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. Indigo moved like a storm wrapped in 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.
Standing in the ruins of the ritual chamber, her bare feet pressing against the cracked marble, the mating mark glowing like a brand on her neck. The Black Sigil pulsed beneath her ribs, a second heartbeat, steady and deep. Her eyes—dark, endless, awake—were locked on the shattered silver bowl, on the rewritten sigils, on the memory that had played like a blade through the Council’s lies.
And I—
I didn’t flinch.
Just stepped forward, my blood-red gown trailing behind me like a river of venom, the D’Vire ring still warm in my palm. I hadn’t worn it in centuries. Not since the night he screamed her name into the void. Not since the night I realized I would never be enough.
“You won,” I said, voice low. “The bond is real. The truth is known. Cassian is broken.” I held up the ring. “And I’m done pretending.”
She didn’t turn. Just kept her gaze on the ruins, her breath steady, her magic humming beneath her skin. “Then why are you here?”
“To say goodbye,” I said. “Not to you. To him.”
She finally turned, those dark eyes locking onto mine. Not with hate. Not with pity. But with something rarer.
Understanding.
“You loved him,” she said, not a question.
I didn’t answer. Just pressed the ring into her palm, my fingers brushing hers, cold and sharp. “I loved the idea of him. The man who didn’t speak. Who didn’t look. Who let me bleed for him in silence.” I exhaled, long and slow. “But you—you made him feel. You made him fight. You made him live.”
She didn’t flinch. Just closed her fingers around the ring, the metal warm against her skin. “And what about you?”
“I’m tired,” I said. “Tired of being the shadow. Tired of the lies. Tired of pretending I mattered.” I stepped back, the scent of old magic thick in the air. “So I’m leaving.”
“Where will you go?” she asked.
“Away,” I said. “Somewhere they don’t know my name. Somewhere I’m not a weapon. Not a pawn. Not a lie.”
She studied me—those dark eyes searching, testing—then nodded. Once. A silent promise. A silent strength.
And then—
She surprised me.
She stepped forward, pressed a hand to my chest, just above my heart. “You mattered,” she said, voice low. “Not because of him. Not because of the ring. But because you’re real. And that’s more than most ever are.”
My breath caught.
And then—
I smiled. Slow. Dangerous. Mine.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
And I was gone.
—
The eastern wing was silent when I returned.
No torches. No servants. No sound. Just the low hum of the wards and the distant echo of the city beyond the veil. My chambers were untouched—velvet drapes drawn, silver mirror cracked, the scent of old blood still clinging to the air. I didn’t light the candles. Didn’t summon a servant. Just moved through the darkness like a ghost, pulling open drawers, tossing aside gowns, searching for the one thing I’d kept hidden for two centuries.
The vial.
Small. Silver. Sealed with black wax.
Cassian’s blood.
I’d taken it the night he gave me the ring. The night he whispered, *“Wear it, and the world will believe.”* I’d kept it close, a secret weapon, a bargaining chip, a piece of the man who’d promised me power if I played his game.
And now—
Now I was done playing.
I pressed the vial to my chest, my fingers trembling, my breath shallow. The blood inside was dark, thick, laced with ancient magic. It wasn’t just a weapon.
It was a key.
A key to the Summer Court.
They’d been Cassian’s allies. His backers. The ones who’d funded his lies, who’d spread the rumors, who’d whispered in the ears of the Council that the Eclipse Heir was a fraud. And now—
Now they would come for me.
Not to save me.
But to silence me.
—
I didn’t pack.
Didn’t take gold. Didn’t take jewels. Just the vial, a dagger, and a cloak woven from shadow and silence. I left the gowns. Left the rings. Left the masks.
And I walked.
Not to the gates. Not to the stables. Not to the tunnels.
But to the mirror.
The one that showed not my face, but my truth.
I pressed a hand to the glass, my breath fogging the surface, my reflection blurred by time and magic. And then—
I spoke.
Not to myself.
But to the woman I’d been.
