The corridors of Valthorne Keep whispered with history—once sacred, now desecrated. The cold stone walls drank in the silence, broken only by the soft crackle of torches and the distant howl of wind beyond the battlements. Shadows clung to the archways like watchful ghosts, bearing witness to the fortress's slow transformation. Where once the sigil of Everwyn flew with pride, now hung banners of black and gold—Kael Ardyn's dominion made manifest.
Kael walked the halls with measured steps, his long coat trailing like the mantle of a monarch not yet crowned. He did not need iron chains or screaming banners to prove he ruled here.
The people had already begun to believe it.
Selene Everhart stood before the wide window of her chamber, bathed in silver moonlight. Her silhouette was carved from contradiction—rigid shoulders, trembling fingers. The wind tousled her silver-blonde hair, which shimmered like spun moonlight against the dark velvet of night.
She hadn't slept. Couldn't.
Not since he came.
Not since Kael's words, like barbed silk, began threading through the seams of her certainty.
Her fingers gripped the golden chain at her throat—a gift from Lucian, once a token of love. Now it felt like a shackle. Heavy. Final. A symbol of duty she no longer knew how to carry.
"Thinking of home?"
The voice, calm and unapologetic, slid across the room like a shadow with purpose.
Selene turned, heart skipping despite herself. Kael stood at the door, arms crossed, dark as the night that cloaked him.
"You have no right to be here," she said, though her voice lacked the fire it once held.
Kael didn't move. "And yet… you left the door unlocked."
Selene's breath caught.
"Because I have nothing to hide."
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with that infuriating blend of amusement and insight. "Then why do you hesitate every time you say his name?"
The room grew smaller. Tighter. She hated how close he could feel, even from across the chamber.
"You're manipulating me," she said. "Twisting my thoughts. Making me doubt—"
"—making you question things that shouldn't be so easy to doubt," Kael finished for her, taking a step closer. "Tell me, Selene—do you love Lucian?"
"Of course, I—"
But the words fractured on her tongue.
Kael's lips curled into a quiet, knowing smile. Not victory—certainty.
"Loyalty isn't love. Devotion isn't desire. Lucian asks for everything… without ever asking who you are beneath the myth. But I—"
He closed the distance, his presence wrapping around her like smoke.
"—I've never asked anything of you. Not your love, not your allegiance. Only your truth."
Selene's breath trembled as he stepped behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her ear.
"And the truth, Selene, is that you are not his damsel. You're not his cause. You are a woman standing on the edge of her own choice."
A silence stretched between them, sharp and unbearable.
"Do you know why he hasn't come for you?" Kael whispered.
She stiffened. "Because he's preparing for war."
Kael's laugh was soft—almost pitying.
"No, Selene. Because he's starting to believe what he fears most… that maybe you're no longer worth saving."
She flinched, the chain around her neck suddenly burning like iron.
"But I see you," Kael murmured. "Even when he no longer can."
He stepped back, leaving only the ghost of his voice behind.
Selene didn't stop him.
She couldn't.
In Everwyn Citadel, beneath a ceiling carved with centuries of triumph, Lucian Dorne stood like a storm given form. Maps lay scattered across the war table, but his fury made strategy irrelevant.
Valthorne had fallen.
Selene was silent.
No letters. No messages. No secret sign.
The walls pressed in on him like judgment. His mind played cruel visions—Selene's voice lost, her touch claimed by another. Kael.
He slammed his fist into the table, silver goblets and scrolls toppling with a clatter.
"We attack Valthorne within the fortnight."
Around him, generals exchanged wary glances. One spoke, tentative. "My lord… if we move too soon, without reinforcements—"
"He has her," Lucian hissed. "Do you understand that? He has her."
But even as he shouted, something in his voice cracked. A flicker of uncertainty. Of fear.
He turned away, eyes dark.
"She's mine," he whispered to himself.
But it felt more like a prayer than a truth.
Back in Valthorne, Kael sat in the quiet sanctum of his private study, shadows dancing across the stone walls. A glass of dark wine swirled in his hand like blood and ink.
His spy knelt before him. "The Hero plans to strike within two weeks."
Kael smiled faintly.
"Good."
The pieces moved with perfect rhythm. Lucian's fury made him predictable. Selene's silence made her vulnerable. And Kael… Kael was the only one watching the whole board.
"He'll march on Valthorne," Kael said, eyes half-lidded. "And when he does, he'll find no victory. No redemption."
He raised the glass in quiet toast, lips brushing the rim.
"Because by the time he arrives… Selene will already belong to me."
And with her—Lucian's purpose would collapse into ruin.
To be continued...