The moon rose full and golden above Blackthorn Keep, casting long, silver shadows across the snowy courtyard. It should have been a night of celebration. A night of unity, honoring the ancient pact between wolf and flame that had kept the mountain realms in peace for generations.
Instead, the Keep held its breath.
Seraphine watched the courtiers descend into the grand ballroom, their gowns shimmering, their laughter hollow. It was her first public appearance as Princess of Vareth, but no one greeted her. No one even looked at her for more than a moment—except to judge.
They saw her for what they wanted to see: a human girl from a weak border kingdom, married to a prince she did not deserve.
"Let them look," she whispered to her reflection as she adjusted the silver pendant Kael had given her. "Let them wonder. I will not bow."
Her gown was soft blue silk, cinched with a sash the color of moonlight. She had woven a single silver rose into her hair—a quiet tribute to Queen Elenara, who had not been seen since the day before.
Seraphine stepped into the ballroom, and silence rippled around her like a dropped stone in water.
She walked alone.
Until Kael appeared beside her.
He wore black again, but not out of mourning—out of habit. A wolf among shadows. His presence filled the room like thunder behind the clouds.
He offered his arm.
She took it.
And though neither smiled, their unity silenced every whisper.
At the far end of the ballroom, King Alaric sat upon the throne-like dais reserved for the high table. Rourke stood behind him, eyes sharp, mouth curled in a faint sneer. To their left sat the cloaked members of the Eclipse Court, posing as foreign emissaries.
Kael noticed the arrangement immediately.
Too close.
Too many weapons hidden beneath robes of silk.
Too few true allies present.
His grip on Seraphine's arm tightened slightly.
Something was wrong.
The first course was served.
A honeyed roast pheasant, spiced wine, and dark bread. Musicians played a waltz, and dancers spun on the marble floor.
Kael barely touched his food.
He glanced at the empty seat beside the king—where Elenara should have been.
Still missing.
Still silent.
The wind shifted outside. A howl cut through the air.
But it wasn't a wolf.
It was screaming.
The doors exploded inward.
Three guards stumbled through, their armor scorched and melted. Flames licked at the stone, and shadows twisted behind them—tall, cloaked figures with glowing eyes and hooked blades.
"INTRUDERS!" someone shouted.
But Kael knew better.
These weren't invaders.
They were already here.
Rourke moved first.
He drew his sword and lunged—not at the intruders—but at Kael.
Seraphine screamed.
Kael turned just in time, parrying the blade with his forearm. The steel burned his skin, but he did not flinch. A growl erupted from deep within his chest—not a wolf's growl, but something far older. Far darker.
"Brother," Rourke snarled, "I've waited years to do this."
Kael caught his wrist. "You should've waited longer."
They crashed into the table, sending goblets and plates flying. Seraphine scrambled back, heart racing, eyes wide as more guards turned—not on the invaders—but on Kael himself.
It was a trap.
Every word his mother had said was true.
The Eclipse Court began chanting. A red sigil lit up beneath the floor, ancient and demonic—meant not to banish, but to shatter blood.
The blood of demons.
Kael's blood.
Seraphine dove behind a pillar, frantically scanning the chaos. She saw Kael battling three at once, moving like smoke and fire, faster than any man. His eyes glowed gold. Shadows clung to him like armor.
He bled. But he didn't fall.
Not yet.
The red sigil cracked open the floor beneath him.
Kael shouted her name—
And vanished into the dark.
Below the Keep, Kael landed hard on ancient stone.
The chamber was cold and circular, carved with old symbols—binding runes, containment glyphs. He tried to rise, but pain exploded in his ribs. His right leg refused to move. Blood soaked his shirt.
Then—footsteps.
A figure descended the steps, holding a flickering lantern.
Queen Elenara.
She rushed to him, kneeling beside his broken form.
"Kael," she gasped. "You weren't supposed to fall into the circle. The spell was meant to bind them—to stop the Court—not you!"
His voice came in a rasp. "They turned it. Didn't they?"
Tears streamed down her face. "They altered the sigils while I was gone. They turned it into a trap."
Kael reached for her hand. "You have to get Seraphine out."
Elenara shook her head. "I'm not leaving you."
Another crash echoed above—explosions, roars, more screams.
Then Kael saw it.
The lantern light glinted off the blade in her side.
His breath caught. "No—"
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, blood bubbling at her lips. "I tried to protect you. From him. From them. But it was never enough."
"Mother—"
She cupped his cheek, fingers trembling. "You are your father's son, Kael. But you are mine, too. And I have never been prouder."
And then—she was gone.
The chamber shook.
Something cracked above. Flames roared down through the gaps. The scent of ash filled the air.
Kael tried to rise, but his body failed him. His blood burned. The circle carved into the floor pulsed red—draining him, weakening him.
From the corner of the room, a figure stepped through the smoke.
Not a wolf.
Not a courtier.
But a demon.
Older than Kael. Broad-shouldered, with black horns curling like a crown around his head. His eyes burned with molten fury.
He looked down at Kael—broken, bleeding, cradling his dead mother—and frowned.
"Pitiful," he muttered. "So this is what they did
to my son."
Kael looked up.
"What… did you say?"
The demon knelt beside him.
"My name is Askarion," he said. "I'm your father. And we don't have much time."