I woke before dawn, my birthmark burning like molten silver against my skin. The Luna Suite felt different in the grey morning light—less welcoming, more like a beautiful prison. Through the massive windows, I could see mist rolling across the forest, and somewhere in those depths, I knew secrets waited that could either save me or destroy me completely.
A soft knock interrupted my brooding. "Enter," I called, expecting another intimidating servant or perhaps Morgana with more veiled threats.
Instead, a young woman about my age slipped through the door, carrying a silver tray laden with breakfast. She had warm brown eyes and an open, friendly face that seemed genuinely relieved to see me awake.
"Good morning, Miss," she said with a curtsy that seemed more habit than servility. "I'm Elena, your personal maid. Master Damien thought you might prefer someone... less intimidating than Morgana."
I couldn't help but smile at that. "He's not wrong. Though I have to ask—aren't you afraid to be here? This castle doesn't exactly have a reputation for being safe."
Elena set the tray on the small table by the window and began arranging plates with practiced efficiency. "Afraid? Of Master Damien?" She shook her head firmly. "He saved my family from slavers three years ago. Brought us here, gave us protection and purpose. The stories people tell about him... they're not lies, exactly, but they're not the whole truth either."
"What do you mean?"
"He's dangerous, yes. Powerful beyond imagining. But he's not cruel for cruelty's sake." Elena poured steaming coffee into a delicate china cup. "The previous Luna... she brought out something in him I'd never seen before. Hope. When she died, it nearly destroyed him."
I moved to the window, watching the mist swirl around the ancient trees. "Elena, what do you know about the blood covenant ceremony?"
Her hands stilled on the coffee pot. "You're going through with it? Today?"
"Apparently. Damien mentioned it last night, but not many details."
Elena bit her lip, clearly struggling with whether to speak. Finally, she set down the pot and turned to face me fully. "Miss, the blood covenant isn't just a marriage ceremony. It's a binding of souls, of power, of destiny itself. Once completed, you and Master Damien will be connected until death—and maybe beyond."
"That sounds ominous."
"It is. But it's also the only way to truly test whether you can break his curse." Elena moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The previous Luna... during her ceremony, something went wrong. The power that awakened in her was so intense it nearly killed them both. And afterward..."
"Afterward?"
"She started having visions. Prophecies. She would wake screaming about shadows and blood, about a choice that would determine the fate of all seven kingdoms." Elena's eyes were haunted. "The night before she disappeared, she told me the visions were getting stronger. That something was coming, something that would use the covenant bond to destroy everything she cared about."
Before I could respond, another voice cut through the morning air like a blade.
"How touching. Sharing ghost stories over breakfast."
Morgana stood in the doorway, her violet eyes fixed on Elena with predatory interest. "Shouldn't you be attending to your duties elsewhere, girl?"
Elena curtsied quickly. "Of course, Mistress Morgana. I was just—"
"Filling our guest's head with superstitious nonsense, no doubt." Morgana glided into the room with that unsettling grace. "Run along now. Master Damien requires your services in the kitchens."
The moment Elena left, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Morgana moved to the portrait above the fireplace, studying the painted face with an expression I couldn't read.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" Morgana said conversationally. "Luna Seraphina. So full of life, so certain she could change everything with the power of her love and determination."
"What really happened to her?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"She overreached." Morgana turned to face me, her smile sharp as winter frost. "Power has a price, child. The greater the magic, the steeper the cost. She thought she could bear it, thought her precious bond with Damien would protect her from the consequences."
"And you? What do you think?"
"I think," Morgana said, moving closer with each word, "that some prices are too high to pay. And some curses exist for very good reasons."
Before I could ask what she meant, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor. Damien appeared in the doorway, dressed in formal black robes that made him look like a dark angel—beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
"Morgana," his voice carried a warning. "I thought I made it clear that our guest was not to be disturbed."
"Of course, Master. I was simply welcoming her to the family." Morgana's tone was perfectly respectful, but her eyes promised future trouble. "I'll leave you to your... preparations."
Once she was gone, Damien studied my face with those unsettling golden eyes. "What did she tell you?"
