Azriel convened the council of elders within the strategic chamber, a room carved from ancient stone and heavy with the weight of generations past. Tall pillars lined the walls, etched with symbols of forgotten victories and long-buried sins. The air was tense, thick with murmurs and restrained impatience.
Before any meaningful discussion could begin, a sudden commotion erupted outside the chamber doors—hurried footsteps, raised voices, a disturbance too persistent to ignore.
Azriel exhaled slowly, irritation flickering across his composed features.
"Zain," he said, his voice even but edged with impatience, "go and see what that commotion is about."
Zain bowed and slipped out.
The elders resumed their murmured debate about border defenses and diplomatic tension, but the noise beyond the doors only grew louder. Azriel's fingers tapped once against the table.
Moments later, the doors opened.
Minutes passed. Zain returned—escorting a young maid behind him.
Hannah.
She looked shaken, her hands trembling as she crossed the threshold.
"Forgive my intrusion, Your Majesty," she said, her voice quivering. "It's my lady… She never returned to her chambers last night. I searched everywhere. Every hall, every passage. She is nowhere to be found."
Azriel's thoughts halted mid-breath.
Guinevere is missing?
He had assumed Rose escorted her to her room after the banquet. After the confrontation. After the tension that had thickened the air like smoke.
Lord George leaned forward, frowning. "You speak of Guinevere Whitestone, do you not? The same girl who dared call Lady Lilith a monster?"
Lord Wesley waved a dismissive hand. "There's no cause for panic. She's likely seeking attention. Jealous, perhaps. Lilith's arrival must have unsettled her."
Hannah lifted her head at once, tears pooling in her eyes.
"My lady is not like that," she insisted. "She would never disappear for attention. Never."
Azriel stood.
The scraping of his chair across stone silenced the chamber.
"Charles. Zain. Search the castle grounds. The walls, the courtyards, the towers. Leave no stone unturned." The command left no room for argument.
They nodded and departed at once, Hannah scrambled to her feet and hurried after them.
The remaining council members shifted uneasily. Rose stepped forward, guilt etched across her face.
"I left her outside," she admitted softly. "I told her to get some rest. I never imagined… I would never have allowed this if I had known."
Azriel sank into his chair, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.
"Leave me," he said quietly.
The elders did not protest. One by one, they exited, their whispers dissolving into the corridor. As Rose turned to follow.
"Rose," he added.
"You stay."
She stayed.
The chamber felt cavernous now.
Minutes later, the doors opened again. Charles stepped inside, his expression grim.
"Brother," he said with a sigh. "I searched everywhere. Guinevere is nowhere to be found."
Azriel's jaw tightened.
"She said she would not remain under the same roof as Lilith," he murmured. "I thought it was anger speaking."
"I believe her," Charles replied.
Rose's gaze sharpened. "You believe Lilith is a monster?"
Charles hesitated only a second. "Last night she stood at the balcony. She claimed she needed fresh air. Then she asked me if something had died." His voice lowered. "I assumed a rat. But Guinevere… she would not invent terror without reason."
Azriel's eyes darkened.
"I saw fear in her eyes," he said quietly. "Not anger. Not jealousy. Fear."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Rose spoke again, barely above a whisper. "Then where is Gwen?"
Azriel straightened.
"We find her," he said. "No matter the cost"
Far from the castle walls, where the forest swallowed light and silence reigned, Anastasia's eyes fluttered open.
Pain throbbed through her limbs as she tried to move—only to feel the cold resistance of chains biting into her wrists.
"Where… am I?" she whispered.
She struggled, metal rattling in the darkness.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She twisted, testing the restraints, but the iron held firm. Panic surged through her veins like fire.
A shadow shifted in the corner.
Her breath hitched.
"Who's there?" Her voice shook despite her effort to sound brave.
Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate.
A man stepped into the thin spill of torchlight.
"Hello, Anastasia."
Her breath caught.
"…Benjamin," she whispered.
The priest she despised. The man whose sermons were sugar-coated poison. The man rumored to abduct girls for grotesque experiments. The man she had prayed never to see again.
He smiled. It was not a kind smile.
"I've dreamt of this day," Benjamin said softly. "The day you finally fall into my arms."
Terror coursed through her veins.
"Why am I here?" she demanded, though her voice trembled. "Are you working for Lilith? Is this because I said she looked like a monster?"
Benjamin chuckled.
"Lilith is of no concern to me. Your parents, however…" His eyes gleamed. "They gave me permission."
The words struck harder than the chains.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" he tilted his head. "You have become inconvenient. A thorn in their flesh."
Her head shook violently. "I have done nothing wrong!"
"Perhaps not in your eyes."
He crouched before her.
"How did you bring me here?" She asked
"It was simple," he replied.
"All your mother had to do was visit you. A simple spell. One that opens the mind—makes it… suggestible or rather gullible. It responds to strong emotion." He studied her face. "You made it very easy."
Her stomach churned.
"What do you want from me?"
"I purchased you," he said lightly. "That makes you mine."
Her laugh came out brittle.
"Do you have any idea what the emperor would do if he knew you kidnapped me?"
Benjamin threw his head back and laughed.
"My dear," he said, wiping imaginary tears, "how can he worry when his precious Guinevere stands beside him?"
The world tilted.
"What do you mean?"
"Your sister will take your place."
Anastasia let out a weak laugh.
"And how will she imitate the markings on my body?"
"That," Benjamin said, smiling, "is where magic comes in."
A chill crept down her spine.
"What happens to me?" she asked.
Benjamin's grin widened, manic and cruel.
"Your blood," he said at last, almost reverently, "is rare. Exceptionally rare. I have been perfecting certain potions. Renewal spells for your sister requires a price." His eyes burned with obsession. "When I have drained the last drop, you will have fulfilled your purpose."
The chains felt heavier. The room smaller. She refused to cry.
Refused to give him the satisfaction.
"You're insane."
"Genius is often mistaken for madness."
Her mind raced. Sister. Replacement. Renewal.
He needed her alive—for now.
Which meant she had time. Time was survival.
"You truly believe this will go unnoticed?" she asked, forcing steadiness into her tone.
"You believe my absence will not unravel your illusion?"
Benjamin stood.
"People see what they are told to see," he said.
"Especially when magic guides them."
He stepped back into the shadows.
Anastasia sagged against the stone wall.
This is how I die, she thought.
But even as despair clawed at her chest, something else flickered beneath it. Defiance.
If they thought she would surrender quietly—if Benjamin believed she would accept being drained like livestock—
They did not know her at all and somewhere beyond the forest, in a castle of stone and secrets, Azriel had begun the hunt.