(Queen Vivienne POV)
The first ping came at three in the morning, a few days after Nyx had been taken.
Dorian's men had raided the Shadow Fang base in the forest, and though they'd recovered drives, prisoners, and bloodied uniforms, there had been no sign of the Queen's heir—until now.
Vivienne's phone vibrated against the nightstand, the soft glow cutting through the dark like a breath of life. She blinked awake, pulse quickening.
Beside her, King Jonas stirred and groaned. "Goddess, Vivienne. Turn that thing off."
"Go back to sleep," she whispered, already sliding from beneath the sheets.
He mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over, returning to his even, oblivious breathing—the privilege of kings who believed the world stayed safe while they slept.
Vivienne padded barefoot across the marble floor, her silk robe whispering like smoke around her. The air in the den adjoining their royal suite was calm and still when she closed the heavy door behind her.
A faint blue light blinked at the corner of her device.
Location Ping: User — Maria Vale Memorial Trust.
Accessed: 02:58 AM.
Her breath hitched. "Ah, got you, little wolf," she murmured.
Inside her, her wolf Scarlett stirred—a sound like velvet and steel. Do we get our girl?
Vivienne's lips curved faintly, her relief threading through the words. "Not yet."
Do you know where she is?
"Yes. She's desperate—if she's this careless." Vivienne's fingers skimmed across the glass, eyes narrowing. "She just tapped into her mother's account. That means she's alive… and she's scared."
She's going to get herself killed if she keeps leaving a trail like this, Scarlett warned.
"Then we'll leave her something better to find."
Vivienne crossed to her desk—a heavy, mahogany heirloom from her grandmother—and withdrew a thin obsidian tablet, black as ink and just as dangerous. It was linked to her private vault—the one no one in the palace knew existed.
The Queen vanished; the strategist took her place.
Scarlett huffed, restless. You're going to send her money? That may spook her. She might disappear again, and we may never see her.
Vivienne smiled faintly, her eyes glinting in the pale blue glow. "Oh, have a little faith, you worrier. She'll know this is a gift from a friend."
Her fingers danced across encrypted ledgers until she found the oldest, most forgotten one: Maria Vale Memorial Trust—a dormant account built decades ago, under a false donor.
It had once been a tribute to the woman she'd lost—Nyx's mother.
She hadn't expected ever to use it until tonight.
"Come on, little wolf," she murmured. "Let's make sure you have what you need."
A secure transfer window opened. Vivienne initiated a substantial transfer—credits buried under layers of shell accounts and routed through human-world financial systems. It was enough for a new identity, a haven, medical care, and years of living unseen. Enough to build a quiet life far away from crowns, guards, and bloodlines.
Scarlette fell silent as the numbers scrolled across the screen.
"Can't have our heir out there going without," Vivienne whispered. "Not our girl. Not when she carries the future."
Scarlett's voice softened, rich with pride. She's smart. She'll know it's from us.
Vivienne nodded. "Exactly. How many connected friends with this kind of money—and the initial V—does she have?"
The transfer was completed with a soft chime. Transaction Successful.
Relief flooded her veins, though it didn't dull the ache that had been there since Nyx disappeared.
She powered down the tablet, severed all connection routes manually, and crossed to the hidden vault behind the bookshelf. A rose-shaped carving gave way beneath her thumbprint. The shelf slid open, revealing a narrow compartment lined in silver and shadows.
She placed both devices inside, whispering the old lock-word her bloodline had used for centuries—the vault sealed with a faint hum, erasing any trace of what she had done.
"Let the palace think she's gone," Vivienne murmured. "The fewer who know, the safer she stays."
Scarlett's tone sharpened, thoughtful now. We've got to get her set up with a reliable doctor who knows how to keep their mouth shut.
Vivienne frowned, already calculating. "Hmm. What about Dr. Prescott?"
The old coot who delivered Dorian? Scarlette teased. Is he still alive?
Vivienne smiled faintly. "Actually, his daughter. She runs his private practice now in the coastal city. Quiet, trustworthy, used to working with our kind. She delivered hybrids once before."
She's going to need someone who can deliver a Lycan or a wolf, Scarlette reminded her, echoing her own earlier warning.
Vivienne nodded. "Yes. But not yet. One step at a time. If I move too fast, she'll bolt."
Scarlett sighed—a sound like wind through old trees. Will she be living as a rogue, Viv?
Her wolf's tone had changed—no longer cautious, but curious, probing. And for the first time in a long time, Vivienne felt her own Lycan stir beneath the surface, stretching, awakening.
She smiled softly, the old power rippling through her blood. "Ah, hello, old friend," she murmured inwardly. "More of the prophecy is fulfilling itself. You feel it too—the anticipation of the heir."
Her Lycan didn't speak, but the energy pulsed through her veins like a steady heartbeat, ancient and undeniable. It wasn't rage or fear—it was recognition. The next cycle was beginning.
Scarlett's voice returned, low but insistent. She was doing what she always did—asking the hard questions, the ones that kept Vivienne honest. And what about Dorian? Or your sister?
Vivienne hesitated, staring at the faint glow still spilling from the screen before her. Dorian's name alone was enough to make her chest ache—her son, the future King, her proudest creation, and her greatest vulnerability.
"They can't know," she whispered finally, her voice raw but resolute. "Not yet."
You're protecting her from them?
"I'm protecting her from everyone," Vivienne said quietly, crossing to the window. The moonlight caught the silver in her hair, casting her reflection in shades of ghost and queen. "Love makes fools of even the strongest wolves. And fools don't survive court politics."
Below her, the courtyard slept in perfect order—guards at the gates, flags unmoving, fountains silent. To anyone else, the kingdom was at peace. But Vivienne knew better. The balance was shifting, the bloodlines stirring.
"Hold on, my girl," she whispered into the night. "Your Queen hasn't forgotten you."
Scarlett purred, satisfied. Our girl is stronger than they think.
Vivienne smiled faintly, eyes shining. "Yes," she said. "Just like her mother."
She turned off the final lamp, letting the room dissolve into moonlight. The silence felt sacred, weighed with the promise of rebellion.
When she slipped back into bed beside Jonas, he stirred slightly but didn't wake. She brushed her fingers across his temple, the same way she used to soothe Dorian as a child, and whispered a quiet prayer—not to the Goddess of War, but to the one of Mercy.
Not for power.
Not for the throne.
For time.
Because somewhere out there, through forests and fog, her lost daughter still lived. And beneath that daughter's heart, the next generation of royal blood was already stirring—an heir born not in gold, but in fire and exile.
And for now, that was enough.