"Nothing I didn't already suspect. That this ceremony is dangerous, that your previous Luna paid a terrible price, and that you're not entirely sure I'll survive it either."
A muscle in his jaw tightened. "And yet you're still willing to go through with it."
"I told you before—I have nothing left to lose." I moved to face him fully. "But I do have a question. Why today? Why so soon?"
"Because," he said grimly, "we may not have much time. My sources in the capital report unusual activity. Victor Sterling has been calling in favors, gathering allies. Whatever he's planning, it's going to happen soon."
As if summoned by his name, a commotion erupted from the courtyard below. I rushed to the window and felt my blood turn to ice. A procession of carriages was approaching the castle gates, led by one I recognized all too well—the Sterling family crest gleaming in gold against midnight blue.
"Victor," I breathed.
Damien joined me at the window, his power radiating outward like a tangible force. "He's early. And he's brought friends."
I counted at least six carriages, each bearing the crests of different packs. This wasn't a social visit—it was a show of force.
"What do we do?" I asked.
"We proceed as planned." Damien's voice was cold as winter death. "The ceremony begins now, before Victor can interfere. If he wants to witness the binding of the future Shadow Queen, so be it."
An hour later, I stood in the castle's ancient ceremonial chamber, wearing a gown that seemed to be woven from starlight itself. The room was circular, with symbols carved into every surface—the same spiraling patterns I'd seen on the gates, but older, deeper, pulsing with power that made my birthmark sing in response.
Damien stood across from me, magnificent in black and silver, holding an ornate dagger that looked older than civilization itself. Between us lay a shallow obsidian bowl, its surface reflecting the torchlight like a mirror to another world.
"The blood covenant," Damien began, his voice echoing strangely in the ancient space, "is the most sacred bond known to our kind. It joins not just two individuals, but their power, their destiny, their very souls."
I felt power building in the room, responding to his words, to the ancient magic embedded in the stones themselves. My birthmark was now blazing so brightly it was visible through the gown, casting silver patterns across the carved walls.
"Do you, Seraphina of no name, swear to bind your essence to mine? To share my power and my burden, my strength and my curse?"
"I swear it," I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.
"And do you swear to stand by my side against all enemies, to protect what we build together even unto death?"
"I swear it."
Damien raised the ancient blade. "Then let our blood mingle, and let the old gods witness what we forge here tonight."
He drew the dagger across his palm without flinching, letting crimson drops fall into the obsidian bowl. Then he offered me the blade.
I took it with steady hands, meeting his gaze as I sliced across my own palm. The moment my blood touched his in the bowl, the world exploded into silver fire.
Power rushed through me unlike anything I'd ever experienced—not just my own magic awakening, but Damien's vast, ancient strength joining with mine. I felt his curse like a living thing wrapped around his soul, but I also felt something else. A crack in the darkness, a weakness that could be exploited.
And then the visions began.
I saw flashes of the future like scenes from a nightmare—cities burning, packs at war, a figure in shadows puppeteering it all. I saw myself standing on a battlefield, power blazing from my hands like silver lightning. I saw Damien falling, his golden eyes dimming as life left them. I saw Victor standing over us both, smiling as he held something that pulsed with familiar light.
"Choose," a voice whispered in my mind, ancient and terrible. "Power or love. Vengeance or salvation. The price will be the same, but the path determines who pays it."
I was pulled back to the present by the sound of slow, mocking applause. The ceremonial chamber's doors had opened, and Victor Sterling stood there with Isabella Ravencrest at his side, both of them dressed as if attending a funeral.
"How touching," Victor drawled, his voice carrying clearly across the sacred space. "Though I have to say, Damien, your taste in brides has certainly... declined."
My power, still singing from the completed covenant, flared with rage. The silver fire around me intensified, and I felt Damien's darkness responding, flowing through our new bond like a river of shadow.
"Victor," Damien's voice could have frozen hell itself. "You weren't invited."
"Weren't we?" Isabella stepped forward, her green eyes glittering with malice. "I thought all of the seven kingdoms were welcome to witness such momentous occasions. After all, it's not every day the Shadow King binds himself to... what was it you called her, Victor? Damaged goods?"
