The first time I saw her, I thought she was a ghost.
Not in the way mortals mean it—pale, translucent, drifting through walls. No. Mira moved like a shadow, silent and precise, her steps never quite touching the stone, her presence felt more than seen. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in the eastern wing. Not near the interrogation chamber. Not anywhere close to Cassian’s reach.
And yet—
There she was.
Pressed against the one-way mirror, her fingers trembling against the glass, her breath fogging the enchanted surface. Her eyes—wide, human, *alive*—were locked on Indigo, curled on the floor of the warded cell, her body shaking with the weight of bond-sickness. The mating mark still glowed beneath her collar, faint but unbroken, pulsing in time with a heartbeat that refused to stop.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched from the shadows, half-fae senses sharp, my body coiled like a spring. I’d followed her. Not because I was ordered to. Not because Kaelen suspected her. But because I *knew*.
Something in her had changed.
Not overnight. Not dramatically. But in the way she moved—like she was listening to a song only she could hear. The way her fingers brushed the wards on Indigo’s chamber door and made them hum. The way she’d flinched last night when the Council’s sigils flared during the blood oath ritual, like they’d *recognized* her.
And now—
She was here.
Breaking every rule. Risking everything. For a woman who wasn’t even her blood.
I stepped forward, my boots clicking once on the stone. She didn’t turn. Just kept her face pressed to the glass, her breath coming fast, her hands clenched into fists.
“She’s alive,” I said, voice low.
She flinched. Then turned, those sharp, human eyes locking onto mine. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you,” I said. “This wing is restricted. Cassian’s men patrol every corridor. One wrong move, and you’ll be dead before you scream.”
She didn’t look away. Just held my gaze, steady, unyielding. “Then why are *you* here?”
I didn’t answer. Just studied her—really studied her. Her skin was pale, her lips chapped, her hair tangled from sleep. But her eyes—oh, her eyes were *awake*. Not with magic. Not with power. But with something deeper. Something rarer.
Conviction.
“You felt it,” I said. “When the wards reacted to you. When the embroidery on her robe flared. When the sigil appeared on your skin.”
Her breath caught.
Then—
She nodded. Once. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“No one does,” I said. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s *yours* now.”
She looked back through the glass, her fingers pressing against the crack in the mirror—the one Indigo had made with a pulse of Eclipse magic. “She’s dying,” she whispered. “Not from the wards. Not from the bond. But from *him*. From what he’s done to her.”
“She’s stronger than you think,” I said.
“And what if she’s not?” she snapped, turning back to me. “What if Cassian wins? What if he frames her? What if he kills her and makes Kaelen watch? What then?”
I didn’t flinch. Just held her gaze, those human eyes searching, *testing*. “Then we stop him.”
“We?” she repeated, voice rough. “You’re his lieutenant. You’re bound to him. You’re supposed to *protect* him.”
“I am,” I said. “And I will. But not like this. Not by letting him destroy the woman who saved his life. Not by letting Cassian win.”
She stilled.
Then—
“Then help me,” she said. “Help me get her out.”
“I can’t,” I said. “The wards are tied to the Council’s magic. Only a High Sovereign or a Council Elder can break them.”
“But you’re half-fae,” she said, stepping closer. “You can manipulate illusions. You can slip through glamours. You can—”
“I can *die*,” I cut in, voice low. “If I’m caught. If I’m seen. If I so much as breathe wrong near that cell, Cassian will have my head before dawn.”
She didn’t flinch. Just kept her eyes on mine, those human eyes sharp with something I hadn’t seen in centuries—courage.
“Then do it in the dark,” she said. “Do it when no one’s watching. Do it *now*.”
I exhaled, long and slow, then pressed a hand to the crack in the mirror. “She sent you a pulse. A warning.”
“Yes,” she said. “She told me to run. To warn Kaelen.”
“And you didn’t.”
“No,” she said, voice steady. “I came to find *you*.”
I stilled.
Then—
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I know you,” she said. “I’ve seen the way you watch them. The way you stand when they argue. The way you *listen* when no one else does. You’re not just his lieutenant. You’re his *friend*. And you won’t let her die.”
I didn’t answer. Just turned, my back to her, my hand still on the glass. The crack pulsed faintly, like it was alive, like it was *waiting*.
And then—
I felt it.
Not magic. Not power.
But *truth*.
She was right.
I *wouldn’t* let her die.
Not Indigo.
Not Kaelen.
Not anyone Cassian wanted to destroy.
Because I’d seen what happened when a man lost the woman he loved. I’d seen Kaelen two centuries ago—broken, silent, a king without a soul. And I’d sworn I’d never let it happen again.
And now—
Now I had a choice.
Duty.
Or loyalty.
And for the first time in my life—
I knew which one mattered more.
—
The plan was simple.
Stupid. Reckless. Suicidal.
But it was the only one we had.
“The eastern wing has a maintenance passage,” I said, crouched in the shadows of the lower corridor, the map of the residence spread between us. Mira knelt beside me, her fingers tracing the inked lines, her breath shallow. “It runs beneath the interrogation chamber. If we can access it, we can tunnel up—quietly, slowly—and break through the floor.”
“And the wards?” she asked.
“They’re designed to block magic from *leaving*,” I said. “Not entering. If we’re careful, if we move slow, we might be able to slip through.”
“Might?” she repeated, voice tight.
“There’s no guarantee,” I said. “One wrong step, one surge of magic, and the entire wing will be on us.”
She didn’t flinch. Just kept her eyes on the map, her fingers steady. “Then we don’t make mistakes.”
