It's been twenty-six nights since the stranger vanished into shadow.
And still, I see him.
Not in the halls. Not in court.
But in the mirror — when I pass too quickly.
In the library — when the wind rustles the pages before I touch them.
In my mind, like a drop of crimson ink spilled across silk thought.
He left no trace. No name. Not even a scent.
But he's still here.
Inside me.
What did you do to me?
---
I don't sleep anymore.
I don't need to, not really — not with the strength of my blood. But even when I close my eyes, he waits behind them.
His voice.
His gaze.
That promise.
> "You were meant for more than this prison they've built."
I wake up with clenched fists, dried blood beneath my gloves, claw marks on my sheets.
And still… I never scream.
---
"Your mind is somewhere else."
I blink. The torchlight returns. The court chamber comes into focus.
The Council sits like vultures — twelve men and women cloaked in silver and disdain, pretending not to fear me. Iria watches from behind a black veil, silent but sharp-eyed.
Lord Cassian narrows his eyes.
He smells weakness like a hound smells rot.
"I asked," he drawls, "whether the Crimson Heir has anything to report from the western wing."
I lean back in my obsidian chair, letting my smile curl slow and sharp.
"Only that your surveillance spells are still a joke, Cassian. Or have the walls stopped whispering to you?"
A flicker of outrage crosses his face. Good. Let him choke on it.
"You mock security in a time of unrest?" he hisses.
Unrest.
He means the dead noble found drained last week. No wounds. No signs. Just a hollowed corpse and a bloodless mouth.
They say it's a rogue enforcer.
I know better.
Because the same night he died…
I dreamed of Lucien.
Yes. That's the name I've given him.
Lucien Alaric
The name tastes ancient. Wicked. True.
And though I haven't spoken it aloud, it knows me back.
---
Later that evening, I sit beneath the Moonwell — an ancient fountain said to reflect one's truest self under full light.
I see nothing.
No heir.
No monster.
No girl.
Just hunger.
And a shadow behind me — again, not real.
Or maybe too real.
> "You haven't forgotten me."
The whisper grazes my spine, cold as breath.
I whirl around — nothing. Only stone and starlight.
I press a gloved hand to my throat.
Why do I want to see him again?
Why does the thought terrify and tempt me in equal measure?
---
"Selene," Iria's voice breaks the spell, gentle but wary.
She steps toward me, concern veiled behind practiced grace.
"You haven't attended the last two royal summons."
"I had nothing to say," I murmur.
"You always have something to say."
I shrug. "Perhaps silence is more valuable than speeches soaked in lies."
She watches me carefully.
"You've changed."
I glance down at the fountain. You have no idea.
"Are you hiding something from me?" she asks softly.
Only everything.
---
That night, I dream again.
But this time… it's different.
I stand in the Hall of Masks — but the masks are gone.
Only mirrors, endless mirrors, all showing him. Not his face — his eyes.
Bleeding red. Burning. Consuming.
> "You called me."
The voice cuts through me.
"I didn't," I whisper.
> "But you wanted me to come."
I try to run — but my feet are roots. My hands are fire. My mouth can't scream.
> "I live in you now, Selene."
His shadow presses against mine — like a second skin — and I feel him inside my blood.
I jolt awake with a gasp.
My gloves are torn.
And beneath them…
My veins pulse crimson.
---