The phrase "where only blood can reveal it" haunted me for three days. I'd searched every inch of my father's chambers, looking for hidden compartments or secret panels that might respond to a blood sacrifice. Nothing. Either my father had been more clever than I'd given him credit for, or I was missing something obvious.
It was Lady Sarah who provided the answer, though she didn't realize it at the time.
"Your father spent a lot of time in the palace library," she mentioned during one of our carefully casual conversations in the gardens. We'd taken to meeting there because the open space made it difficult for anyone to eavesdrop without being obvious about it. "Master Thomas, the head librarian, complained that Lord Marcus would request the same old genealogy books over and over."
Genealogy books. Blood records. Of course.
That evening, I made my way to the library after most of the court had retired for the night. The vast chamber was lit by moonlight streaming through tall windows, creating pools of silver light between towering bookcases. Master Thomas had gone to bed hours ago, leaving me alone with thousands of volumes containing the kingdom's accumulated knowledge.
The genealogy section was tucked away in a corner, as befitted records that most nobles found deadly boring. I found the books easily enough—thick tomes bound in cracked leather, their pages yellow with age. Most covered the major noble houses, tracing bloodlines back centuries with the obsessive detail that only professional bureaucrats could muster.
I was about to give up when I noticed something odd about one particular volume: "The Minor Houses of Astoria, Volume III." Unlike the others, this book showed signs of recent use. The leather binding was worn smooth where hands had gripped it, and several pages had been marked with tiny, almost invisible notches along their edges.
Opening it to the first marked page, I found my father's family tree. The Winters line was old but never particularly distinguished—minor lords who'd served faithfully but never risen to great heights. My eye traced down the generations until I found my own name, recently added in fresh ink: Alex Winters, acknowledged heir.
But there was something strange about the entry. Where most genealogies listed birth dates, parents, and notable achievements, mine contained a single cryptic note in my father's handwriting: "True blood will reveal truth."
I pricked my finger with a knife I'd taken from dinner and let a drop of blood fall onto the page.
The moment my blood touched the parchment, the ink began to change. Words appeared between the lines, visible only when mixed with my blood, a technique I'd heard whispered about in the tavern, used by smugglers and spies to hide messages from casual readers.
What I read made my hands shake.
Alex, if you're reading this, then the worst has happened and you're the only one left who knows the truth. You are not my child by blood, but something far more dangerous. Sixteen years ago, I found you as an infant in the ruins of the Blackwood estate after the fire that killed the entire family.
You are the lost heir of House Blackwood, the most powerful magical bloodline in the kingdom's history. Your parents were murdered by Queen Victoria because their infant child posed a threat to Ryan's eventual succession. She believes you died in the fire, and that secret has kept you alive.
Your true magical abilities will manifest when you come of age—on your seventeenth birthday, now only months away. When that happens, you'll be the most powerful mage the kingdom has seen in three centuries. You'll also be the Queen's primary target.
The evidence of her crimes is hidden in the old Blackwood vault beneath the library. The entrance responds only to Blackwood blood. Use your power wisely, and remember, in the game of thrones, you either win or you die.
The hidden text faded as my blood dried, leaving behind only the mundane genealogy entry. I sat in stunned silence, trying to process what I'd learned.
I wasn't Alex Winters, minor noble bastard. I was the lost Blackwood heir, survivor of a massacre that had shaped the kingdom's politics for sixteen years. The strange flashes of insight, the growing certainty about people's motivations and fears, they weren't random talents but the awakening of one of the most powerful magical bloodlines in history.
And Queen Victoria, who'd smiled at me during court ceremonies and made polite conversation about my father's death, had murdered my real parents and tried to kill me as an infant.
The sound of footsteps in the corridor outside made me freeze. Someone was approaching the library, moving with the careful stealth of someone who didn't want to be detected. I quickly returned the genealogy book to its place and found a hiding spot behind one of the larger bookcases.
Duke Robert Kane entered the library, carrying a small lamp that cast dancing shadows on the walls. He wasn't alone, Prince Ryan followed behind him, his usual arrogance replaced by nervous tension.
