Valerion sat alone in his chamber, the flickering fire casting shifting shadows across the stone walls. A decanter of bloodwine rested on the table beside him, its deep crimson hue glistening in the low light. The silence was thick, broken only by the distant howl of the wind outside the castle walls.
A knock echoed through the chamber.
"Enter," Valerion commanded.
The door creaked open, and Raphael stepped in, his white hair catching the firelight as he strode toward his father. His expression was unreadable, sharp eyes searching Valerion’s face.
“You summoned me?” he asked, his tone neutral but laced with curiosity.
Valerion gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit.”
Raphael complied, watching as his father stood, retrieving a glass from the table. With deliberate precision, Valerion poured the bloodwine and walked over, extending it to his son. Raphael accepted it without a word.
Valerion turned away, his gaze settling on the flames dancing in the hearth. He took a slow sip from his own goblet before speaking.
“Draven took me for a fool.” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of menace.
Raphael leaned back slightly, swirling the bloodwine in his glass as he watched his father.
Valerion exhaled, his lips curling into a humorless smirk. “Back in Valaem... after he saved Azrael’s life, I thought we had an understanding. We were on the verge of war, yet we struck a truce. Not for him. Not for me.” He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Raphael. “But to protect her. To protect you.”
Raphael took a measured sip, absorbing his father’s words in silence.
“And yet, he had the audacity to conspire with the other Lycan packs to ambush me in my own home.” Valerion chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Draven must be incredibly stupid to think he can cross me and live.”
He turned fully now, stepping closer to his son. “Your sister… is beautiful, powerful, intelligent, deadly. Everything she is now, I am proud of.” His voice softened slightly, though there was no warmth in it. Then his expression darkened. “But there is something that irks me.”
Raphael raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
Valerion took another slow sip before answering. “Her emotions.”
Raphael stiffened slightly, but said nothing.
“She has always been the more… emotionally inclined one in this family. Just like your mother.” Valerion’s tone turned colder at the mention of his late wife. “But now? Now that she has been bound to that dog in body, mind, and soul… she has been acting off.”
Raphael’s grip on his goblet tightened slightly. “Do you believe she will betray us? That she will side with Draven?”
Valerion was silent, staring into the fire as if searching for answers within the flames. Moments passed before he finally spoke.
“I don’t know.” His voice was quieter this time, almost contemplative.
Another long pause followed, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Finally, Valerion turned back to Raphael, his expression unreadable. “That is why I called you here.” He set his goblet down with a soft clink. “I need you to keep a close eye on her.”
Raphael studied his father’s face, then nodded once. “Of course.”
Valerion’s eyes gleamed in the firelight. “Good.”
—
The cold night air clung to Azrael’s damp skin as she stepped out of the bath, her mind already set on the journey ahead. Steam still curled from her bare shoulders as she reached for the black and red bodysuit laid out before her—a garment chosen for its flexibility and ease of movement. She slid into it, the material molding to her form like a second skin. Over it, she fastened a belt with concealed blades and slipped on her soft-soled boots, designed for silent steps. Lastly, she drew a heavy black cloak over her shoulders, the hood deep enough to shroud her face in shadows.
She turned to the three servants she trusted most, each of them standing with heads bowed. “I will be gone for two days. Say nothing of my departure to anyone. If questioned, tell them I refused to disclose my destination.” Her golden eyes bore into each of them, ensuring they understood the weight of their task. They nodded in unison.
“Your horse is ready, my lady,” one whispered.
With a slight nod, Azrael stepped toward the door, exhaling slowly to steel herself. The castle was alive, even in the dead of night—guards patrolled the halls, servants moved like ghosts, and the occasional noble still roamed the corridors, indulging in late-night affairs. She had memorized the most discreet path, but even that required careful timing.
Slipping into the dimly lit corridor, she kept close to the walls, her footsteps soundless against the marble floors. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows, perfect for concealment but also a double-edged sword—one wrong step, and she would be exposed.
She made it past the first hall undetected, but as she rounded the next corner, the sound of approaching boots forced her to retreat into a corner. A pair of guards passed by, deep in conversation.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into them,” one muttered. “The council is restless. The King’s mood has been… unpredictable.”
Azrael remained perfectly still, listening intently. The guards moved on, their voices fading. She exhaled softly and pressed on, weaving through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle.
As she neared a grand staircase, she heard footsteps from above—too many to evade. Thinking quickly, she ducked behind an ornate pillar, pressing her back flat against the cool stone. The nobles descending the stairs were engaged in hushed gossip, their laughter brittle.
“Do you think she’ll actually go through with it?” one of them whispered.
“She’d be a fool not to,” another chuckled. “Seraphim is—”
Azrael tuned them out, focusing instead on the opportunity to move. As soon as their voices faded, she slipped forward, making her way toward the eastern wing. She was nearly at the servant’s passage when the sound of a door creaking open sent a jolt through her. A lone noblewoman stepped out, adjusting her cloak, mere paces away.
Azrael froze, willing herself into the shadows. The woman’s gaze swept the hall lazily before she turned and walked the opposite way. Azrael waited until she disappeared, then resumed her path.
At last, the servant’s passage was within reach. She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her, heart pounding. Just a few more corridors, then the stables.
She quickened her pace, moving down the narrow corridor where only dim sconces flickered. The scent of old wood and dust filled her lungs. She was steps away from freedom when—
“Azrael?”
Her breath caught. The voice was familiar. Unmistakable.
Slowly, she turned, her golden eyes meeting the one person she had hoped to avoid.