Chapter 137

Chapter 137: Chapter 137

The Astrlyn pack’s great hall was dark and cold, the torches burning low as Lord Varek received his son in private. Elias Nightveil—though few outside the family knew his true parentage—knelt before his father, his head bowed, his expression one of carefully controlled pride.

"Rise, my son." Varek’s voice was warm, a rare display of affection that he reserved for his children alone. "You have done well. Your reports from the academy have been invaluable."

Elias rose to his feet. "I only wish I could have done more, Father. The Moonblood heir slipped through our fingers at the mill. And now she’s here, in the Palace City, hiding among the festival crowds."

"Here?" Varek’s eyes glittered. "You’re certain?"

"I saw her enter the city with my own eyes. She’s traveling with Ragnar Blackfang, Corvin Eldritch, and the others. They’re planning something. Something for the festival."

"Of course they are. They think they can reach the prince. They think they can turn him against us." Varek laughed softly. "They don’t know that the prince’s memories have been... adjusted. He won’t remember the girl. He won’t remember what she meant to him. Selene has seen to that."

"Selene?" Elias’s brow furrowed. "You’re working with Selene?"

"I’m working with everyone who can help me achieve my goals. Selene wants the crown. I want the Astrlyn throne. Our interests align." Varek paced before the hearth. "And what of your brother? Where is he?"

Elias’s expression flickered. "He’s still with the enemy’s group. He doesn’t know about our father’s plans. He thinks he’s fighting for the rightful heir."

"And you’ve made no effort to bring him back to our side?"

"I’ve tried, Father. But he’s... difficult. He believes in the princess. He believes she’s innocent."

"Then he’s a fool. Just like his mother." Varek’s voice hardened. "But he’s still my son. And when this is over—when the princess is dead and the throne is mine—I’ll give him one more chance to join us. If he refuses..." He paused. "Then he’ll share her fate."

Elias nodded slowly. "I understand, Father."

"Good. Now, tell me everything you know about their plans. Every detail. Every weakness. We have a week until the festival, and I want to be ready."

In the Shadowwood, Morgath’s lair was alive with dark energy.

The chamber was vast and ancient, carved into the heart of a mountain that had been sacred to the Dark Coven centuries ago. The walls were lined with shelves holding jars of preserved ingredients—eyes, tongues, hearts, and things far stranger. Candles of black wax burned in every corner, their flames casting shadows that seemed to move on their own.

And at the center of it all, Morgath stood before her altar, instructing her apprentices.

There were three of them young witches, barely into their third decade, who had pledged their lives to Morgath’s cause. They wore robes of dark gray, their faces pale and gaunt from years of dark magic. Their eyes glowed faintly with the same unnatural fire that burned in their mistress’s gaze.

"The ritual must be performed under the full moon," Morgath was saying, her voice echoing through the chamber. "The lunar festival provides the perfect cover. The realm will be gathered in the Palace City, celebrating the Moon Goddess’s blessing. They will be too distracted to notice what we’re doing."

"And the princess?" one of the apprentices asked. "How will we get close to her?"

"The prince will draw her out. She won’t be able to resist seeking him, even if he doesn’t remember her. Love makes fools of us all." Morgath’s dark eyes gleamed. "When she surfaces—and she will—we’ll be ready."

"The binding ritual requires the princess’s blood," another apprentice said. "Do we have enough?"

"We have what we need. The blood collected from the mill is potent—it’s still saturated with her power. Combined with the dark energies of the full moon, it will be enough to strip her abilities permanently." Morgath smiled, her teeth gleaming like knives. "And once her power is gone, she’ll be easy prey."

"And the Lycan prince? The one who survived the poison?"

Morgath’s expression flickered. "An unexpected complication. The Nightshade Essence should have killed him. But Lycans are resilient—more resilient than I anticipated. No matter. His memories are fractured. He won’t be able to protect her."

"And if he tries?"

"Then I’ll deal with him myself. I have centuries of experience with Lycans. They bleed like any other wolf."

The apprentices nodded, their faces grim with determination. They had been training for this moment for years, the moment when the last of the Moonblood line would be extinguished, and the Dark Coven would have its vengeance.

"Now go," Morgath commanded. "Prepare the ritual materials. We leave for the Palace City at dawn."

The apprentices dispersed, their dark robes swirling behind them. Morgath stood alone in the chamber, staring at the altar, her ancient eyes burning with anticipation.

Soon, she thought. Soon, the Moonblood line will be no more. And I will finally have my revenge.

The royal palace was a hive of activity as the festival preparations reached their peak.

King Aldric Thornridge stood at the head of the council table, his advisors gathered around him. Maps of the Palace City covered the table, marked with routes and checkpoints and security perimeters. The lunar festival was the largest event of the year, and with the crown prince’s return to announce, the stakes had never been higher.

"The city will be at maximum capacity," the captain of the royal guard reported. "Every inn is full. Every street will be crowded. We’ll need to triple the guard presence at the palace gates."

"Done," the King said. "What of the Astrlyn delegation? Have they arrived?"

"Lord Varek arrived three days ago with a full retinue. He’s been meeting with the other pack leaders, building alliances. He’s also been spreading rumors about the Moonblood heir—calling her a murderer and a traitor."

"Predictable." The King’s expression was grim. "He’s positioning himself for something. I want eyes on him at all times."

"And the prince, Your Majesty? How much should we tell him about the political situation?"

"Nothing for now. He’s still recovering. The healer says his memories may return in time, but until then, we keep him protected. He doesn’t need to know about the Moonblood heir or the accusations against her."

