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Aurelion turned away from Elarian as his smile faded.
“Perhaps,” he said slowly, shadows curling around Lucan’s throat, “I should show you what happens when you forget your place.”
The shadows around him tightened. He cried out as they invaded his eyes, gaze turning blacker than the moonless night. Elarian watched him fold beneath the invisible pressure, the surety of her hatred folding with him.
She had spent nearly a century believing Lucan was the source of her suffering.
And he had been.
But this…
This was a man being systematically dismantled by the creature who had made him. Aurelion was not merely hurting Lucan, not merely attempting to discipline a wayward child; he was reaching into every wound the man possessed and pressing his fingers inside.
Elarian felt something warm stir beneath her ribs.
Faint and almost imperceptible.
She froze.
Starin.
Her breath caught.
It was barely there—nothing like the overwhelming force that had once lived within her blood. A single ember beneath centuries of ash.
But it was there.
Somewhere far beyond the palace walls, something ancient answered. A wolf howled in the distance. Elarian felt it inside her bones. Her fingers twitched, and the starin brightened.
Aurelion continued speaking, but she stopped listening.
Her gaze drifted toward the balcony.
The silver blade waited there. Twenty feet, perhaps less. A distance she could easily cross if she still had enough strength.
If she was willing to risk everything.
Elarian closed her eyes. Melistra, she whispered to herself. She did not know why the goddess’s name rose into her thoughts. She had spent her entire life believing the goddess wanted her to suffer to become her holy weapon; yet now, for the first time, she understood that death and life had never been enemies—they were simply two sides of the same hand.
The starin pulsed in her hands.
Elarian opened her eyes. Aurelion was still focused on Lucan.
Now!
She gathered every fragment of strength remaining within her. The shadows around her wrists loosened. Elarian breathed in deeply, recalling the way Lucan held her close as she bled, his fingers pressed to her side, not caring about the blurred lines between enemies and something more.
The first tendril of shadows snapped apart.
Aurelion turned.
“What—”
Elarian kicked off the marble floor. Starin exploded through her veins.
She flew toward the balcony. Acting only upon instinct, she closed her eyes and reached her hand into the shadows. Her fingers closed around the silver hilt. For one heartbeat, everything stopped.
Then, she fell.
