Vivian hadn't spoken a word since the altar. The moss-covered stone still burned in her thoughts, her palm aching with a sensation that wasn't quite pain—but memory. She sat now by the window of her chamber, staring at her hand as if it might whisper something back to her.
It didn't.
Instead, Lily's voice broke the silence. "You're not even listening."
Vivian blinked, looking up to see her sister in a flurry of pale blue silk, her golden hair woven with little moonstones. "Sorry. What?"
"I said everyone's talking about you."
Vivian frowned. "What do you mean?"
Lily lowered her voice, stepping closer. "At breakfast, the vampire woman—you know the one in red—called you Emerald Flame. Said the forest marked you. And the werewolf prince? He asked the angels if you were touched."
Vivian's chest tightened. "Touched how?"
Lily shrugged, nervous. "I don't know. But you're not unnoticed anymore."
As if summoned, a bell rang through the hall.
"The feast," Lily said. "They're gathering us in the Grand Hall. "You'll need to wear something royal."
Vivian sighed. "I don't own anything royal."
But Lilt was already rummaging through a wardrobe someone had filled days before. "Try this." She held out a dark green gown—off-the-shoulder, with long sleeves that glimmered like dew-soaked ivy.
Vivian hesitated. "Why do I feel like I'm being dressed for a slaughter?"
Lily gave a soft smile. "Maybe you are. Just don't look so much like a prey.'
The Grand Hall shimmered like a dream spun from glass and moonlight.
The four realms sat at ornate tables carved with their kingdom sigil. Angels cloaked in white and silver; vampires in obsidian silks; demons wrapped in flame-colored velvets; and werewolves draped in leathers and pelts that carried the scent of pine and storm.
And above them all, on the raised dais, sat King Cassian.
Black as midnight. A crown like blade.
His gaze burned straight through Vivian as she entered. She didn't flinch. Not this time
"Vivian of Elourne,' a voice drawled to her left.
She turned and found herself facing a tall broad-shouldered man with tousled dark hair and pale green eyes that glinted like steel under snow. A wolf carved into the leather of his chest.
"I'm Rowan," he said, his lips curling into a lazy smile. "Alpha of the Northern Ridge. May I sit?
Vivian arched a brow. "Do I have a choice?
"Only if you say no." He pulled the chair beside her and sat down anyway. "but I prefer rebellion."
She glanced at him sideways. "You're not very royal."
Rowan chuckled. "And you're not very polite. We'll get along just fine.
His presence was warm—like fire after frost—but she didn't trust it. Too charming. Too easy. And something about his smile made her feel… watched.
"You're the one from the forest," he added softly. "The altar lit for you, didn't it?"
Vivian froze.
Rowan leaned in, voice low. "I smell truth. And your scent… it changed after the hunt. So did his."
Her heart thudded. "His?"
Rowan looked toward the dais, where Cassian sat unmoving.
"He's not what he seems," Rowan said. "Neither are you."
Before she could answer, the room darkened.
Cassian rose.
"Tonight, we dine as one," he said, voice cutting through every whisper. "But tomorrow, the Trial begin. And for those who seek the crown's favor—know this: power is not gifted. It is earned. In blood, in fire and in loyalty."
His eyes flickered to Vivian.
"And sometimes, in silence."
The hall stirred.
Music resumed. Wine flowed. But nothing tasted the same.
Later that night, as the last candle burned low, Vivian tried to slip back to her chamber unnoticed. But she didn't make it far.
He was already waiting.
Cassian leaned against the stone archway outside her room, shadows curling around like loyal dogs.
"You enjoyed Rowan's company," he said.
Vivian's eyes narrowed. "Are you jealous?"
His mouth curved. "Of a wolf? Hardly. I just thought you preferred sharp tongues over wagging ones."
She stepped closer. "Is that why you speak like a knife?"
"I speak like a king."
She tilted her head. "Then you must be terribly lonely."
For a moment, the mask cracked.
Just a flicker. But enough.
"You shouldn't have touched that altar," he said, voice lower now. "Not yet."
"Then why was I drawn to it?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped closer. So close she could smell the cold scent of rain and ash on him.
"You're changing," he said. "And soon, you'll have to choose—who you are… or what you're meant to be."
Vivian's throat tightened. "And what if I choose neither?"
Cassian's gaze dropped to her lips.
"Then I'll tear the choice from the gods themselves."
And then he was gone.
The shadows swallowed him whole.
Vivian stood there, heart hammering, mouth dry.
Behind her, the corridor whispered a name again.
Emerald Flame.
