Chapter 64 SELENES PROMISE
That evening, Seraphine arrived at court unannounced as a daughter of power.
She wore crimson, her family’s color, and her head held high as she crossed the hall. Conversations faltered and heads turned.
Queen Elizabeth entered moments later and the message was clear.
Celine watched from the dais, with unease curling in her stomach.
Seraphine stopped at the foot of the throne and curtsied perfectly, measured, and unmistakably regal.
“Your Majesty,” she said, eyes on Adrian. “I trust you are well.”
Adrian’s expression hardened. “Seraphine.”
Queen Elizabeth took her seat beside him, composed. “Lady Seraphine has returned to court,” she announced. “At my invitation.”
Celine’s fingers tightened in her lap.
Seraphine’s gaze flicked to her in a cool, and assessing manner. “I see the position has been… filled.”
“For now,” Queen Elizabeth said smoothly.
The court murmured and Celine felt the ground tilt beneath her feet.
That night, Athalia dreamt.
She stood in the old throne room, the one that existed before stone and before crowns. Two women stood below her.
One burned with ambition and the other with quiet resolve. Between them, her child laughed.
Athalia woke with a gasp, heart racing.
Far away, Seraphine knelt before her family altar, hands clasped.
Her father’s voice echoed in her memory: “Do not lose yourself to vengeance. You can marry someone else.”
She whispered back, “I won’t, father.”
In the palace, Queen Elizabeth poured wine alone, staring at the flames.
“This will work,” she murmured. “It must.”
Above them all, the tower trembled faintly and the child stirred.
And somewhere deep beneath the kingdom, something ancient smiled because replacement was never the point, division was.
And it had begun.
“Selene.”
A voice called her name the way it used to in a low, careful, as if afraid of waking her from sleep.
She froze.
She had gone to get herbs for the queen.
The basket slipped from her fingers, herbs spilling into the damp forest soil. The morning light filtered weakly through the canopy, turning mist into pale gold.
She did not turn.
“Selene,” the voice said again, closer now. “You always hated it when I said your name like a question.”
Her throat burned. Her hands trembled at her sides.
“That’s not possible,” she whispered.
Boots pressed softly against fallen leaves.
“I know,” he said. “You told me that once. You said if I ever came back, you wouldn’t believe me.”
Her heart began to pound so hard it hurt.
Slowly, painfully, Selene turned.
He stood between two ancient trees, solid and unmistakable. The same height, the same dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck and the same scar cutting through his right eyebrow. It was a memory from a duel neither of them had taken seriously enough.
Alaric, her husband who was dead for twelve years.
“I can’t believe it. You burned,” Selene said, her voice breaking despite herself. “as the lava took you. I held your ring after and I vowed to bring you back. You’re really here.”
He looked down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. “I remember,” he said quietly. “I remember the heat and everything else.”
Her knees buckled.
He was there in an instant, steadying her. His hands were warm and real
Selene wrenched herself free and stumbled backward, breath ragged. “Don’t touch me.”
Pain flickered across his face. “You always said that when you were afraid I’m your husband. You don’t need to be afraid.”
Her eyes burned. “You died protecting a kingdom neglecting your family.”
“And I would do it again,” he said softly. “But that isn’t why I’m here.”
The forest groaned faintly, as if something beneath the earth shifted.
Selene stared at him. “Why are you here? How are you alive?”
He hesitated.
That pause told her everything.
“I had a summon.” He said
“From who?”
“We call him Master”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The child?”
He nodded once.
The basket lay forgotten at her feet. Herbs crushed under her boots released sharp, bitter scents into the air.
“You were not meant to come back like this,” Selene said. “I made a pact to resurrect you but not like this. Not bound or summoned.”
His eyes darkened. “I am not bound.”
She laughed once, sharp and hollow. “You’re standing here because something willed you into being.”
“Yes,” he said. “But not as a servant.”
Her breath caught. “Then what are you?”
He lifted his gaze toward the distant tower, barely visible through the trees. “A father who came back.”
The word struck her like a slap.
“No,” Selene whispered.
“It is possible,” he said. “And that’s the difference.”
Her mind raced. She had seen men who should have been dust walking the outer villages. Fathers returning to wives who had remarried. Sons standing on doorsteps they no longer belonged to.
All waiting for the call of the Master.
Athalia’s child.
“You stayed away,” Selene said slowly.
“Yes.”
“Why? why reveal yourself now? Why didn't you come to me immediately you were created?”
Alaric’s expression tightened. “Because he didn’t call me like the rest.”
Her stomach twisted. “What do you mean by that?”
“I woke up,” he said. “Not pulled or dragged. I woke up because he wanted me to.”
Selene’s hands curled into fists. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.”
She backed away again, shaking her head. “You’re not him. You can’t be, right?”
“But I woke up remembering it,” he said gently. “Every syllable.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them. She wiped them away angrily.
“You don’t belong here with them,” she said. “None of this was meant to happen.”
“Wasn’t it?” Alaric asked. “You always said balance demanded sacrifice.”
Her chest tightened.
“That was before,” she said. “Before I understood the cost.”
A shout echoed faintly through the trees with men’s voices, low and cautious.
Alaric turned. “They’re close.”
Selene stiffened. “Who?”
“The others,” he said. “Those who wait.”
Her blood ran cold.
“How many?” she asked.
“Enough.”
The forest shifted as figures emerged between trunks and shadows with men and women of all ages, their faces too familiar, and too wrong. Some wore the clothing of past decades and others bore the marks of violent deaths filled with burn scars, broken necks, and old wounds that should have killed them.
They stood silently, eyes fixed not on Selene, but on Alaric.
A man stepped forward. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow with devotion.
“Father,” he said.
Selene’s breath hitched.
Alaric did not answer.
Another voice followed. “What will you have us do?.”
A woman’s voice: “We thought she comes along with us to the tower.”
Alaric’s jaw tightened. “She won’t.”
A murmur rippled through them.
“You’re resisting,” the first man said. “He won’t like that.”
“I said she won't but didn'tsay I couldn't make her,” Alaric replied.
The ground shuddered faintly.
Selene felt it immediately from the pull, to the pressure behind her eyes. The child was aware now.
“Alaric,” she said urgently. “Come with me. Now. Let's be together with the children”
She stared. “Where?”