Chapter 267
The name echoed in my chest like a curse wrapped in venom. I sat at my desk, staring at the blood-red symbol inked onto the parchment—the fanged crown. My hands trembled, not from fear, but fury.
So they still existed.
The old scrolls had mentioned them in whispers: a hidden cult that rose from the ashes after the first Moon-Blooded queen was killed. A brotherhood of traitors. They were once kings, commanders, scholars—men and women who feared what they could not control. The dragons bowed to her, and they couldn’t stand it.
So they bled her.
Now they wanted to bleed me.
I stood and crossed to the balcony, where the night wind tangled my hair. Far in the distance, I could see Zaerion perched along the cliffs—silver and shadow, waiting for my call. I felt him stir as I touched the charm at my neck—the one my mate had given me. His bond hummed like low thunder behind my ribs. He was still awake. Still watching me from the shadows of the chamber.
“They’re in the castle,” I said, without looking back.
He didn’t ask how I knew.
“Do you suspect anyone?”
“I suspect everyone,” I replied.
A pause.
Then he stepped beside me, his voice low. “We find them. One by one.”
I looked at him. “And when we do?”
“Then we make them understand why they were right to fear you.”
He didn’t say it as a compliment. He said it like prophecy.
And gods, how it made me feel alive.
The council met the next morning in the war room. I didn’t wait for ceremony. I walked in, scroll in hand, and tossed the symbol into the center of the table.
“What is this?” Vellan asked, frowning.
“You tell me,” I said calmly, “since it was intercepted between two noble houses under your jurisdiction.”
A ripple of unease spread through the room.
“I don’t play games,” I said. “Not when someone is trying to kill me.”
Lady Arlen leaned forward. “What is this symbol?”
I tilted my head. “The mark of the Blackfangs. A cult that once murdered the last Moon-Blooded queen. Looks like they’ve returned for another attempt.”
Gasps. Murmurs. A few pale faces.
“Surely not within our walls,” Vellan protested, too quickly.
“Then you won’t mind a full investigation,” I said, my gaze sharp. “Every message. Every guard. Every house. We start today. Anyone who objects... might as well wear the fanged crown themselves.”
Silence.
I stood taller. “Let this be clear. I will not be hunted in my own court.”
And with that, I left.
I didn’t need their permission.
I needed their fear.
That afternoon, I descended to the lower archives beneath the castle—a labyrinth of old stone, sealed doors, and forgotten magic. The scent of dust and ancient ink clung to every breath. I had come looking for answers. If I was to fight a cult that knew my blood better than I did, then I needed to understand who I once was—the queen they killed.
Zaerion’s thoughts brushed against mine as I lit a torch.
Memories not mine. Echoes from a life lived long before.
Stone breaking under claws.
Screams.
A woman’s final breath.
I moved deeper into the archive, past rusted gates and shelves collapsed from time. There, at the end of the corridor, was a sealed door—carved with the same crescent flame that burned on my skin.
I touched it.
A pulse.
The stone melted away like smoke.
Inside, the room held only one thing.
A mirror.
Tall. Framed in gold. Covered in blood-dark cloth.
I stepped closer and pulled the cloth away.
And the mirror did not reflect me.
Not truly.
She stood there—barefoot, eyes burning silver. A crown of bone and flame atop her head. Her hair the same white, her mark glowing like mine. And her face... it was my face.
But older.
Sharper.
Stronger.
She reached out, palm to the glass.
I mirrored her.
And the room lit up with flame.
When I woke, I was still in the archives—but the mirror was gone. In its place, a book. Bound in leather, humming with power.
The title was etched in silver: “Chronicles of the Moon-Blooded: Last Testament.”
I opened it with trembling hands.
Inside were the final writings of the last queen. Her warnings. Her visions.
Her betrayal.
They poisoned her. On the day of her crowning. By a man she loved. One who wore her sigil and smiled at her across the feast table.
I gripped the edge of the book, chest tightening.
It wasn’t just magic that killed her.
It was trust.
And love.
The pages blurred before me. And suddenly I understood why I had always hesitated with him—with the Alpha. Why I watched him even when I knew I could trust him.
Because she didn’t.
And it got her killed.
I returned to my chambers just before dusk.
He was waiting.
Arms crossed, face unreadable.
“I felt you disappear,” he said.
I nodded. “I found her.”
His brow lifted. “The first queen?”
I sat on the edge of the bed, the book in my lap. “She was betrayed. By someone close. Someone she loved.”
His expression darkened. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t know who to trust.”
Silence.
Then he stepped closer. “You think I would betray you?”
I met his gaze. “I don’t want to think that. But I also didn’t want to believe someone inside this castle wanted me dead. And yet—here we are.”
He crouched in front of me, reaching out, resting a hand over mine. “Then let me prove it to you. Every day. Until that ghost inside you stops whispering doubt.”
His voice wasn’t pleading. It was sure.
And gods help me, I wanted to believe him.
I nodded once. “Then stay.”
“Always.”
That night, I didn’t dream.
I remembered.
Flames. Wings. The roar of dragons. The sound of my voice commanding the skies.
And a shadow behind me.
A blade pressed to my spine.
A kiss before the betrayal.
When morning came, I stood before the council again. The book in my hand. The truth burning behind my eyes.
“We root them out,” I said. “All of them. The Blackfangs are in these halls. And I will not fall as she did.”
Lord Vellan frowned. “And what if they come for you first?”
I smiled coldly.
“Then let them try.”
I was done waiting.
Let the shadows come.
Let the fire rise.
I was ready.
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