Fracture Before the Crown
The Blood Moon had faded.
But its consequence lingered.
The ritual chamber was repaired before dawn. No bodies were left visible. No panic allowed to spread.
Strength must look controlled.
That was Lucien's doctrine.
But beneath the surface of North Ridge territory, tension moved like fault lines beneath ice.
The High Council had attacked.
Not openly.
Not with full force.
But enough to send a message.
You are not untouchable.
Aurelia stood on the stone balcony overlooking the valley where the Gathering would soon take place. Wolves moved below warriors reinforcing patrols, messengers riding toward allied territories.
The air tasted metallic.
War didn't always smell like blood.
Sometimes it smelled like anticipation.
Footsteps approached behind her.
Lucien.
He didn't speak immediately. He simply stood at her side, gaze scanning the horizon.
"You should rest," he said at last.
"I'm not tired."
"You bled."
"I survived."
His jaw tightened.
