Masks
…yet the moon rose — not whole, not pure — fractured by clouds that seemed to tear the sky itself apart.
Th e field breathed death.
And then… silence.
Not because there were no enemies left.
But because something worse had arrived.
Samael felt it before he saw it.
The ancient instinct, the same one that had kept him alive for centuries, clawed inside his chest like a dull blade.
Wrong.
Everything… wrong.
He turned his head slowly.
Arabella was no longer at his side.
She was ahead.
Leading.
The eight scouts followed without question. Loyal. Trained. Conditioned to trust the king's daughter as an extension of his own will.
Pathetic.
Samael said nothing.
Not yet.
The terrain shifted.
Too subtle for ordinary eyes. Perfect for those who knew what to look for.
Stones placed… not by chance.
Marks buried beneath the soil.
An old scent of iron… not from recent battle, but from preparation.
Trap.
His heart did not race.
He was not that kind of king.
But something inside him… sank.
— Arabella — his voice came low, steady. — Stop.
She did not stop.
Only slowed.
Enough to resemble obedience.
Enough not to be.
— We are close to Monte Solari — she said, eyes forward. — The children of the sun will not open their gates without hesitation. We need—
— Enough.
The word cut the air.
The wolves hesitated.
And in that exact second, the world opened its throat.
Renegades emerged from the shadows as if they had been born from them.
Not in desperation.
Not in uncontrolled fury.
Organized.
Waiting.
The scouts had no time to form a line.
They were swallowed.
Claws.
Teeth.
Blood.
The first fell without a sound. The second tried to howl. The third lost his head before understanding.
Samael did not move.
He only looked at her.
Arabella.
Still in the center of chaos.
Untouched.
One of the renegades stepped forward, drenched in blood up to his eyes. A crooked smile split his face.
— Mistress…
The word was not a title.
It was devotion.
It was submission.
It was truth.
The entire world seemed to stop for a single second.
And then Samael moved.
There was no hesitation.
No uncontrolled rage.
There was execution.
He entered the mass of renegades like an ancient god remembering why he was feared.
Necks broke.
Spines gave way.
Bodies were torn open as if made of wet paper.
Each strike was clean.
Precise.
Without waste.
Without mercy.
When it was over… nothing remained but ruined flesh and heavy silence.
The smell of death was so dense it seemed to have weight.
Arabella was still standing.
Intact.
Watching.
— So… — Samael said, his voice too low to be merely calm — this was it.
She tilted her head.
Did not deny it.
She never denied.
— Not all of it — she replied. — Only the first layer.
His gaze darkened.
— Speak.
And for a second…
Just one second…
Arabella seemed smaller.
Not weak.
But… exposed.
— Elizabeth — she said. — She was always the real target.
Silence.
The kind that destroys structures.
— Removing you from the equation… separating the heir from the king… creating enough panic for her to run.
She took a breath.
— The Forest of Three Suns.
Samael did not blink.
— An ambush.
— No — she corrected, with a coldness sharper than any blade. — An execution.
The wind blew, carrying distant echoes of battle.
— Old wolves… from the lunar court… and Solari — Arabella continued. — Renegades. Exiles. Forgotten. Men who lost everything… to decisions made from the throne.
Now she looked directly into his eyes.
No mask.
No calculation.
Only… truth.
— They don't want war, father. They want revenge.
The word "father" came out low.
Almost… broken.
— And Elizabeth… — her voice faltered for the first time, barely — is too perfect to survive it.
Samael closed his eyes.
Not as a king.
As a man condemned to understand.
— You did this… out of envy.
It was not a question.
He had always believed he made the right choice when he saved that omega from the orphanage. Thought he was giving his daughter a sister, a companion.
But the words spoken now… were different. Bitter. Ugly.
It was a sentence.
Arabella smiled.
But it was not the cold smile from before.
Not the palace smile. Not the one Elizabeth tried to protect from the world.
It was worse.
It was human.
— I did this… because I was never chosen.
Never chosen? — he thought, disbelieving. He chose her as a daughter. Elizabeth chose her as a sister. The lunar court chose her as a second princess. And yet here, among bodies, blood, and the stench of betrayal, she claimed she was never chosen.
The silence that followed had no name.
— She is the moon — she continued. — The heir. The blessing. The hope. The perfect daughter of the late Lycan Queen Araliz. Chosen by Alpha Theodor. Welcomed by the kings of Solari…
A pause.
— I am what remains when all that is over. The one who stands in the corner, at the edge of perfection. Of the flawless princess, the perfect sister, the crown I will never wear because it was never meant for me.
Her eyes gleamed.
Not with tears.
With something uglier.
More honest.
— I am the daughter you use when needed. The second daughter, the second heir, the delicate sister of the Lycan princess, the protected one who must never dirty her hands.
Samael did not answer.
Because there was no answer that was not true.
— And today… — she whispered — I chose for myself.
Elizabeth had always believed Arabella was delicate, too young for burdens no adolescent should carry.
Elizabeth had always helped, always stood between her and the cruelty of the world. She was her shield. Her sword. The beast between her and predators.
And now… on the day Elizabeth would honor the alliance of sun and moon, the day she was meant to be crowned Luna…
Her beloved sister offered something else.
Death.
— She loves you. She is looking for you. She's riding the griffin right now, probably in despair thinking you're in danger. All of this for envy.
The world seemed to shrink around them.
— Your sister loves you enough to abandon her own coronation just for you. Always for you. Always!
— That's not true — Arabella snapped. — She never saw me. Never understood me. Never heard me. She suffocated me with a protection I never asked for, a love I never wanted.
He stepped forward.
— Arabella…
Her name carried weight.
More than ever before.
— You condemned your sister.
— No — she said, steady again. — I just stopped saving her.
Saving her? Since when did the girl who was always saved become the one saving the heir?
He kept his eyes on her, losing himself for a single second in how this would destroy his daughter. His blood. His living heart. Realizing the enemy had always been inside their own walls. At their table. In their portraits. The one they protected most.
Silence.
Breath.
Fate.
Samael raised his hand.
For a second…
The world expected hesitation.
He did not hesitate.
The strike was fast.
Clean.
Far too merciful for someone like her.
Arabella's body gave in against him, as if it had always belonged there.
For a moment…
Just one miserable moment…
She allowed herself to fall like a daughter. The daughter she had always been, even while poisoning everything around her, pretending otherwise, building walls that should never have existed… but did.
— I almost… made it… — she murmured, warm blood spilling between them.
And then, even lower:
— I'm sorry… for not being her…
Samael's heart did not break.
Kings do not have that luxury.
But something inside him… ceased to exist.
He held her until the weight was gone.
Until the silence became absolute.
Until only the wind remained… and the distant echo of a daughter running toward her own death.
And for the first time in a long time…
Samael feared he would not be fast enough.