The halls of the Citadel were colder now, stripped of the warmth they had briefly held under Elena's fragile victory. Shadows clung to every corner, and whispers slithered through the stone corridors like vipers waiting to strike.
Elena walked beside Lucien, her steps steady but her mind tangled in a web of uncertainty. The blood and fire of the battle still lingered in her veins, mingling with a new, sharper sensation—politics.
Lucien's expression was grim as they entered the Great Hall, where the court had already gathered. Noble families exchanged cold glances, eyes filled with suspicion or barely concealed hostility. The tribunal's outcome had shaken the fragile balance of power, and many sought to exploit the cracks.
A tall, slender man approached them—Lord Harlan, one of the most influential nobles in the southern province. His silver hair was impeccably styled, but his smile was thin and calculating.
"King Lucien," Harlan said smoothly, bowing with practiced grace. "And Elena. Your presence at the hunting lodge was... unexpected."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "We faced a threat that could not wait for politics."
Harlan's smile didn't waver. "Of course. Still, it would be wise to keep the court informed. Secrets breed dissent."
Elena stepped forward, feeling a surge of defiance. "The court is no longer safe for me. I'm not here to play their games."
Harlan's eyes flicked to her with a mixture of amusement and disdain. "No one is safe from the court's games, Witchblood. Especially those who seek to change it."
From across the hall, Damon watched with narrowed eyes, his lips twisted in a thin smile. His presence was a cold weight pressing down on Elena's chest.
Lucien placed a protective hand on her back. "Ignore him. We have work to do."
Before Elena could respond, a herald entered, ringing a bell to call attention.
"By royal decree," the herald announced, "a summit shall be held at the Citadel within three days. All noble houses are commanded to attend."
Mira stepped forward, her voice steady. "A summit? After the assassination attempt?"
Lucien's gaze sharpened. "It's a trap."
Elena's heart sank. The court was closing in.
That night, Elena stood alone on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The moon hung low and heavy, its pale light bathing the stones in silver. She fingered the pendant beneath her cloak, feeling the subtle pulse of magic.
A voice broke through the silence.
"You carry the weight of two worlds," Lucien said, joining her. His eyes searched hers, fierce and vulnerable all at once.
"I don't know if I'm strong enough," Elena admitted.
"You are. Because you have no choice."
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Tonight, the court tightens its noose," he whispered. "But I will fight for you. For us."
Elena's breath caught. The promise in his voice was both a balm and a battle cry.
She looked out at the sleeping court below, knowing that the coming days would test every ounce of courage she possessed.
And yet, beneath the fear, a spark kindled—a fierce hope that love and power could rewrite fate itself.