The wind that howled through the citadel's stone corridors that night carried more than cold—it carried warning.
Elena sat near her chamber's narrow window, wrapped in a heavy wool cloak, though she barely felt the chill. The world outside was a silvery dream. Moonlight blanketed the Carpathians in ghostly light, casting jagged shadows across the mountains like the spines of sleeping beasts.
She hadn't slept in two nights. Not since Sera's warning. Not since Lucien told her the court was beginning to turn.
The pendant at her chest had changed. It pulsed faintly now, a soft silver rhythm that echoed beneath her ribs. Sometimes she swore it whispered—not in words, but in sensations: warmth, urgency, danger. It felt alive.
And so did something else.
There was a weight in her chest. A pressure building. Like a storm inside her skin that didn't know what it was yet—but hungered to be born.
She stood, brushing her fingers along the windowsill, trying to still her racing thoughts. That's when she heard it—
A sound.
Soft. Deliberate.
The latch on her door clicked.
She turned just as the wooden door burst open with a thunderous *crack*, splinters exploding into the room.
Two Lycans stepped inside. Not guards. Not court members. Soldiers. Half-shifted—eyes glowing like wildfire, hands already beginning to twist into claws, muscles bulging beneath their clothes.
Elena backed away, her pulse slamming against her ribs.
"Wait—!" she tried, voice breaking.
The one in front snarled. His face distorted into something not quite human. "Witch."
The second one drew a curved dagger, the blade etched with ancient runes. It shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Silver.
"Lucien!" she screamed, hoping—praying—he was close enough to hear.
But they didn't wait.
The first one charged.
Elena's hand flew to the pendant, clutching it. Her instincts screamed—not to run, but to *fight*.
Heat surged into her chest, then down her arms—liquid fire rushing toward her hands like a dam breaking.
The pendant exploded with light.
A blinding column of silver burst outward, slamming into the attacker mid-leap. His body froze in midair, convulsed, then was hurled backward like a rag doll, smashing into the stone wall with bone-splitting force. He hit the ground and didn't move. Smoke curled from his mouth.
The second one froze for a heartbeat—just long enough to seal his fate.
Elena screamed again, but this time the sound was power.
The silver light burst from her skin, not just her hands now—her *whole body*. Her eyes burned with moonfire, the room filling with an unnatural wind that tore through tapestries and extinguished every flame.
The assassin cried out in terror and agony as the wave of raw energy struck him. His body lifted off the ground, limbs snapping backward as he was slammed against the far wall and crumpled like parchment.
And then—
Silence.
Elena collapsed to her knees, panting, her vision swimming with motes of silver. Her fingertips smoked. Her heartbeat felt like thunder. The air buzzed around her like a struck bell.
She could still see their faces. Their eyes. One was unconscious. The other… dead.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered, horrified. "I didn't even *know* what I was doing…"
The door behind her burst open a second time.
Lucien.
His sword was already in hand, his eyes glowing golden as he scanned the room. When he saw the bodies—his fury flickered. But when he saw *her*, trembling, hair wild, hands still faintly glowing—his face changed.
He dropped to his knees beside her, tossing the sword aside. "Elena."
"They tried to kill me," she said, voice raw. "Lucien, they had silver. They called me witch."
He pulled her against him, one hand cradling her head as if to prove she was still there. "I know. I felt the magic. I came as fast as I could."
"I didn't mean to kill them—"
"You protected yourself," he said firmly. "With a power even I can't name."
She looked up at him, tears streaking her cheeks. "What am I?"
Lucien brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. "Something born of two worlds. Something the Moon remembers, even if you don't."
The door creaked behind them.
Sera stood in the doorway, eyes narrowing as they scanned the scorched walls, the injured Lycan gasping for breath on the ground. Her expression was unreadable.
"She needs to be tested," she said. "Now. Before the others decide to test her their own way."
Lucien rose slowly. "No one touches her."
"She's already been touched," Sera replied darkly, looking at the damage. "By magic. By fate. The court won't sit still after *this*. You know what they'll demand."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he turned to Elena and lifted her to her feet gently.
"You won't face them alone."
She met his eyes. "I don't even know how to control it."
"We'll figure it out."
"Lucien..." she breathed, leaning into him. "What if this power—it isn't mine? What if it *belongs* to the Queen?"
He stared at her a long moment, then whispered,
"Then the Queen has chosen her vessel well."
Outside the window, the moon shone brighter than ever. Blood had been spilled. Magic had answered. And the court would rise at dawn with judgment on their breath.
But so would Elena.
And the fire inside her was only just beginning to burn