Celia, Then
The first time Celia Valmont entered the Court, she didn't yet know what she was.
She thought she was just a girl with a strange last name and a bloodline no one could trace.
She didn't know why mirrors warped when she looked too long.
Why candles flickered to life without a match.
Why the elders in her village whispered when she walked by.
She didn't understand any of it.
Until she stood before the wrought iron gates of the Court of Thorns—barefoot, bruised, and bleeding from a cut that refused to close.
And the gate opened on its own.
They didn't expect her.
No summons had been issued.
No escort had delivered her.
But she was not turned away.
She was welcomed.
Silently.
The stone of the threshold had warmed beneath her soles as she stepped inside.
And for the first time in her life, she felt seen.
They gave her no name.
No room.
No role.
Just silence and silk and stares from figures who barely seemed to breathe.
She wandered the estate for days.
Unquestioned.
Unclaimed.
Unbothered.
And then, one night, he found her.
She never saw his face—at least not clearly.
He stepped from the shadows like he'd always been there.
Like he was made of them.
"You've walked these halls like they belong to you," he said, voice low and melodic.
"Do they?" she asked, unsure if she meant the words or not.
He stepped closer.
"You have fire in your blood, little Valmont."
She swallowed.
"What does that mean?"
He tilted his head, not unkindly.
"It means you won't leave here unchanged."
She could have run then.
Should have.
But she didn't.
Because something in him called to her.
Not like a lover.
Not like a predator.
Like a truth she'd been circling her entire life.
And the truth…
Had teeth.
They met in secret.
Always at night.
Always in rooms the House only opened for them.
He taught her the old names.
Showed her books written in her own hand before she'd ever lifted a pen.
He touched her mind before he ever touched her skin.
And when he finally did—
When his mouth found her throat and his fingers traced the sigil beneath her collarbone—
She gasped not in fear, but recognition.
Like her body had been waiting.
And she let him mark her.
Not with fangs.
But with knowledge.
He told her the truth.
About the Valmont line.
About the marked girls.
About Amarisa.
And about the blood oath that had cursed her family long before she was born.
"You carry a fire that doesn't die," he said. "It sleeps. And when it wakes, the world changes."
She touched her belly, not knowing why.
But somehow already knowing what would come.
The moment she found out she was pregnant, she tried to leave.
He didn't stop her.
He only watched.
And whispered:
"She will burn, like you. But brighter. And the Court will either kneel to her… or perish beneath her feet."
Celia fled to the world outside.
Hid.
Raised her daughter with love.
Eventually, she taught her to be small.
To be careful.
To pretend.
But blood does not forget its flame.
And daughters always carry the echoes of their mother's mistakes.
When Rick came, it was easy to hide.
For a while.
He didn't ask questions about Maryna's father.
Didn't care that the girl never looked like him.
He was too full of wine and wounded pride to see what was right in front of him.
But Celia saw it.
Maryna's eyes.
Her rage.
Her power.
And when the first torch lit on its own during a storm—
Celia knew it was time.
She left before Maryna could stop her.
Before the Court could find them both.
She left one thing behind:
A name.
Etched on parchment. Hidden in the roots of the House.
A warning.
And a promise.
She bears the mark. The eyes. The blood will awaken.Keep her hidden. Keep her untouched. He must not know.