I looked at her—really looked at her. Not as a handmaiden. Not as a human. But as a woman who had walked into the darkest part of the Dominion and refused to look away.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked. “She’s not your queen. Not your blood. Not even your species. Why risk your life for her?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just folded the map, her movements slow, deliberate. Then she looked up, those human eyes locking onto mine.
“Because she’s the first person who ever treated me like I mattered,” she said. “Not as a servant. Not as a nobody. But as *Mira*. And when she looks at me, I don’t feel invisible.”
My breath caught.
Because I knew that feeling.
Not from her. Not from anyone.
But from *him*.
Kaelen.
The first time he’d looked at me—really looked at me—after I’d saved his life in the Blood Moon Rebellion. Not with pity. Not with obligation. But with *respect*.
And now—
Now I understood.
Loyalty wasn’t given. It was *earned*.
And Indigo had earned it.
—
We moved at midnight.
The residence was quiet—too quiet. No guards. No patrols. Just the low hum of the wards and the distant echo of the city beyond the veil. Mira followed close behind, her boots silent on the stone, her breath steady. She carried nothing—no weapons, no magic, no illusions. Just a small silver dagger—Kaelen’s, stolen from his study—and a vial of vervain to mask our scent.
“Here,” I whispered, stopping at a rusted grate in the floor. “The passage is below.”
She nodded, already moving, her fingers working the bolts with surprising skill. “You’ve done this before,” I said.
“I was a thief before I was a handmaiden,” she said, not looking up. “Survival makes you resourceful.”
I didn’t answer. Just helped her pull the grate free, the metal groaning as it lifted. The passage beneath was narrow, damp, the air thick with the scent of mildew and old magic. A single torch flickered at the far end, casting long shadows across the stone.
“After you,” I said.
She didn’t hesitate. Just stepped inside, her back straight, her head high.
And I—
I followed.
—
The tunnel was tight—too tight for comfort. The walls pressed in, the ceiling low, the air thick with the weight of secrets. We moved slow, silent, our breaths shallow, our steps careful. Every few feet, I paused, listening—no voices, no footsteps, no magic. Just silence.
And then—
A flicker.
From above.
Not light. Not sound.
But *pressure*.
The wards. The sigils etched into the stone. They were *alive*. And they were *reacting*.
“Stop,” I whispered, pressing a hand to the wall. “We’re close.”
Mira stilled, her hand on the dagger, her eyes wide. “Can you break through?”
“Not without magic,” I said. “And if I use it—”
“I’ll do it,” she said.
I turned. “You don’t have magic.”
“I do now,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. The sigil—crescent moon, glowing faintly—pulsed beneath her skin. “It’s weak. Untrained. But it’s *mine*.”
I studied her—those human eyes searching, *testing*—then nodded. “Then do it. But slowly. Gently. Like you’re peeling back a layer.”
She didn’t answer. Just knelt, placed her palm on the floor, and *pushed*.
Not with force. Not with rage.
But with *need*.
For truth.
For justice.
For her.
The stone trembled. Not much. Just a shiver, like the earth had exhaled. And then—
A crack.
Thin. Faint. But *there*.
She didn’t stop. Just kept pushing, her breath coming fast, her magic surging. The crack widened. The stone split. And then—
It broke.
Not with a crash. Not with a blast.
But with a *whisper*.
A hole—small, jagged—opened in the floor, just large enough to fit a body. And through it—
I saw her.
Indigo.
Still in the cell. Still chained. But awake. Her eyes—dark, endless, *knowing*—locked onto the crack, onto *us*.
And then—
She smiled.
Slow. Dangerous. Mine.
—
We didn’t speak.
Didn’t signal.
Just moved.
I went first—through the hole, silent, fast, my body coiled like a predator. The cell was warded, but the floor breach had disrupted the seal. Just enough. I landed in a crouch, my fangs bared, my senses sharp. No guards. No magic. Just silence.
And then—
Mira dropped down behind me, her boots hitting the stone with a soft thud. She didn’t flinch. Just moved to the chains, the dagger in her hand.
“We don’t have much time,” I said, voice low. “Cassian’s preparing the ritual. He’s going to frame her at dawn.”
“Then we move now,” she said, already working the first lock.
Indigo didn’t speak. Just watched us—those dark eyes searching, *testing*—then nodded. Once. A silent promise. A silent strength.
The chains broke—one, two, three—with a series of sharp snaps. She stood—shaky, weak, but *alive*—and grabbed the dagger from Mira’s hand. The mating mark flared, not with pain, but with *purpose*.
“Where’s the vial?” she asked, voice rough.
“Ritual chamber,” I said. “He’s going to use your blood to frame you.”
She didn’t hesitate. Just turned to Mira. “Get to Kaelen. Warn him. Now.”
“And you?” Mira asked.
“I’m going to burn it all down,” she said.
And then—
She stepped through the wall.
Not with magic.
Not with force.
But with *time*.
The stone *melted* around her, like reality itself bent to her will. And then—
She was gone.
Mira turned to me, her breath coming fast, her eyes wide. “We have to go.”
“Not yet,” I said, pressing a hand to the crack in the floor. “I gave her the key. But I didn’t tell her where it leads.”
“What are you talking about?”
I didn’t answer. Just pulled a small silver key from my pocket—the one that unlocked the hidden passage beneath the ritual chamber. The one only Kaelen and I knew about.
“Go,” I said, pressing it into her hand. “Warn him. And tell him—” I hesitated. “—tell him I’m not his lieutenant anymore. I’m *hers*.”
She stared at me—those human eyes searching, *testing*—then nodded. Once. A silent promise. A silent strength.
And then—
She was gone.
And I—
I stepped into the dark.
And the war began.