The stolen ring felt heavier now.
Aerin turned it over in her palm as she descended into the heart of the Archives. Thorne walked behind her in silence, the only sound their footsteps against ancient stone. No guards. No scribes. Only the two of them and the cold.
She held the ring up to the door.
It clicked once. Then again.
With a low groan, the obsidian doors of the consular chamber slid open, revealing a vault bathed in silver ward-light. Every surface shimmered like a frozen lake. Shelves lined the walls, filled with sealed letters, locked tomes, and sigils pulsing faintly with preserved magic.
"I can't believe this worked," she muttered.
Thorne arched a brow. "You've never broken into a government vault before?"
"Not in this kingdom."
"Don't get cocky. These things have teeth."
Aerin stepped inside.
The magic buzzed against her skin, tasting her bloodline, sniffing at her intentions. One ward flared as she passed—a flicker of violet—but didn't strike.
"Velas blood," she whispered. "Still recognized."
She moved along the shelves, fingers skimming the bindings, until she found the drawer labeled V-0198: Isolde Velas. It was sealed with three wax sigils and a locking glyph older than the current throne.
Aerin didn't hesitate.
She placed the ring on the center glyph and whispered: "Veritas."
The drawer shuddered—then slid open with a hiss.
Inside: a single letter.
Wrapped in thin black silk, edges frayed. The handwriting was unmistakable.
Isolde's.
Aerin unwrapped it carefully, hands trembling.
Thorne stood behind her, silent, as she read:
To the next Velas girl they dare to bind to a Prince—
I hope you are cleverer than I was.
I loved him.
That was my first mistake.
Cassius told me there was danger in the court. That I must be quiet. Loyal. Obedient. I was all three, and still, they came for me.
Veylin planted the lie. Mordane sealed it. Cassius… Cassius did not stop it.
He told me it was mercy, what he did. That letting them tear me apart in public would be worse. So he made it quick. Clean.
Do you understand what I'm saying, girl?
The Night Court does not forgive rebellion. And love is the first rebellion of all.
If you are reading this, then you still have a chance. Find the ledger. The one they buried with Lord Renmar. He documented the court's blood deals. The real reason they murdered me lies in the numbers.
Tell my story.
Burn their lies.
Don't love him.
— I.
Aerin read the letter three times.
By the end, her hands were shaking so hard she couldn't hold it straight.
"I need to find this ledger," she said hoarsely.
Thorne was pale. "Renmar died… almost sixty years ago."
"Then we start digging."
He didn't ask if she was sure.
Because she looked like fire contained in flesh. And no water could put her out now.
Back in her tower, Cassius was waiting.
He stood by the hearth, eyes distant, a goblet untouched beside him.
"You kissed me," Aerin said as she stepped in. Her voice was calm. Controlled.
"I did."
"Was it mercy too?"
That made him flinch.
"You read it," he said, tone hollow. "Her letter."
"Every word."
She tossed the parchment on the table between them. It landed like a gauntlet.
"I thought it was a lie," Cassius said quietly. "That she—"
"Was guilty?" Aerin snapped. "She wasn't."
"I know that now."
"You killed her, Cassius."
The words were a dagger. He didn't deny it.
"I thought I was protecting her. I thought… if I gave her a clean death, it would save her from what the Council had planned."
Aerin stepped closer. Her eyes shimmered—not with tears, but fury barely leashed.
"You keep calling it mercy. It wasn't mercy. It was surrender."
Cassius didn't move.
"She loved you," she said. "And you let them burn her memory."
"I've lived with that guilt every night since."
"And now you want me to trust you?" Her laugh was sharp. "You're a Prince of shadows. A killer who lies to himself and calls it sacrifice."
Cassius finally looked up. "I never asked for your trust."
"No. But you asked for my hand. And you got it by oath."
She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with something feral.
"Now you get the consequences."
That night, the moon rose blood-red over the Night Court.
Aerin stood at her window, reading Isolde's words again. Each line was etched deeper now—not just ink on paper, but truth carved into bone.
She couldn't undo the past. But she could drag it, screaming, into the present.
She would find the ledger.
Expose Veylin. Expose the Council. Expose Cassius if she had to.
And if the court turned on her?
Then let them.
Because for the first time in her life, Aerin Velas wasn't running.
She was hunting.
Far below, in a crypt sealed with ancient iron, something shifted behind Lord Renmar's tomb.
A ledger wrapped in oilskin.
A seal broken.
And secrets waiting to rise.