"Are you certain no one else knows?" the Duke asked in a low voice.
"The physician was... persuaded to keep silent," Ryan replied. "As far as anyone knows, Marcus Winters died of natural causes."
"And the bastard?"
"Harmless. A tavern brat with delusions of nobility. I'll have him dealt with within the week."
Duke Kane moved deeper into the library, his lamp illuminating the genealogy section where I'd just been reading. "We can't afford to underestimate anyone, nephew. Your mother made that mistake with the Blackwoods, and we're still dealing with the consequences."
"The Blackwood line is extinct," Ryan said with the confidence of youth. "Mother made sure of that."
"Did she?" The Duke's voice carried a note of doubt that made my skin crawl. "Sometimes I wonder if we killed everyone we should have that night. The infant's body was never found."
"Burned to ash, like the rest of the family."
"Perhaps." Duke Kane's lamp moved closer to my hiding spot. "But magical bloodlines have a way of surviving when they shouldn't. The Blackwoods were the most powerful mages in the kingdom's history, if their heir survived, they'd be manifesting abilities right about now."
A chill ran down my spine. They suspected. Maybe not specifically about me, but they knew someone might have survived the massacre. And if my abilities were going to manifest soon, I'd need to be very careful about hiding them.
"What do you suggest, uncle?"
"Watch everyone. Anyone showing unusual magical talent or political acuity should be investigated. The Blackwood heir would be approximately seventeen years old now, probably manifesting abilities they don't fully understand." The Duke's voice grew thoughtful. "Actually, that reminds me, have you noticed anything unusual about Lord Winters' bastard?"
My heart stopped beating.
"Alex? What about him?"
"The way he handled your confrontation yesterday was... sophisticated. Not what I'd expect from a tavern brat with no formal education."
"He got lucky. Made a few good guesses."
"Perhaps. But keep an eye on him anyway. If he shows any signs of being more than he appears, we'll need to act quickly."
They continued their conversation for a few more minutes, discussing various nobles who might pose threats to Ryan's succession. Finally, they left, taking their lamp and their deadly secrets with them.
I waited another hour before emerging from my hiding spot, my mind racing with plans and possibilities. The Duke and Prince Ryan had just confirmed everything in my father's Marcus's—journal. They'd murdered my real family, tried to kill me, and were prepared to do it again if they suspected I'd survived.
But they'd also given me crucial information. I had until my seventeenth birthday before my abilities would fully manifest and make me impossible to hide. That gave me three months to prepare, to gather allies, and to plan my revenge.
Moving quietly through the library, I began searching for the entrance to the Blackwood vault. It took another hour, but I finally found it—a section of floor that felt slightly different under my feet, covered by a rug that had been placed with deliberate casualness.
I moved the rug and found a circular pattern carved into the stone, etched with symbols I somehow understood despite never having seen them before. At the center was a small depression, just the right size for a hand.
I placed my palm against the stone and felt a sharp prick as hidden needles drew blood. The symbols began to glow with soft blue light, and the floor shifted, revealing a spiral staircase leading down into darkness.
The Blackwood vault was a chamber carved from living rock, its walls lined with shelves containing books, scrolls, and artifacts that radiated magical power. But what drew my attention was a table in the center of the room, covered with documents that made my father's journal look like casual correspondence.
Letters in Queen Victoria's handwriting, detailing her plans to eliminate potential rivals to Ryan's throne. Financial records showing how she'd manipulated grain supplies to cause famines in regions that opposed her. And most damning of all, a letter from Duke Kane describing the murder of my parents in clinical detail.
I had enough evidence to destroy the Queen and her supporters but using it would reveal my identity as the Blackwood heir. The moment I stepped forward with these documents, I'd be painting a target on my back that wouldn't disappear until either they were dead or I was.
As I climbed back up to the library, sealing the vault behind me, I made my decision. I would use the evidence, but not yet. First, I needed allies, resources, and most importantly, I needed to master whatever powers my Blackwood heritage would bring.