Chapter Eight
The emerald Flame
Vivian hadn't spoken a word since the altar. The moss-covered stone still burned in her thoughts, her palm aching with a sensation that wasn't quite pain—but memory. She sat now by the window of her chamber, staring at her hand as if it might whisper something back to her.
It didn't.
Instead, Lily's voice broke the silence. "You're not even listening."
Vivian blinked, looking up to see her sister in a flurry of pale blue silk, her golden hair woven with little moonstones. "Sorry. What?"
"I said everyone's talking about you."
Vivian frowned. "What do you mean?"
Lily lowered her voice, stepping closer. "At breakfast, the vampire woman—you know the one in red—called you Emerald Flame. Said the forest marked you. And the werewolf prince? He asked the angels if you were touched."
Vivian's chest tightened. "Touched how?"
Lily shrugged, nervous. "I don't know. But you're not unnoticed anymore."
As if summoned, a bell rang through the hall.
"The feast," Lily said. "They're gathering us in the Grand Hall. "You'll need to wear something royal."
Vivian sighed. "I don't own anything royal."
But Lilt was already rummaging through a wardrobe someone had filled days before. "Try this." She held out a dark green gown—off-the-shoulder, with long sleeves that glimmered like dew-soaked ivy.
Vivian hesitated. "Why do I feel like I'm being dressed for a slaughter?"
Lily gave a soft smile. "Maybe you are. Just don't look so much like a prey.'
The Grand Hall shimmered like a dream spun from glass and moonlight.
The four realms sat at ornate tables carved with their kingdom sigil. Angels cloaked in white and silver; vampires in obsidian silks; demons wrapped in flame-colored velvets; and werewolves draped in leathers and pelts that carried the scent of pine and storm.
And above them all, on the raised dais, sat King Cassian.
Black as midnight. A crown like blade.
His gaze burned straight through Vivian as she entered. She didn't flinch. Not this time
"Vivian of Elourne,' a voice drawled to her left.
She turned and found herself facing a tall broad-shouldered man with tousled dark hair and pale green eyes that glinted like steel under snow. A wolf carved into the leather of his chest.
"I'm Rowan," he said, his lips curling into a lazy smile. "Alpha of the Northern Ridge. May I sit?
Vivian arched a brow. "Do I have a choice?
"Only if you say no." He pulled the chair beside her and sat down anyway. "but I prefer rebellion."
She glanced at him sideways. "You're not very royal."
Rowan chuckled. "And you're not very polite. We'll get along just fine.
His presence was warm—like fire after frost—but she didn't trust it. Too charming. Too easy. And something about his smile made her feel… watched.
"You're the one from the forest," he added softly. "The altar lit for you, didn't it?"
Vivian froze.
Rowan leaned in, voice low. "I smell truth. And your scent… it changed after the hunt. So did his."
Her heart thudded. "His?"
Rowan looked toward the dais, where Cassian sat unmoving.
"He's not what he seems," Rowan said. "Neither are you."
Before she could answer, the room darkened.
Cassian rose.
"Tonight, we dine as one," he said, voice cutting through every whisper. "But tomorrow, the Trial begin. And for those who seek the crown's favor—know this: power is not gifted. It is earned. In blood, in fire and in loyalty."
His eyes flickered to Vivian.
"And sometimes, in silence."
The hall stirred.
Music resumed. Wine flowed. But nothing tasted the same.
Later that night, as the last candle burned low, Vivian tried to slip back to her chamber unnoticed. But she didn't make it far.
He was already waiting.
Cassian leaned against the stone archway outside her room, shadows curling around like loyal dogs.
"You enjoyed Rowan's company," he said.
Vivian's eyes narrowed. "Are you jealous?"
His mouth curved. "Of a wolf? Hardly. I just thought you preferred sharp tongues over wagging ones."
She stepped closer. "Is that why you speak like a knife?"
"I speak like a king."
She tilted her head. "Then you must be terribly lonely."
For a moment, the mask cracked.
Just a flicker. But enough.
"You shouldn't have touched that altar," he said, voice lower now. "Not yet."
"Then why was I drawn to it?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped closer. So close she could smell the cold scent of rain and ash on him.
"You're changing," he said. "And soon, you'll have to choose—who you are… or what you're meant to be."
Vivian's throat tightened. "And what if I choose neither?"
Cassian's gaze dropped to her lips.
"Then I'll tear the choice from the gods themselves."
And then he was gone.
The shadows swallowed him whole.
Vivian stood there, heart hammering, mouth dry.
Behind her, the corridor whispered a name again.
Emerald Flame.