“You were never weak,” I said, voice low. “You were just afraid. Afraid of being nothing. Afraid of being seen. Afraid of being *real*.” I exhaled, long and slow. “But I’m not afraid anymore.”
And then—
I shattered the mirror.
Not with magic.
Not with rage.
But with truth.
The glass cracked—once, twice, three times—spiderwebbing across the surface, my reflection fracturing into pieces. And in each shard—
I saw her.
The woman I’d buried.
The one who’d loved in silence.
The one who’d bled for a man who didn’t see her.
The one who’d worn a lie like a crown.
And then—
I stepped through.
Not with magic.
Not with force.
But with need.
For truth.
For justice.
For me.
—
The tunnels beneath the residence were narrow—too narrow for comfort. The walls pressed in, the ceiling low, 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. I moved slow, silent, my breath shallow, my senses sharp.
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.
Not to me.
To her.
Indigo.
I didn’t flinch. Just kept moving—down, down, down—until the tunnel opened into a vast, circular chamber.
The Obsidian Pit.
A prison built from black stone, its walls etched with runes designed to drain magic, to silence voices, to break even the strongest will. Chains hung from the ceiling, their links heavy with centuries of suffering. The floor was smooth, polished by time and blood, the center marked with a ritual circle—black stone, blood-red sigils, mine.
And in the center of it—
Cassian.
He stood with his back to me, his velvet coat open, his fangs bared, his voice a low chant in the ancient tongue of the Nocturne Dominion. The air thickened. The runes flared. And then—
He turned.
Those ancient, dead eyes locked onto mine. And he smiled.
“I knew you’d come,” he said, voice smooth, oily. “The bond. The blood. The need. You can’t resist it. You’re just like me—driven by emotion, blinded by love, too weak to see the truth.”
I didn’t answer. Just stepped forward, my boots clicking once on the stone.
“You don’t have to die,” he said, holding up a silver dagger. “You can walk away. Live. Forget. Let me take your place at Kaelen’s side.”
“You killed her,” I said, voice low, steady. “You framed Kaelen. You tried to destroy Indigo. And now you think I’ll just walk away?”
“I think you’re smart,” he said. “And survival is the highest form of wisdom.”
“Then you don’t know me at all,” I said.
And then—
I moved.
Not with magic. Not with speed.
But with truth.
I stepped into the circle, my bare feet pressing against the sigils, the vial in my hand, the mating mark burning like a brand. The runes flared—not to drain me, but to recognize me. I was not Eclipse. I was not pure. But I was power.
And I was not afraid.
“You don’t belong here,” Cassian snarled, raising the dagger. “You’re a distraction. A weakness. A failure.”
“And you’re a murderer,” I said, stepping closer. “A liar. A coward. And you’re going to pay for what you did.”
He lunged.
Fast. Silent. deadly.
The dagger flashed toward my heart—but I was faster. I caught his wrist, twisted, disarmed him with a single, clean motion. The blade clattered to the stone. He snarled, fangs bared, and swung at me with his free hand—but I ducked, stepped inside his guard, and drove my knee into his gut.
He staggered.
And I didn’t stop.
I slammed my elbow into his jaw, sent him stumbling back, then grabbed the vial from my pocket and crushed it in my fist. Glass and blood and magic exploded across the floor, but I didn’t flinch. Just pressed my palm to the mess and pulled.
His blood answered.
His magic surged.
And then—
I stopped time.
Not for a second.
Not for a breath.
But for eternity.
The chamber froze—torchlight mid-flicker, dust suspended in air, the echo of my scream hanging in the silence. And in that stillness—
I saw it.
The truth.
Not just Cassian’s lies.
Not just his crimes.
But everything.
My mother’s death. Kaelen’s grief. The bond. The mark. The fate.
And I—
I wasn’t afraid.
Because I was not Eclipse.
But I was awake.
—
Time snapped back.
The chamber erupted—magic, fire, truth—and then—
He moved.
Not fast. Not strong.
But desperate.
Cassian lunged for the dagger, but I was faster. I kicked it away, then slammed my foot into his chest, sending him sprawling onto the stone. He gasped, fangs bared, eyes wide with fury—and then, with a flick of his wrist, he summoned a blade from the shadows.
