?"
"It binds ancient court laws," Lucien explained, eyes on her. "Including the one that forbids witchblood from taking the throne."
Her blood turned to ice.
"You think someone's trying to… remove it?" she asked.
"I think someone's trying to prove it applies to you," Lucien said grimly. "And once it's proven, they'll move to exile or execute."
Mira hissed. "Damon."
Lucien didn't confirm, but the set of his jaw said enough.
"He's rallying the blood-purists," Mira added. "He's always resented your claim to the throne—and now he sees Elena as the perfect excuse to strip you of it."
Elena took a shaky step back. "So I'm a liability."
"You're more than that," Lucien snapped. "But yes—if we don't move fast, they'll use every law and legend they can to paint you as a threat."
Mira folded her arms. "Then we need to move first. Unlock her magic. Make her undeniable."
Lucien gave Elena a long, searching look.
"We don't have months. Maybe not even weeks."
Elena swallowed. "Then what do we do?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "We train. But not here. The walls have ears. I'll take you into the mountains—there's an old hunting lodge, surrounded by sacred stone. No one will find you there."
"You're sending me away?" she asked, trying not to sound hurt.
"I'm sending you to safety. But I'm going with you."
Her heart fluttered at the words—at the intensity in his eyes.
"When?"
"Tomorrow night," Lucien said. "After the tribunal meets. Damon's called a vote to challenge your presence at court."
"Of course he has," Elena muttered. "He barely waited a week."
Lucien touched her arm gently, grounding her.
"We'll handle it. I've faced worse. So have you."
She stared at him. "You hardly know me."
Lucien's thumb brushed against her wrist. "I remember you. Even if you don't remember me."
Something about the way he said it made her breath hitch. He turned and strode away before she could respond, shadows swallowing his form.
Mira raised an eyebrow. "He definitely remembers you."
Elena didn't answer. She could still feel the magic pulsing faintly in her palms, and something in her chest had started to burn again—not with fear this time.
With purpose.