“Forgive my ignorance,” one of the lesser nobles said, rising with a cautious bow, “but what are Sorcerers and Apostates?”

  The silence that followed was cut only by the soft snap of a fan. The eldest princess, Princess Seraphine Valenfor, sat with the composure of a porcelain idol, flicking open her lacquered fan. She answered,

  “Those born with dragon’s blood who deny the Church are witches,” she said smoothly, eyes gliding toward Selene. “Those bound and chained by the Sanctum’s will are Saints.”

  The words stung sharper than steel. Isolde flinched, her knuckles whitening as her fist curled tight against her robe. Eryndor noticed at once. He laid a steadying hand over hers, grounding her, then lifted his gaze to Seraphine. His glare was as sharp as the edge of a drawn blade.

  Unperturbed, she continued, her voice as cool as carved ivory. “Sorcerers are witches who have been corrupted by Demon blood—who willingly surrender to malice and madness. Apostates are Saints who have done the same.”

  The Pontifex rose, iron crozier thudding against the marble. “Apostates,” he thundered, “are the greatest shame of the Sanctum of Thorns.” His grip on the staff trembled as he spoke. “Ghouls, those poor souls who have been force-fed demon blood, their existence comes from reckless experiments, driven by lust for power. They are abominations forged by the forsaken.”

  The court shivered at his words. Nobles murmured prayers; a bishop sketched the Sign of Thorns hurriedly across his chest.

  Darius turned sharply, his gaze like steel. “The ghouls we cut down before rushing here—” he scoffed, “—they mean a Sorcerer or Apostate lingers nearby.” Darius went on to explain what he and his company encountered before they rushed here, after hearing about the arrival of Selene.

  Selene, silent until now, rubbed her finger across her bottom lip in thought. “Up north… near the Forest of Ash?” Her yellow eyes flicked toward the Emperor. “Then it must have been Malcolm. The Sorcerer of Ashen Frost. His last known trail led there. We do not know what drew him.”

  At her words, Darius’s hand clenched tight on his sword hilt. The memory of the fight gnawed at him. “That creature… it may have been hunting for the blade I now hold.” Darius thought remained his own, not wanting to draw more attention to his blade than necessary.

  Selene tilted her head, expression unreadable. “Even after that battle, you decided to abandon that village to chase after me? By now, it has probably returned to ash.”

  Darius froze. His eyes widened, breath caught in his throat.

  The Pontifex rapped his staff, the sound sharp as a whip crack. “Not your fault, child. Such knowledge is not shared widely. It would rouse fear of our own Saints. You have only just risen to where such truths may be told.”

  But Darius would not be comforted. His voice hardened. “Then by this definition… was not her father a Sorcerer?” He pointed toward Selene, and the court gasped at the audacity. “How can we trust she does not work with them?”

  Garran’s voice flashed in his skull, rough as gravel: Never swing blindly, boy. A blade cut in rage dulls faster than steel. Darius’s chest burned. He knew he was swinging blind, but he could not stop — not when every face in this hall looked at her with awe instead of fear.

  Gasps erupted — a goblet clattered to the floor, spilling wine that crawled darkly across the marble. For a heartbeat, no one dared breathe. It was a question every tongue had long itched to voice, but only Darius had been reckless enough to speak it aloud. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

  Selene did not bristle. She sat straighter, calm as winter stone. “Yes,” she said softly, “they claim my father was among the most powerful sorcerers to ever exist. I was too young to know. But it was my grandmother who ended him. Even your Church remembers this, yes?”

  A faint shimmer traced across her pupils, yellow deepening as though something vast pressed just beneath the surface. She exhaled slowly, forcing it down, shoulders square and unshaken. Her calmness was not the absence of anger — it was a cage built strong enough to hold it.

  The Pontifex’s jaw clenched. His crozier trembled faintly in his hand, though his voice strove for calm. “Careful, child,” he murmured toward Darius, too soft for most of the court to hear. “You are not the only one whose rage is heavy in this hall.”

  The Pontifex sighed, weariness lining his features. “It is well documented. Even Morgan LeFaye has no love for Apostates or Sorcerers. She has cleansed more from this world alone than the Sanctum in its entirety. Whether it was from duty or to snuff out power greater than her own, we cannot say. But the results stand.”

  Selene scoffed at the thinly veiled jab, but did not rise to it.

  The Emperor, silent until now, stirred at last. His smirk edged with fire. “Valuable words. But I will not trade my people for information.”

  Selene raised her hands in mock surrender. “I do not intend to purchase them, Majesty. Only to see if the bloodlines I seek live among you. If so, I would ask them to accompany me to the Hallows for a time. They would be free to return whenever they wished.”

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  The Emperor turned suddenly. “Aelun of the Ashen Forest. What do you think of this witch’s proposal?”

  The hall murmured in shock. Selene’s eyes narrowed — so, the elf knew Valerion.

  Aelun bowed lightly. “As a servant of nature, I see no reason the First Coven should not return. I support her. But as a citizen of the Empire… there is little value in her bargain.”

  He smiled faintly at Selene. She glared back.

  Valerion chuckled, low and amused. “Exactly. Her information is valuable, but not enough to send strong bloodlines to her city, to do who knows what.”