Not silver.
Not steel.
But obsidian—black, jagged, laced with venom.
He slashed at me—once, twice, three times—but I dodged, danced back, my body still weak but my mind sharp. He wasn’t just fighting me.
He was fighting the truth.
And he was losing.
“You think you’re special?” he spat, circling me. “You think your blood makes you pure? You’re nothing. A mistake. A half-blood.”
“And you’re a relic,” I said, stepping forward. “A dying breed clinging to power you don’t deserve.”
He snarled and lunged—
And I let him.
I stepped into the strike, twisted at the last second, and drove my elbow into his spine. He grunted, stumbled—but I didn’t stop. I spun, grabbed his arm, and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to his knees.
“Say it,” I hissed, pressing my knee into his back, my hand fisted in his hair. “Say you killed her. Say you framed Kaelen. Say you’re the one who’s weak.”
He laughed—low, broken, but real. “You want the truth? Fine. I killed her. I watched her die. I made Kaelen believe it was his fault. And now—” He turned his head, those dead eyes locking onto mine. “—I’ll make you die too.”
And then—
He bit me.
Not on the neck.
Not to claim.
But on the shoulder—deep, venomous, poisonous.
I screamed—raw, guttural, mine—and shoved him away, stumbling back, my hand flying to the wound. Blood. Black. Thick. The venom already spreading, burning through my veins like acid.
Cassian rose, fangs bared, blood on his lips. “You don’t get to win,” he snarled. “You don’t get to have him. You don’t get to be her.”
I didn’t answer.
Just pressed my palm to the wound, let the vial’s magic rise—not to heal, not to fight, but to see.
And then—
I did.
Not with my eyes.
With my soul.
The memory unfolded—my mother, standing in the ritual chamber, the blade in her back, Cassian’s hand on the hilt, Kaelen on his knees, screaming her name. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t afraid. She was protecting him. Protecting the bond. Protecting me.
And as she died—
She whispered one word.
Indigo.
—
I didn’t cry.
Didn’t scream.
Just stepped forward.
The venom burned. The wound bled. My body trembled.
But I was awake.
“You don’t get to take her from me,” I said, voice low, steady. “You don’t get to take anything from me.”
He raised the obsidian blade—
And I stopped time.
Again.
Not for a second.
Not for breath.
But for truth.
The chamber froze. Cassian’s snarl caught mid-sneer. The torchlight hung in the air. And I—
I stepped forward.
Pressed my palm to his chest.
And let the vial’s magic sing.
Not to kill.
Not to destroy.
But to reveal.
The memory played—not for him, but for the world. For the Council. For Kaelen. For her. Cassian, standing over her body. Kaelen, broken. Me, unborn, my mother’s last breath carrying my name.
And then—
Time snapped back.
The chamber erupted.
Not with fire.
Not with blood.
But with light.
The runes flared—indigo, not black—shattering the wards, cracking the stone, rewriting the prison. Cassian screamed—raw, guttural, his—and collapsed, clutching his head, the memory burning through his mind.
And then—
The door burst open.
Guards. Dominion. Council. They flooded in, fangs bared, weapons drawn, eyes wide with shock. At the front—Kaelen.
His face was pale. His eyes—molten gold—locked onto mine. He took one step, then another, his boots clicking on the stone, his presence a storm no one could escape.
“Lira—” His voice was raw, not with anger, but with something deeper. Fear.
“I’m not dying,” I said, voice steady. “Not today.”
He didn’t answer. Just moved—fast, silent, relentless—and caught me as my legs gave out. The venom was spreading. My vision blurred. My breath came in gasps.
“Hold on,” he growled, lifting me, one arm under my thighs, the other at my back. “Just hold on.”
I pressed my face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—cold fire, old blood, something darker, richer—and let him carry me.
“I saw her,” I whispered. “I saw my mother.”
He stilled.
Then—
“Tell me,” he said, voice rough.
