Chapter 4
The blood had barely dried on her hands when the next summons came.
A knock at her chamber door, light but firm. When she opened it, a young servant bowed low and said, "His Grace requests your presence at the dining hall. Immediately."
She had no time to wash the remnants of crimson from her skin. No moment to steady her breath. But Elira already understood the rules of this new life—hesitation was weakness. And weakness was a death sentence.
She changed into the dark velvet gown laid out for her—simple, but stitched with tiny runes at the cuffs. A silent reminder that in this place, even fashion was a weapon.
The dining hall was nothing like she'd imagined. No glittering chandeliers or orchestras playing in the background. Just a long obsidian table, lit by enchanted flames that cast flickering shadows across the stone walls.
Kael sat at the head, black-gloved hands folded in front of him. Around the table sat six others—men and women of various ages, all bearing the same look: wary, sharp, and deadly.
She recognized none of them. But they all recognized her.
"The bride," one of them murmured.
"The one who survived the Chamber," another said, half-impressed, half-curious.
Kael gestured silently to the seat beside him. Elira took it, keeping her spine straight and her face unreadable.
"Allow me to introduce you," Kael said, his tone dry. "These are the heads of the Dravencourt inner council. Assassins, diplomats, and monsters alike."
The one to his right chuckled. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Kael."
"Neither will pretending to be harmless," Kael replied coolly, before turning to Elira. "And this… is my wife-to-be."
There was silence, followed by clinking cutlery and forced civility. Food was served, but Elira barely touched it. She watched, listened, measured every word and movement around her.
Then, in the middle of idle chatter about borders and rebel movements, one voice cut through the noise like a blade.
"The eastern lords have grown bold," the woman beside Kael said. "Word is, Thorne Drestin is offering support to the Crown."
Elira's heart stopped.
She kept her face still, but her hand tightened around her fork. Kael did not look at her. But he saw.
"I heard Drestin was quite close to the Vexley family," another voice added.
"Elira," Kael said suddenly, breaking the tension like glass. "You were once a Vexley, weren't you?"
She turned to him slowly, forcing her voice to stay steady. "In another life."
A pause. Measured. Too long.
Kael's hand moved to the decanter. He poured deep red wine into her goblet, eyes never leaving hers.
"Well then," he said softly, "perhaps we should talk about what you remember of it."
Before she could answer, the flames on the chandelier flared.
A shadow passed outside the window.
Kael stood in an instant.
"Get her out," he ordered sharply.
A crash echoed through the hallway.
Guards scrambled.
From somewhere deep in the manor, a shriek pierced the night—inhuman and wrong.
Elira's glass shattered in her hand.
And somewhere in the chaos, she saw it again—
That cursed name etched into a bloodstained message:
"Thorne Drestin lives."
🔮 Next Chapter Preview – Chapter 5: Blood from the Past
As the manor descends into lockdown, Elira finds herself locked away in Kael's private library. But what she discovers within those cursed pages is a record—one that mentions her by name... from her previous life.
And something else. A secret Kael has kept buried even from his closest advisors.
The door creaks open.
And Kael is standing there—holding her past in his hand.