  Selene tilted her head. “Then do you have another suggestion, your Majesty?”

  The Emperor leaned forward, eyes glinting. “You seem fond of my son.”

  Selene smirked. “He makes for passable conversation. Moderately fun to look at, too.”

  The princess and princes laughed aloud at Cassian’s proud expression, as if Selene had just crowned him in praise.

  “Then it is settled,” Valerion declared.

  Selene blinked. “What is settled?”

  “You are clever. You know.”

  Her lips parted, but no words came.

  “Blood for blood,” the Emperor said. “As the Crown Princess, my daughter-in-law has every right to make use of her people.”

  Selene smirked in derision. “I appreciate the offer. But I would first ask the opinion of my would-be fiancé.”

  She turned to Cassian.

  He only grinned. “I see this as an absolute win.”

  His grin never faltered, but in the flicker of his eyes she caught something colder — calculation. He wasn’t just teasing. He had expected this. Perhaps even wanted it. Selene’s stomach knotted; for all his boyish bravado, Cassian Valenfor was no fool. She had miscalculated.

  Selene muttered, “Blasted scoundrel.”

  Cassian feigned a wound to his chest. “Better a valiant knight protecting his lady from the leers of old men.” He gestured grandly at his older brothers, all in their early to late forties, all still looking as young as Cassian. All of them handsome beyond reason. Only the beard that some of them sported betrayed the passing of years. “They’ve been lusting after you since your first words.”

  His brothers smirked. The court chuckled.

  Selene, unphased, countered, “They would not be the first, nor the last. But can you handle a LeFaye woman, your Highness?”

  Cassian leaned closer, eyes glinting. “I am more than willing to try.”

  Selene groaned softly. Arguing with him was useless. She shifted her gaze to the Pontifex. “Will the Church accept a witch as Crown Princess?”

  The Pontifex gripped his staff until blood welled at his palm. A nearby acolyte saw it and blanched, eyes wide as the red drops slid between the thorns of the crozier. He dared not speak, dared not move — but the sight spread unease through those closest, as though the Sanctum itself were bleeding in the face of the Emperor’s decree.

  “It is not my will that matters. It is the Throne’s. While a royal cannot be forced into service of the Church, I will labor to guide you toward the Light.”

  “Just like that?” Selene poked.

  “Just like that,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Selene’s gaze slid to Darius, her smile faint and cruel. “Just like that.”

  The sting cut deep; Garran’s deeds, Darius’s fire — all meaningless in the shadow of Valenfor’s throne. And the person who brought his world crumbling down, instead of being punished, would be elevated to the highest of positions within the Empire he served. It took all his strength to stop himself from screaming to the heavens and attacking the woman right then.

  Selene rubbed her temple. “I am heir to the Hallows, and potential heir of Altheryon.”

  The Emperor smirked. “Then rule them. Your offspring can reign in your stead once you have them. I encourage it. Better than ending like me, with too many children and no thrones to seat them.”

  Laughter rippled through his children. Selene pinched the bridge of her nose. For the first time, she felt the board had been played against her.

  “I don’t suppose I can withdraw the knowledge of Sorcerers and Apostates?”

  Valerion laughed. “That will be your dowry. Your guidance in hunting them will prove your loyalty to the crown. Not even the Church will deny it.”

  Selene sighed. “I am in no position to bargain. Even if my grandparents came for you together, they would kill you, but one would die with you. I’d rather not see that.”

  Cassian smiled. “You make it sound like we’re holding you hostage. You could refuse.”

  “But she won’t,” the Emperor said, eyes gleaming. “She sees the greater picture. She understands her place. What a fine Empress she will make.”

  Selene’s shoulders slumped. “Agreed… When do we begin?”

  Valerion’s laughter filled the hall. “I will send word far and wide. The engagement shall be celebrated — once you cleanse the Apostates and Sorcerers you spoke of. You will give me a report, then guide Darius Veyle and his company to destroy them.”

  “What?!” Selene and Darius barked in unison.

  The Emperor’s laughter rolled like thunder. “You are two of my most shining talents. I will not have you at each other’s throats. You will hunt together. That is an order.”

  The hall broke like glass under a hammer. A bishop screamed himself hoarse before collapsing to his knees. Nobles shouted over one another, some laughing in disbelief at the spectacle of it all. A knight dropped his helm with a clatter and scrambled to retrieve it. Priests fumbled their beads, the Sign of Thorns scrawled again and again across their chests in frantic rhythm.

  Darius’s chest rose and fell like a furnace. His hand had drifted to his hilt without him realizing it, knuckles bone-white, veins raised like cords along his arm. The leather grip creaked under his palm. His jaw locked until his teeth ached, every muscle screaming to act — to end this charade with steel. Even Cassian looked at his father with confusion. Why give him a bride, only to put her in such obvious and immediate danger?

  Selene pressed her finger to her temple. She had thought herself clever, maneuvering through barbed words and veiled threats — but Valerion had spun her wit into a trap and left her dancing to his tune. For the first time in her life, she felt not like a player of the game, but a piece shoved across the board. Only her Grandmother had made her feel so powerless before.

  And on the throne, Valerion smiled as ash curled lazily around his shoulders — a predator content to watch the chaos he had unleashed.