Caveen clenched his fists but stumbled backward, catching himself on the bedpost. His vision blurred—then sharpened—and when he opened his eyes again, his breath caught.
"Lysandra…?" he whispered, stunned.
Standing before him, where Celestine had been, was Lysandra—her silver hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes soft with longing.
"Yes, my prince," said the enchantress in disguise.
He staggered toward her, lips parting in wonder. "You came to me…"
She nodded, and Caveen pulled her into his arms, their lips meeting in a kiss heavy with craving and ache. He kissed her as he had longed to, hands trembling as they brushed over her waist, her shoulders. Their passion swelled—unbuttoning, unzipping—until her dress began to fall from her shoulders.
But then—
A sharp pain pierced his skull like lightning.
His eyes snapped open.
And what he saw made his blood turn cold.
Not Lysandra.
Celestine.
On his lap, half-undressed, lips swollen from stolen kisses.
He shoved her off him so hard she hit the ground with a cry. The room pulsed with raw fury as his aura surged in a violent wave, shattering the glassware, shaking the chandelier overhead.
"You dare," Caveen growled, his voice darker than thunder.
Celestine cowered, her hand over her mouth in terror.
"An illusion spell?!" His eyes glowed crimson, fangs sharpening. "You made me believe you were her! Do you have any idea what you've done?!"
"C-Caveen… I-I just wanted—"
"Get. Out," he hissed.
He stepped forward, his fury barely restrained, shadows clawing up the walls behind him like death itself. "Pack your things and leave my estate before sunrise. If I see you tomorrow..."
His eyes blazed.
"I will kill you."
Celestine gasped, scrambling to her feet, dress still loose, tears streaming down her face. She rushed to the door without another word, nearly tripping as she ran.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Caveen stood in the silence, breathing hard, fists clenched at his sides.
He had been violated—betrayed.
But more than that…
He realized something even more terrifying.
That even under enchantment… it was Lysandra he saw.
It was her his soul cried out for.
And no magic could fake that.
—
Before dawn, a carriage creaked through the gates of the Landon Estate. Celestine and Lady Jane left without a word, carrying nothing but shame, humiliation, and a shattered illusion of power.
The prince they tried to control had awakened.
And he would burn anyone who stood between him and the woman he loved.
The grand marble steps of the Council Fortress echoed with Lady Jane's sharp heels, her face pale but composed beneath the veil of her aristocratic pride. The storm in her heart churned violently, but her voice remained cold and firm as she addressed the High Circle seated before her.
She bowed low before the assembly of cloaked figures — the ruling heads of the Council, their faces hidden in shadows, their presence as ancient as the kingdom itself.
"I bring grave news," she began, lifting her chin. "The engagement between my daughter, Celestine, and Prince Caveen has collapsed."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
High Chancellor Mordaine narrowed his eyes. "Collapsed? He accepted her."
"He did," Lady Jane replied, voice trembling with restrained bitterness, "Until last night. My daughter… attempted to offer herself to him. She tried to deepen their bond. He saw it as betrayal. Violence ensued."
"And the prince?" another councilor asked.
"Enraged beyond reason. He expelled Celestine from the Landon Estate. We barely left with our lives."
Silence followed.
Then Mordaine spoke again. "This changes everything."
Lady Jane hesitated, then added in a quiet, venom-laced voice, "But he said something… in his fury. Words I believe we must heed."
The council leaned in.
"He said—he will only marry Lysandra nothing else."
A long pause filled the air, heavy as iron.
At last, the High Enchantress Veora spoke. "Lysandra… the Moonwell girl?"
Lady Jane's lips tightened. "Yes. She has bewitched him. If she lives, Celestine will never win his heart."
"And if she dies," murmured Veora, "we regain control over the prince."
"Exactly," Lady Jane whispered.
The council deliberated, each mind working with precision and cruelty.
"She is not bonded to the prince through any vow," said Mordaine. "And the Moonwell estate is under our jurisdiction. A quiet execution—cloaked as an illness or accident—would raise no alarm."
"But the Moonwell elders—"
"We will deal with them," Veora cut in. "It's time we remind the Moonwells that even ancient magic cannot shield them from the Council's will."
Mordaine leaned forward, his tone final. "Send a decree. At first light, Lysandra Moonwell is to be executed. Her death will be silent, unseen. The prince will be informed after it is done."
Lady Jane exhaled, hiding her smile.
At last, her daughter's path to the throne was cleared.
Or so she believed.
The Moonwell Estate was wrapped in silence, the night unnaturally cold despite the summer air. Lysandra lay in bed, her hands curled protectively over her growing belly, but sleep did not bring peace—it brought horror.
