The chamber was lit by nothing but green fire.
Emerald flames crackled in a suspended brazier above the stone floor, casting flickering shadows across the runes etched deep into the walls. The air reeked of old blood and secrets best left buried.
The High Magister stood before the arcane circle, cloaked in robes that shimmered like oil and shadows. He held a single silver ring in his gloved hand—one Aveline once wore, long ago, before she was discarded.
"It begins," he murmured.
From the far end of the chamber, a figure stepped out of the shadows—a woman with hair the color of ink and eyes like hollow glass.
"She grows stronger," the woman said. "Faster than expected."
The Magister didn't look at her. "Let her. Let her believe she is winning."
"She's forming alliances."
"Which makes her predictable. Pride will be her undoing."
He knelt at the edge of the circle, lowering the ring into the center. As it touched the ground, the runes ignited with cold light.
"They all forget," he whispered, voice dark with certainty. "The villainess was made, not born. And now—now I will unmake her."
The flames flared, green turned to violet.
The air trembled.
And far above the chamber, in the palace Aveline thought she had begun to control…
A crack appeared in the wards protecting the royal family.
The first piece had been moved.
The game was far from over.
Aveline froze mid-step.
She was in the eastern wing of the palace, where the stained-glass windows filtered morning light into rainbows across the marble floor. A letter sat in her hand, unopened. But suddenly, her fingers clenched around it.
A chill danced across her spine—subtle but sharp, like a thread of magic tugging at her soul.
"Elise," she said quietly.
The maid appeared at once, startled by the tightness in her mistress's voice. "Yes, my lady?"
"Did you feel that?"
Elise blinked. "Feel what?"
Aveline turned, scanning the corridor as if expecting to see something—someone. But there was nothing.
"No," Aveline murmured. "Of course you didn't."
Because whatever it was, it had come for her.
Not with blades or poison this time.
But with memory. With bloodlines. With old, twisted magic that remembered her name.
Her pulse quickened. Not with fear.
With fury.
She tore open the letter and scanned its contents, but the words blurred in her mind. The palace air felt heavier now, as though it were watching her.
Lucien had warned her to watch the ones who smiled the brightest.
But what if the real danger didn't smile at all?
Aveline drew a breath, steadied her heart, and whispered to herself, "Let them come. I'm not the same girl they threw away."
And just beyond the corridor, where the morning light ended and shadow began—
Something watched her leave.