The stench of burnt fur and blood still clung to Seraphine's hands, even after she had scrubbed them raw.
She stood over a wash basin inside her temporary quarters, staring at her reflection in the cracked bronze mirror. Her braid had unraveled during the fight, streaks of blood painted her neck and collarbone, and her eyes, gods, her eyes looked like they belonged to someone else.
Someone haunted.
She should be dead.
Instead, she'd stood back-to-back with a man, no, a monster whose sister she had killed.
And the worst part?
It had felt right. She'd trusted him so much it felt like breathing and that terrified her more than the hybrids running around in the woodlands.
Dorian barged in without knocking. His face was pale, drawn tight with disbelief.
"You fought with him."
Seraphine didn't look up. "I killed beside him. That's different."
"Don't play that game, Sera." He stepped closer, voice low and angry. "You stood with Alaric Vaelthorn. The crown prince of the Purebloods. The wolf whose bloodline once gutted this continent from coast to coast. You stood with him. Protected him."
"I did what I had to do."
"No, you hesitated." He grabbed her arm. "I watched you both from the stands. You could've stabbed him. You could've ended this war before it started."
"You were there? Then why didn't you help?" Seraphine accused.
Dorian looked away, a tight expression on his face, "Commander Vex ordered no reinforcements, now answer the question."
Seraphine yanked her arm free. "I didn't hesitate. I calculated. You saw how the others moved, those weren't Pack wolves. They were hybrids. Mutants. Bred, not born."
Dorian blinked.
"I saw alchemy runes on their throats," she added. "You know what that means."
He shook his head. "That can't be right. Those practices were outlawed after the Black War."
"They're back."
The words tasted like ash.
"The hybrids didn't come for us," she continued. "It felt like they came to kill him. Alaric."
Dorian's face went still. "But why would wolves try to kill their prince?"
"That's what I'm going to find out."
Council Chambers, Ironhold
The Guild's Inner Circle smelled of wax, iron, and fear.
Seraphine entered to find the remaining councilors seated around the obsidian table. Vex Marron sat at the head, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Derrick stood with arms crossed, glaring like she'd kicked his dog.
"You survived," Vex said with a faint smirk. "How unexpected."
"I always do."
"Did the Alpha attempt to kill you?"
"No."
"Did you attempt to kill him?"
"No."
Derrick scoffed. "Then what, pray tell, do you call standing shoulder-to-shoulder with our enemy in combat?"
Seraphine met his gaze. "Tactical adaptation."
Vex raised an eyebrow. "Explain."
She stepped forward and laid down the sigil-marked patch of skin she'd carved from one of the hybrids' throats. It sizzled faintly against the table.
"Hybrids. Not Pack-born. Not loyal to the crown."
Derrick flinched. "Those markings—"
"Are alchemical," Seraphine finished. "These creatures weren't meant to kill us. They were meant to frame us. Someone wants to start a war between wolves and humans and they don't care who burns first."
Vex leaned back slowly. "You believe there's a third party."
"I know it."
Derrick snorted. "How convenient. Accuse an unseen enemy and ignore the one breathing down your neck."
Vex waved a hand. "Enough, Derrick. Seraphine, what do you propose?"
"Let me track the source of these hybrids."
"And Alaric?"
She paused.
"I'll see him again. But not to kill him."
That earned a lot of mumurings around the room.
Vex merely smiled, "I see."
That night in Seraphine's room, sleep came with violents fit where in each one seemed worse than the last.
She saw terrible fangs breathing out billows of smoke and fire everywhere. Her siblings were screaming. Her entire village was engulfed in smoke. Bloody claws and grining fangs drew red angry lines all over her back elicting a scream that she woke up to.
But the worst dream was the one where she turned toward her enemy…
…and kissed him.
She woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat.
A presence hovered in the dark.
She grabbed her dagger and spun—
Only to find a small envelope sitting on the windowsill, sealed with black wax.
She looked around searching for the intruder, spotting no one and nothing out of place, Seraphine opened it.
Inside was a torn parchment with three words:
"He will betray."
,,,
Vaelspire Keep In The Lower Crypts
Alaric stood before a rusted iron door deep beneath the keep. The air here tasted like bone dust and dark secrets waiting to be revealed but brought an awful result to the hearer.
Beside him, Elder Rhelor muttered protective incantations. Nyssa stood silent in the shadows, her expression unreadable.
Alaric pushed open the door.
Inside waited a chained man. Skin pale as wax. Eyes sewn shut. Lips stitched. Runes etched across his skull.
It was the Seer.
Alaric knelt before him.
"Show me the truth," he whispered.
The Seer opened his mouth and shrieked.
The sound blew out the torches along the walls.
Visions poured into Alaric's head, cities on fire, wolves battling men in silver masks, a woman in chains, a throne made of ash and bone. And at the center of it all…
Seraphine Duskbane.
She was holding a blade.
Facing him.
And behind her stood a man, cloaked in shadow, wearing a crown made from bloodied antlers.
Alaric stumbled back, bleeding from his nose.
"What did you see?" Rhelor asked.
Alaric wiped the blood away. "War."
"Who starts it?"
He stared at the wall, his eyes cold.
"I don't know."
But he lied.
He knew exactly who.
,,,The Forsaken Chapel, Hidden in The Shadows
The moon bled through a shattered stained-glass window. Candles circled the altar, flickering black and green.
In the center of the chapel stood a man in an antlered crown
He wore no name.
He had no face.
He moved like smoke and breathed out fumes of flames.
At his feet knelt Nyssa, her black lips smirking as she extended the vial of hybrid blood.
"The bond is growing stronger," she murmured. "And so is their doubt."
He took the vial without looking at her. "Good."
"The human suspects something. The prince suspects more."
He turned slowly. His face was a blur. A void. His voice was a low, inhuman rasp.
"Let them chase truth."
He turned to the altar, where a map of both realms lay carved into stone.
"Let them dance across my warpath."
He extended a hand.
The map caught fire.
"I want both thrones in ash by the next moon."
He smiled.
"And I want the bastard Alpha to burn first."