Chapter twenty six: Crimson summons
The manor's quiet felt unnaturally still.
Elira sat near the window in her room, the gray clouds outside matching the hush inside her chest. Mirelle had left some time ago, and though her words still echoed gently—"It will come back to you eventually"—a dull ache had settled behind Elira's eyes. Memories were fragments. Faces like smoke. Her brother's laughter, yes—but nothing else. No mother. No father. No cradle of warmth. Just Calen… and blood.
A soft knock stirred her. She turned as a maid entered, head bowed, hands wringing nervously in her apron.
"Milady," the girl said quickly. "The Master requests your presence in the dining hall."
Elira studied the girl. She couldn't have been more than sixteen, and her voice trembled despite the formality. When their eyes met, the maid took a half step back—like a mouse expecting the strike of a paw.
Elira rose silently, and the girl quickly stepped aside, head down, avoiding her gaze like she bore a curse.
So even the maids fear me now.
The dining hall was dimly lit with silver-cast chandeliers and tall candelabras. Lucien sat alone at the end of the long, polished table, wine untouched before him, his posture unnervingly still. He didn't look up as she entered—yet she felt his presence like a blade already drawn.
"Sit," he said simply.
She obeyed, sliding into the seat across from him. Plates of fine game spiced root broth, roasted duck, crisp dark greens and wine-glazed root vegetables had been prepared—Mirelle's careful choices, no doubt—but Elira found her appetite lacking. She picked at the food in silence.
Elira's eyes moved to the goblet in his hand.
"It's not poisoned," he said, noticing.
"I wouldn't be surprised."
His mouth curved faintly at the edges. "No. You wouldn't."
A silence passed — not cold, not warm. Just wary.
"Are they still here?" she asked, not meeting his gaze.
Lucien didn't need clarification.
He set his fork down with a faint click.
"No," he said at last, his voice low. "Ravienne was sent back to the Hollow Keep. Seliora… was given over to the physicians. She will not show her face again for some time."
Elira finally met his eyes. "You didn't kill them."
"If I'd wanted to, they would already be ash."
Her throat tightened, not in fear—but in the understanding that he meant it. She gave a small nod and returned her gaze to her plate. The silence between them settled again.
Then—
Lucien was sipping dark wine—no blood tonight, at least not openly—when a faint tapping echoed from beyond the door. He didn't turn. "Enter."
A pale footman stepped through, head bowed. In his gloved hand was a letter sealed in deep carmine wax—so dark it might've been blood.
He approached silently and placed the letter beside Lucien's plate, then withdrew without a word.
Elira's gaze lingered on the seal. The emblem was unfamiliar to her, but it stirred something instinctive and ancient in her blood. The wax bore an insignia that resembled a crown made of thorns encircling a fang.
Lucien stared at it for a long moment without touching it.
"Aren't you going to open it?" Elira asked softly.
His fingers moved finally, breaking the seal with a deliberate flick. He unfolded the thick parchment and scanned the contents.
His jaw clenched.
"Well?" she prompted.
His eyes scanned the parchment once. Then again, slower.
Elira sat up straighter. "Lucien?"
He finally looked up. "The Blood Court summons me. They've deemed my actions during the ball as 'reckless and unbecoming of my station."
"They call it 'unrestrained savagery.' An 'embarrassment to our kind.'
A beat passed. "Will you go?"
A flicker of dark amusement crossed his face, cold and cutting. "No."
"They believe they hold dominion over blood," Lucien said quietly, but his words carried a dangerous edge. "That they can rewrite fate, name monsters, name gods. Some of them… they believe sending you here was a miscalculation. They want it undone...swiftly and without noise.
Elira's fingers curled around the edge of her seat. "And the rest?"
His jaw tensed. "They're waiting. Watching. They think you're the key to something long-buried—something none of us fully understand."
They still believe you serve a purpose. One they're willing to wait for."
Her breath caught. "Then… what do you believe?"
He was silent for a moment. " I don't fully understand it either. Only that you're the key. The vessel—or perhaps the catalyst—for something buried long ago. And some of them… worship that possibility. Others fear it."
She finally spoke again. "What will you do now?"
Lucien rose from his chair and approached the hearth, placing the letter in the cold ashes. He didn't need flame. The parchment ignited from his fingers alone—silent, swift, and final.
"I will not be summoned like a dog. Let them come."