Previously, the chains rattled beneath the castle. Blood spilled across the throne room floor. And as Alaric wiped his blade clean, his gaze lingered on Cedric Vale — the Duke who trembled beneath a mask of calm. A single question burned into the marrow of every soul present: how long before the king unraveled the truth?
The Duke's carriage rolled through the night like a coffin dragged on wheels. Cedric sat rigid within, gloved hands clenched tight on the hilt of his cane as though it were the only thing tethering him to composure. The lanterns lining the streets of the capital blurred into streaks of gold, and beyond them the sky yawned black, moon veiled in ragged clouds.
Inside his chest, his heart thudded not with the rhythm of life but with the drumbeat of dread.
He suspects.
That single thought gnawed at him, sharper than any blade. Alaric's eyes — those unnatural, flame-tinged eyes — had lingered too long on Rowena. The resemblance. The dangerous curiosity. Cedric had smoothed his words, bowed his head, masked his fear… but a king who had carved men down without a second breath would not forget.
By the time the carriage clattered through the gates of the Vale estate, Cedric's shirt was damp with sweat beneath his velvet mantle.
The great mansion loomed, its towers pale beneath the moonlight, banners of the house stirring in the midnight breeze. For centuries, this fortress had been the pride of his line. Tonight, it felt like a fragile stage set to burn at the faintest spark.
Inside, he did not go to his chambers. He did not greet his servants. Instead, he stumbled into his study, dismissed all attendants with a snap, and poured himself a goblet of brandy with shaking hands.
The fire in the hearth was low. He poured again.
He drank until the warmth seared down his throat, but no fire could melt the chill crawling his bones.
The door creaked.
"Drinking, Father? At this hour?"
Rowena's voice. Smooth, mocking. She slipped into the study in her evening gown, hair loosened from its elaborate coils. She looked tired but sharp-eyed, her every movement weighted with a mix of disdain and curiosity.
Cedric turned, brandy in hand. "You should be in bed."
"And leave you to drown yourself alone?" She smirked, though her eyes gleamed too bright.
He slammed the goblet down. The liquid sloshed, spilling amber across the desk.
"Do not lecture me," he hissed. "You think it is easy to stand before the king? To feel his eyes pierce through your skin, searching for lies?"
Rowena's smirk faltered. But she lifted her chin. "You sent me into the lion's den once already. Now you stumble as though the weight of it is too much for you. Perhaps you should have thought twice before gambling with both our lives."
Cedric's jaw tightened. "You know nothing of gambling, child. You know nothing of survival. I have spent decades weaving alliances, shielding this family, burying truths so deep no man should ever dig them out. And now…" He raked a hand through his graying hair. "Now a king with fire in his blood and suspicion in his heart circles ever closer."
Rowena folded her arms. "Then perhaps you should stop feeding him lies. Perhaps it is better he takes Lyanna and leaves the rest of us untouched."
His head snapped up. "Silence."
Rowena's eyes narrowed. "You protect her as though she were the jewel of this house. But what about me, Father? You send me to distract him, to test him, to risk my head with every word. Why must I stand as shield, while she—"
"Because she must never be found!" Cedric roared. His voice cracked, raw. "Do you understand nothing? If he learns of her blood, her existence, all of us — you, me, even this estate — will burn. Do not question me again."
Rowena stared, lips parting, but no words came. Beneath her anger, there was something else. Fear. A bone-deep fear she could not mask.
At last she looked away, eyes shining. "Then I hope, Father, you are clever enough to bury the truth forever." She turned and left, skirts whispering across the floor.
The door shut with a thud.
Cedric dropped back into his chair, chest heaving, and pressed a trembling hand to his temple.
If only it were that simple.
Rowena stormed through the corridors, fury in every step, until she reached the far wing where Lyanna's chambers lay. She pushed the door open without knocking.
Inside, the younger girl sat near the window, a canvas propped on her lap, candlelight painting her face in soft gold. Her brush moved in patient strokes, tracing color into the outline of a moonlit garden.
So calm. So untouched by the storm outside.
Rowena's chest tightened with resentment.
"Do you have any idea," she snapped, "what danger you've put us in?"
Lyanna blinked, setting the brush aside. "Rowena?"
"He suspects already!" Rowena's voice cracked.
" Who suspects?" Lyanna asked
"The king. He looked at me today as though he saw through every word. And you sit here painting?"
Lyanna's gaze was steady, her voice quiet. "I never asked you to lie for me."
The simplicity of the words was a blade.
Rowena's breath hitched. "If fate wants me in his path," Lyanna continued softly, "neither you nor Father can shield me forever."
Silence stretched between them. The candles flickered.
Rowena laughed bitterly, though tears stung her eyes. "You speak of fate as though it is kind. It is not. It devours."
Lyanna's expression did not falter. "Then let it devour me, not you."
Rowena stared at her sister, this dreamer who spoke as though sacrifice were as light as air. She wanted to shake her, scream at her, curse her for her serenity. Instead, she turned on her heel, swallowing her words.
Behind her, Lyanna picked up her brush again — but her hand trembled as it touched the canvas.
Later that night, Cedric entered Lyanna's room himself. His face was drawn, his voice hoarse.
"Lyanna. Come."
She looked up from her books, startled. "Father?"
He approached, holding something in his palm — a necklace, heavy with a crimson pendant that glowed faintly in the candlelight.
"This," he said, fastening it around her neck despite her protests, "will conceal your scent. To him, you will be invisible. He cannot trace what he cannot sense."
Lyanna's fingers touched the cool stone. "And if he looks upon my face?"
"Then you will not give him the chance." His voice hardened. "You will remain here. Within these four walls. Silent. Hidden. Until I say otherwise."
Her brows furrowed. "Father—"
"Do not argue." He gripped her shoulders, eyes burning with a desperation she had never seen in him before. "If you love this family, if you value your life, you will obey. Do not leave. Do not even breathe too loudly. Do you understand?"
Lyanna swallowed hard, tears threatening. "Yes, Father."
Cedric exhaled shakily. He gestured, and servants brought stacks of her favorite books, setting them beside her bed. "Read. Distract yourself. Whatever it takes to keep you quiet."
Lyanna watched him leave, the weight of the red pendant pressing against her chest like a chain.
*** *** ***
Beneath the castle, chains groaned.
Alaric knelt on the cold stone, breath ragged, eyes burning orange as the dragon within clawed at the walls of his restraint.
Visions lanced through his skull. A girl bathed in moonlight, hair dark as raven's wings, eyes glimmering with defiance. Sometimes it was Rowena's face. Sometimes… another. Softer. The lines blurred until he no longer knew which haunted him more.
"She is the one," he whispered to the shadows. "I must have her, before the dragon in me does."
The chains rattled as his body convulsed. Eamon stood at a distance, face pale.
"Majesty—"
"Leave me!" Alaric roared, voice layered with a growl not wholly human. "Lock the gates. Loose the tigers. Until dawn, no one enters."
And as Eamon fled, Alaric bowed his head, teeth bared, and let the fire consume him in the dark.
The following night, clouds swallowed the moon.
At the Vale estate, Lyanna slept restlessly, the red pendant glowing faintly against her chest. Her dreams were of fire — chains snapping, wings unfurling, a crown of flame descending upon her head. A voice whispered through the smoke: Mine.
She jolted awake, sweat beading her skin.
Then she heard it.
The distant thunder of hooves. The metallic clatter of armored riders.
Outside her window, torches flared in the dark.
The king had come.