They met in the Garden of Forgotten Stars.
It wasn't a garden, not anymore. Not since the Wolf War, when flame rained from the sky and scorched the sacred roots. Only stone paths and jagged ruins remained, wrapped in mist and old secrets.
Perfect for plotting treason.
Elara arrived first, cloak drawn tight, her eyes scanning the shadows. Zela slipped from the fog moments later, carrying a scroll and a grin sharp enough to cut a throat.
"I have a list," Zela said, unrolling the parchment.
"A kill list?"
"Worse. A guest list. For Myra's private moonfast."
Elara raised an eyebrow. "She's hosting a moonfast? That's sacred—only royal blood and sanctioned Moonblessed may attend."
"Exactly. But she invited five nobles from foreign bloodlines… and three exiled seers. All of them with ties to the rebels in the Ash Marsh."
Elara frowned. "She's building a faction."
"She already has it," Zela said grimly. "This is her debut. She's not hiding anymore."
"When a frog sits on the king's chair, it doesn't mean the water is shallow—it means someone is stirring it."
Elara took the scroll, studying the names.
One stood out.
Lord Asenu of House Vake.
Former general. Disgraced for turning his troops on civilians during the last border war. Banished. Now back—under Myra's invitation.
She turned to Zela. "Can you get me into the moonfast?"
Zela smirked. "Do birds fly?"
"Some birds fly straight into fire."
"Then let's light one."
Three nights later, Elara entered the Ivory Solstice Hall dressed in ceremonial white. A mask of crescent bone covered her face. Zela, cloaked in seer robes, whispered the entry phrase to the guards:
"The moon sees what the sun denies."
The doors opened.
Inside, the air shimmered with incense and lies.
Moonlight filtered through an open dome as nobles bowed to Myra—clad in silver flame, her presence magnetic and dangerous. Runes floated above her like smoke, whispering in ancient tongues.
"Elara," Myra greeted sweetly. "How bold of you to join the sanctified."
"I'm a fast learner," Elara replied.
Myra stepped closer, brushing Elara's cheek with fingers as cold as stone. "Careful, little soul. The higher you fly, the easier the wind will scatter your bones."
"The hawk that soars without watching its shadow becomes a feast for the trap."
The feast began. Plates gleamed. Goblets shimmered.
Elara watched Lord Asenu—lean, coiled, his eyes never resting.
When the servants brought wine, she made her move.
Zela slipped a shard of moon mirror into Elara's palm—just large enough to catch a reflection.
Elara raised her goblet, positioning the shard just so.
And there it was.
The reflection in Asenu's cup wasn't wine.
It was blood.
And not just any blood.
Royal blood.
Elara froze. "He's performing bloodbinding."
Zela inhaled sharply. "He's trying to anchor Myra's claim to the throne—with your husband's blood."
They moved fast.
Elara stood, voice clear.
"This gathering is cursed."
The hall stilled.
Myra's expression darkened. "You accuse the Moonfast?"
"I accuse treason."
She flung the mirror shard toward the center of the room. It shattered midair, releasing a howl that cracked the goblets and knocked over candles.
The image of the bloodbinding circle flared in ghostly light.
Panic erupted.
Some nobles fled. Others grabbed knives.
But Myra?
She smiled.
And said, calmly: "I was hoping you'd see it."
She clapped her hands once.
Guards appeared—not palace guards.
Her guards.
One slashed toward Elara.
Zela screamed.
Steel rang.
Elara ducked, rolled, and kicked the table over. She grabbed a fallen spear from a guard's corpse and backed into Zela, breath ragged.
"We have to go—now!"
They raced through a hidden passage Zela had memorized from stolen floor maps. The walls screamed with magic, but the door sealed behind them just as a spellblast struck.
Back in the Moonspire palace, bloodied and burned, Elara collapsed into Caelum's war chamber.
He looked up, startled.
"What happened?"
"Myra," Elara panted. "She tried to bind you—to your enemies. She's making her move."
Caelum clenched his jaw.
"I warned the council not to recall her. But they wanted her charm. Her bloodline. Her 'mystic intuition.'"
Elara rose shakily.
"You wanted me to play the game," she said. "Well, I just rolled the first dice."
Caelum nodded.
"You've drawn blood."
"The goat that stays quiet when the hyena speaks has already chosen death."
He reached for her hand.
She didn't take it.
Not yet.
Too many hands had offered her warmth right before plunging the knife.
Later that night, a raven landed on her balcony.
A message tied to its leg.
Two words, scrawled in black ash ink:
"You're next."
Elara smiled faintly and lit the message with a candle.
Let them come.
She was no longer prey.
"Even the ant has teeth when the forest begins to burn."