"And if he asks?"

The King was silent for a moment. "Then tell him the truth—or as much of it as he can handle. But don’t volunteer information. The less he knows, the safer he is."

The advisors nodded. The meeting continued, plans being made and revised, contingencies discussed. But even as the King issued orders and reviewed reports, his mind kept drifting to his son. To the broken look in Soren’s eyes when he talked about the hole in his memory. To the woman with silver hair who had once meant everything to him.

What happened at the showcase? the King thought. What really happened?

He didn’t know. But he intended to find out.

The Queen sat alone in her private chambers, staring out the window at the city below.

The festival banners fluttered in the evening breeze, their crimson and gold colors vibrant against the darkening sky. The streets were crowded with people merchants and travelers and families, all gathered to celebrate the Moon Goddess’s blessing. It was a time of joy. Of hope. Of renewal.

But Seraphina felt none of it.

Her son was alive, but he was not the same. The poison had taken something from him something vital. He walked the palace corridors like a stranger, his golden eyes haunted by fragments of memories he couldn’t quite grasp. And now Selene had returned, weaving her lies, filling the void in his mind with her version of the truth.

Seraphina had seen them in the garden, laughing together. She had seen the way Selene touched his arm, the way she looked at him with possessive hunger. And she had seen the way Soren looked back not with love, but with the desperate need to believe something, anything, that would make sense of his fractured world.

It should have been her, Seraphina thought. The Moonblood girl. The one who loved him enough to die for him.

But Nyra Astrlyn was gone—hiding, hunted, wanted for murder. And Selene was here, offering false comfort and false memories.

Maybe it’s better this way, Seraphina told herself. At least my son is safe. At least he’s alive.

But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t true. Soren wasn’t safe. He was a pawn in a game he didn’t understand, surrounded by people who wanted to use him.

And the worst part was, he didn’t even know it.

Princess Freya sat in the palace library, surrounded by her friends.

They were a lively group daughters of powerful pack leaders, sent to the palace to serve as companions to the princess. There was Lila, the daughter of the Silverwood pack’s military commander, with her sharp wit and sharper tongue. There was Mara, the quiet daughter of the eastern territories’ chief healer, whose gentle nature hid a fierce intelligence. And there was Tessa, the boisterous daughter of the Ashford pack’s alpha, whose laughter could fill a room.

They were Freya’s closest friends. Her confidantes. The only people in the world who treated her like a normal girl instead of a princess.

"Did you hear?" Tessa said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "The Blackfang brothers are both at the festival. Ragnar and his younger brother, Dain."

"Dain Blackfang?" Freya’s cheeks flushed slightly. "I didn’t know he was coming."

"Oh, he’s coming. And he’s been asking about you."

Freya’s blush deepened. "He has not."

"He absolutely has." Tessa grinned. "He cornered my brother at the training grounds and asked if you were still at the palace. Said he wanted to see you."

"That doesn’t mean anything. We’re just friends."

"Friends who blush when they hear each other’s names?"

"Stop it."

But Freya couldn’t hide her smile. Dain Blackfang was Ragnar’s younger brother—tall and dark-haired, with the same storm-gray eyes as his sibling but none of the brooding intensity. He had been kind to her when she was younger, when she had been awkward and unsure of herself. And now, after a year apart, he was asking about her.

It doesn’t mean anything, she told herself. He’s just being polite.

But her heart was beating faster, and her friends were laughing, and for the first time in weeks, she felt like a normal thirteen-year-old girl.

Valeria slipped through the palace gates just as the sun was setting, hidden among the entourage of a minor dignitary from the western territories.

She had spent the day preparing the green gown, the borrowed jewels, the carefully applied makeup. She looked like a noblewoman attending the festival. She looked like she belonged.

The dignitary’s guards barely glanced at her as she passed through the gates. Once inside, she melted away from the group, moving through the corridors with the confidence of someone who had every right to be there.

She knew the palace well. She had attended events here before, back when Soren was still a student and she was still his occasional companion. She knew the hidden passages, the quiet corridors, the places where lovers could meet without being seen.

But tonight, she wasn’t looking for a private rendezvous. She was looking for him.

She wandered through the palace for nearly an hour, her heart pounding with anticipation. And then, as she rounded a corner near the royal gardens, she heard voices. Angry voices. Raised voices.

She stopped. Listened.

And then she saw it.

The garden was lit by lanterns, their golden glow casting long shadows across the manicured paths. And there, in the center of it all, was Soren.

He was holding Nyra by the neck, lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing. His golden eyes blazed with fury—fury and hatred and something that looked almost like madness. Nyra’s hands were clawing at his wrist, her face turning red, her eyes wide with shock and pain.

Around them, the others were frozen Ragnar reaching for Soren’s arm, Corvin trying to pull Nyra free, Roderic shouting for the guards to stand down. And Selene—

Selene stood at the edge of the chaos, her arms crossed, her expression one of pure, undisguised triumph.

Valeria watched from the shadows, her heart pounding.

He doesn’t remember her, she realized. He doesn’t remember any of it. Selene got to him first.

For a moment, she felt a surge of satisfaction. Nyra was finally getting what she deserved. The man she loved wanted her dead.

But then something else stirred in her chest something uncomfortable. Something that felt almost like pity.

She loved him, Valeria thought. She really loved him. And now he’s trying to kill her.

She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know whose side she was on anymore.

So she stayed in the shadows, watching, waiting, as the scene in the garden descended into chaos.