The insult hit its mark, but instead of pain, I felt something else entirely. Power. Pure, crystalline rage that transformed into something far more dangerous.
"Isabella Ravencrest," I said, my voice carrying new authority that made the carved symbols on the walls pulse brighter. "I remember you from court. Always lurking in corners, always jealous of anyone who commanded attention."
Her perfect composure cracked slightly. "Jealous? Of a half-breed pretender? How absurd."
"Is it?" I stepped forward, and she actually retreated. "Because you look rather pale. Almost... intimidated."
The power flowing through me was intoxicating. I could feel every person in the room, could sense their fears, their weaknesses. Isabella's confidence was a thin veneer over deep insecurity. Victor's smug superiority hid desperate fear that his carefully laid plans were unraveling.
"You came here to disrupt our ceremony," I continued, each word making the air itself seem to thicken with power. "To prove that I was still the weak little girl you could push around. But I'm not that girl anymore."
Silver fire erupted around me, and Isabella stumbled backward with a cry of alarm. The flames didn't burn—they revealed. In their light, I could see the truth of everyone in the room laid bare.
"Fascinating," Victor said, though his voice had lost some of its mockery. "It seems the little mouse has grown claws. But power without control is just another form of weakness, Seraphina. And you have so very much to learn about control."
He raised his hand, and I felt dark magic building around him—not werewolf power, but something older and far more sinister. The same energy I'd sensed during my vision, the shadow that pulled strings from behind the curtain.
But before he could strike, Damien moved.
The Shadow King's power erupted like a tsunami of darkness, crashing against Victor's magic with enough force to shake the ancient stones. The two forces clashed in the air above our heads, silver fire and shadow dancing around tendrils of something that felt like concentrated malice.
"Did you really think," Damien said conversationally, as if he wasn't currently holding back what felt like the power of a dying star, "that I would be unprepared for your inevitable interference?"
Victor's composure finally cracked. "This isn't over, Nightfall. You have no idea what forces you're meddling with."
"Perhaps not," Damien replied. "But I know what I'm protecting. And I know the price of failure."
The pressure in the room built to an unbearable crescendo, and then suddenly, Victor and Isabella were gone—not fled, but vanished as if they'd never been there at all.
"Illusion magic," Damien explained, seeing my confusion. "They were never really here. Just projections, testing our defenses."
I sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted. The power that had felt so intoxicating moments before now left me feeling hollow and wrung out.
"The visions," I said quietly. "During the ceremony, I saw... things. Terrible things."
Damien knelt beside my chair, his golden eyes intense. "What kind of things?"
"War. Death. You falling while Victor stands triumphant." I met his gaze. "And a choice. Between power and love, vengeance and salvation."
"The same visions Luna Seraphina had," he said grimly. "The same prophecy that drove her to desperate measures."
"What measures?"
Instead of answering, he stood and moved to a section of wall covered in particularly intricate carvings. He pressed his hand against a specific symbol, and a hidden panel slid away, revealing a small alcove.
Inside was a journal bound in midnight blue leather, its pages yellowed with age.
"She left this for whoever came after her," Damien said, offering me the book. "Her record of the visions, her theories about what they meant, and her final plan to prevent the worst of them from coming true."
I opened the journal with trembling hands. The first page was inscribed in elegant handwriting that was hauntingly familiar:
"To she who comes after: The visions show not fate, but possibility. The choice that determines which future becomes reality lies not in the prophecy itself, but in understanding what Victor Sterling truly is—and what he's been planning since the day our bloodlines first crossed paths."
I looked up at Damien, my blood running cold. "She knew. She knew Victor was behind everything, even then."
"And she died trying to stop him." His expression was grim. "The question is, will you succeed where she failed?"
As if in answer, my birthmark blazed with sudden heat, and for just a moment, I could swear I heard another voice whisper in my mind—warm, familiar, and filled with desperate urgency:
"Trust the bond. Trust your power. But most of all, trust that some prices are worth paying."
I closed the journal, decision crystallizing in my mind like ice forming on water. The blood covenant was complete, the power was awakened, and the real war was just beginning.
Victor Sterling thought he was playing chess with pawns. He was about to discover that he'd been facing a queen all along.
End of Chapter 4