In her dream, she stood in the courtyard, surrounded by faceless figures cloaked in crimson. She tried to run, but her legs wouldn't move. A shadow loomed, and from it emerged an arrow—obsidian black, its tip glistening with cursed magic. It flew straight at her heart.
She gasped awake, drenched in sweat, her pulse racing wildly.
"Caveen…" she whispered, breathless.
In a panic, she reached for the glowing crystal on the bedside table—her only line to him. She clutched it, her voice trembling.
> "Caveen—something's wrong. I feel… death. It's coming for me."
There was silence for a heartbeat. Then his voice came through, low and serious.
> "Stay inside. Don't open the doors for anyone. I'm coming."
---
The Next Morning
The sky was unusually gray as dawn broke. The air itself seemed to tense.
Lysandra stayed in her chamber, as Caveen ordered—but the silence outside was suspicious. Too still. Too quiet.
Then came the sound of boots.
She rushed to the window. A group of cloaked figures had appeared on the grounds—Council Executioners, their presence unmistakable. At their helm was Enforcer Kael, holding the decree of judgment.
She backed away, her breath caught in her throat.
The door burst open with a spell. The guards rushed in, surrounding her.
"Lysandra Moonwell," Kael declared, holding up the black decree, "by the authority of the Council, you are sentenced to execution for corrupting royal blood and threatening the balance of the realms."
"No!" she cried out. "The Moonwells won't allow this—"
"They are gone. And your protection ends today."
One soldier raised the Black Arrow of Silence, forged to kill Elites without a trace. Its dark aura pulsed as it was aimed directly at her heart.
Lysandra stood frozen, hands cradling her child, accepting death.
Then—a roar.
The doors exploded.
Caveen.
He flew into the room like a storm, dark aura blazing behind him, his eyes glowing with rage.
"Touch her," he growled, "and I will burn this estate to ash."
The soldier released the arrow.
"NO—!"
Caveen moved faster than thought, faster than air. He stepped between Lysandra and death—
Thwack.
The black arrow struck him squarely in the chest.
His body jerked, eyes wide in disbelief.
"Caveen!" Lysandra screamed.
The arrow struck.
The sound was sickening—a hollow thud, followed by a sharp gasp.
Caveen stumbled, his eyes wide in shock as the cursed tip buried itself in his chest. Time slowed. The room spun. The world muted.
Lysandra screamed, lunging forward to catch him as he fell to his knees, his blood soaking into her dress.
"Caveen!" she cried, holding his face, brushing his hair back. "No—no, no, no—stay with me, please!"
His hand reached for her trembling fingers, gripping them tightly despite the pain rippling through his body.
His voice was low, shaky, but clear.
> "Lysandra… listen to me…"
"No, don't talk. You'll be okay—we'll f heal you, we'll—"
> "Shh." He smiled faintly. "This arrow… it won't kill me… but I'll sleep… for a long time…"
Her eyes widened, glistening with tears.
> "Take care of our child…" he whispered. "Promise me…"
Lysandra shook her head, sobbing harder as her hand pressed over his wound. "No! I don't want to do this alone! Don't leave me, Caveen—please, please—"
He cupped her cheek with a bloodied hand, his thumb brushing her tears away.
> "You're stronger than you know… our baby… needs you…"
His voice began to fade. His lids fluttered.
"No!" she sobbed, clinging to him. "Don't sleep! Don't leave me like this—I love you!"
Caveen's lips parted. A whisper escaped like a breath of wind.
> "I love you… too…"
Then—stillness.
His hand slipped from her face. His head fell forward.
Lysandra screamed, a scream that shattered more than the air—it shattered the sky, the ground, the very soul within her.
She clutched him to her chest, weeping, shaking, as the darkness in the room began to tremble under her magic. Her grief had awakened something old. Something fierce.
Something that would not let this be the end.
The moment the arrow's tip hit his heart, something inside her snapped. Her magic, wild and ancient, awakened—no longer bound by fear or bloodlines.
"You took him…" she whispered.
The air crackled with violet lightning as her aura exploded around her.
"You took him from me!"
With a wave of her hand, flames erupted. The Council soldiers screamed as fire and earth answered her wrath. Lightning split the walls. Shadows twisted and wrapped around the executioners, crushing bones and boiling blood.
Kael tried to escape—but Lysandra's gaze turned to him, unblinking.
She didn't raise her hand. She didn't need to.
His body turned to ash where he stood.
---
Later That Night
The estate was left in ruin. The fire had subsided, and Lysandra knelt beside Caveen's still form, cradling his head in her lap.
His heartbeat was gone. His breathing, absent. But his body was warm.
The Black Arrow could not kill hybrids. But it would curse them into eternal slumber—a sleep that could last centuries, perhaps forever.
Lysandra sobbed, pressing her forehead to his.