The morning light filtered weakly through the tall windows of the Citadel, casting long fingers of pale gold across the stone floor. Elena awoke in Lucien's arms, the scent of his skin and faint traces of smoke still clinging to the room. For a few precious moments, the weight of the world slipped away, and she simply existed—warm, safe, and utterly his.
But dawn always brought truth.
She slipped from the bed quietly, careful not to disturb him, and dressed slowly in the simple clothes Mira had left on a chair. Her body still hummed with the memory of last night, but her mind was restless, swirling with questions and fears.
Lucien stirred behind her, eyes opening slowly, gold flecked with silver like the moonlight. He smiled, a brief, tired curve of his lips that made her heart clench.
"Morning," he murmured, voice husky.
"Morning," she replied, stepping toward the window. Outside, the courtyard was already alive with movement—guards pacing, servants scurrying, and the ever-watchful eyes of the court waking to a new day.
"The tribunal will reconvene," Lucien said, joining her. "Damon is not done. He'll push harder now."
Elena turned to face him, searching his expression. "What are we going to do?"
He looked away for a moment, jaw clenched. "We need allies. The court is fractured. Some noble houses fear Damon's blood-purity crusade, but most hide behind tradition and fear of magic."
Mira entered then, her presence calm but urgent. "There is word from the northern clans. They want to meet. They believe your claim strengthens their position against Damon."
Elena frowned. "The northern clans… They're wild, unpredictable."
"They're also powerful," Lucien said. "If we can bring them to our side, we might tip the scales."
A knock sounded at the door, and a messenger appeared—young, nervous, bearing a sealed scroll. Lucien took it and broke the wax with a flick of his wrist.
His eyes darkened as he read.
"They've found something," he said quietly. "An assassination attempt. Last night."
Elena's breath caught. "Who?"
"Not confirmed yet. But the signature matches Damon's covert faction. They're growing desperate."
Mira's silver eyes met Elena's. "This is no longer just court politics. It's war."
The weight of the words settled heavily on Elena's shoulders. She thought of the pendant resting against her chest, still warm beneath her tunic. The magic inside her was waking—growing stronger. But was she ready for war? For bloodshed?
Lucien reached out, taking her hand. "You are more ready than you think."
She squeezed his hand back, drawing strength from his presence.
"Tonight," he continued, "we leave for the hunting lodge in the mountains. There, Mira will help you train, and I will prepare the clans."
Elena nodded, determination hardening inside her.
But before they could move, a shadow slipped through the room's doorway—a figure cloaked in darkness.
"King Lucien," the figure said smoothly, stepping into the light. "A word, if you please. Alone."
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Who sent you?"
The figure smiled thinly. "Consider me a friend. Or an enemy, depending on your choice."
Elena felt a cold chill. This was no ordinary visitor.
Lucien gestured sharply. "Leave us."
Mira's hand hovered near her dagger.
As the door closed behind Elena and Mira, Lucien faced the stranger fully.
"What do you want?"
"To warn you," the stranger said. "The court's knives are sharper than you imagine. And the greatest betrayal will come from where you least expect."
Lucien's gaze burned into the man's.
"We'll see," he said.
The game had changed.
And Elena knew, with every heartbeat echoing in her chest, that the shadows were closing in.