“She loved you,” I said. “Not like that. But as a brother. As a friend. And she died protecting you.”
His breath caught.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not soft. Not gentle.
But hard—his mouth crashing into mine, his fangs grazing my bottom lip, just enough to draw a bead of blood. I tried to pull away, but he held me, relentless, his tongue sliding against mine, claiming, consuming.
And then—
The bond erupted.
Fire ripped through me, not pain, but pleasure—white-hot, blinding, inescapable. My knees buckled. My hands fisted in his tunic. My body pressed into his, desperate, needy.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. “Say it,” he demanded, voice rough. “Say you’re mine.”
“I—”
“Say it,” he growled.
And then—
I did.
Not because I was broken.
Not because I was weak.
But because it was true.
“I’m yours,” I whispered.
He stilled.
Then—
He kissed me again.
Slow. Deep. Ours.
And when he pulled back, his voice was rough with something like reverence. “And I’m yours.”
—
They took me from him.
Not gently. Not kindly.
But with force.
“She’s contaminated,” one of the Council guards said. “The venom. The magic. She’s a threat.”
“She’s mine,” Kaelen snarled, fangs bared. “And you will not touch her.”
“The Council’s orders,” the guard said. “She’s to be held in the Pit until the venom is purged. Until she’s deemed safe.”
“She’s already safe,” he growled. “She’s Eclipse. She’s my bondmate. She’s—”
“A half-blood,” another voice cut in.
Cassian.
He stood in the doorway, blood on his face, his coat torn, but his smile—oh, his smile was alive. Sharp. Hungry. Victorious.
“And she just unleashed forbidden magic in a sacred prison,” he said. “She’s not a victim. She’s a criminal. And she will be tried.”
The guards moved.
Kaelen fought.
But there were too many.
They pried me from his arms, dragged me back into the chamber, slammed the door shut. I screamed his name—once, twice, three times—but the wards flared, the magic surged, and then—
Darkness.
Not sleep.
Not peace.
But nothing.
And I—
I was alone.
Again.
—
When I woke, I was chained.
Not silver. Not iron.
But obsidian—cold, draining, laced with venom. My wrists, my ankles, my chest—bound to the stone wall, my body hanging just above the floor. The mating mark still glowed beneath my collar, faint but unbroken, pulsing in time with my pulse. The vial’s magic still hummed beneath my ribs, muffled but not dead.
And the wound—
It burned.
Not just with venom.
But with truth.
I had seen her.
My mother.
And I had seen the truth.
Kaelen hadn’t killed her.
Cassian had.
And now—
Now I had to survive long enough to make the world see it too.
—
The door opened.
Not with a creak.
Not with a groan.
But with silence.
Cassian stepped inside, backlit by the dim torchlight of the corridor. He wore black velvet, the D’Vire crest etched into a silver brooch at his throat—*Kaelen’s* crest, stolen, twisted. His hair was silver-white, his eyes ancient, dead, but his smile—oh, his smile was *alive*. Sharp. Hungry. Victorious.
“Comfortable?” he asked, stepping closer.
I didn’t answer. Just lifted my head, those dark eyes locking onto his. The mating mark pulsed, faint but insistent, a whisper of warmth in the cold.
“You’re strong,” he said. “I’ll give you that. But strength isn’t power. And power isn’t truth.” He crouched in front of me, close enough that I could smell the venom on his breath. “And the truth is—no one believes you. Not Kaelen. Not the Council. Not even *yourself*.”
“They will,” I said, voice rough.
He smiled. “No. They won’t. Because by the time the trial begins, you’ll be dead. And I’ll be the one standing beside him. The one who saved him. The one who *protected* him.”
“And what about my mother?” I asked. “What about the truth?”
“Truth is a weapon,” he said, standing. “And I’ve already won.”
He turned.
Walked to the door.
“Enjoy your last moments,” he said, hand on the latch. “They’ll be over soon.”
And then—
He was gone.
The door locked.
The wards flared.
And I was alone again.
But not for long.
Because I had seen the truth.
And I would not be silenced.
Not again.
Not ever.