The wind howled against the towers that night, but inside the observatory, Clara sat still—watching.
She'd seen the woman again. Not a shadow. Not a dream. A real figure, cloaked in indigo silk, slipping through the old palace wing like she belonged there.
The same woman who had watched her from the cliffside estate.
The same one who had left no footprints behind.
"Elise," Clara whispered as the maid adjusted her cloak. "The woman in the veil. She's not a servant, is she?"
Elise hesitated. "No, my lady. I saw her once—years ago. The night your mother died."
The room tilted.
Clara stood slowly, the name burning at the edge of her thoughts. "Who is she?"
Elise dropped her voice. "Lady Seraphina Vale. Former Lady of Whispers. Exiled... after Queen Evelyn's death."
Clara's breath caught.
Vale.
The name echoed in her chest like a war drum.
"She served under my mother?" Clara asked, eyes narrowing.
"She served beside her," Elise corrected gently. "They were sisters-in-arms during the Court's darkest era. But something broke between them before the war ended. And after that... the whispers blamed Seraphina."
Clara's mind reeled. Her mother had never spoken of allies. Or betrayal.
"She was there the night Evelyn died," Elise added. "She disappeared before the Council arrived."
"Why return now?" Clara whispered. "Why watch me?"
A voice answered from the shadows behind them.
"Because you carry what she lost."
Clara spun. Cassian stepped into the flickering lamplight, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen them.
"She lost your mother," he said softly. "And the future she once believed in."
"Did you know her?" Clara asked, her voice almost breaking.
He didn't answer at first. Then—"She's my aunt."
Silence swallowed the room.
Clara stared, betrayed by the weight of secrets again. "All this time… you never said."
"I didn't know she was alive," Cassian said, stepping forward. "She vanished before I was old enough to remember her face. I only heard stories. About her brilliance. Her madness. Her fall."
Clara looked away, pain rippling through her chest.
"And now she's watching me like I'm her unfinished story."
"She might be," Cassian said. "But you're not her puppet. Or my aunt's shadow."
Clara turned to him slowly. "Then what am I, Cassian?"
He held her gaze, the tension between them taut as wire. "You're the storm that terrifies them. The truth they tried to bury. And the only one who might bring peace… or war."
Outside, thunder rolled across the sky.
And somewhere beyond the palace walls, Lady Seraphina watched from the trees—her eyes reflecting both sorrow and something far colder.
Hope or vengeance.
[ To be continued....]