She jumped 9

“You defied protocol, broke sacred rites, and undermined centuries of law,” the High Matron snarled, her voice slicing through the chamber like a dagger made of frost. “By our decree, Hector Veylor is hereby stripped of contender status and placed under formal exile.”

Gasps rippled through the council chamber. I stood frozen, the sound of my own heartbeat drowning out the murmurs.

Hector didn’t flinch. He stood tall in the center of the silver-marble floor, shadowed by twin columns etched with the bloodlines of former Alphas. His eyes, silver as ever, didn’t blink.

“Say something,” I whispered, though he couldn’t hear me.

He didn’t have to.

“I don’t regret anything,” Hector said, voice low but steady. “If that’s what it takes to protect her, then exile me. Crown your coward instead.”

The Matrons looked scandalized. A few heirs stepped back like his words might burn. A snarl rose in my throat. I took one step forward, then another.

Before I could speak, the doors slammed open. Every flame in the chamber flickered blue and the Oracle entered.

Her robes shimmered with lunar threads, her hair white as frost, face half-shadowed by a silver veil. The Matrons bowed. I didn’t. Couldn’t. My legs wouldn’t move.

She walked past Hector without a glance, past the council, straight to me. The air thickened and I could feel the magic stirred like wind behind my ribs.

Her pale hand lifted, but I didn’t flinch, not when her fingers touched my forehead. Not even when the cold tunneled straight through my skull.

But her eyes widened, she gasped.

“She’s the key,” the Oracle whispered, her voice ancient and breaking. “The last seal. The bloodline breathes again.”

And then she collapsed.

* * *

I couldn’t sleep.

The Oracle had been carried away on a shimmering stretcher. The council dissolved in chaos. Hector wasn’t exiled after all, yet he wasn’t free, either. He’d been “temporarily suspended”—a punishment wrapped in protocol.

I hadn’t seen him since.

Now I stood alone in my quarters, the window cracked open to the scent of pine and starlight.

The fire was low. My hands trembled as I unbuttoned my dress, letting it pool at my feet. My skin felt too hot. Too tight.

I stepped in front of the mirror and then I saw it. A faint shimmer on my collarbone, like silver ink beneath the skin.

No.

I twisted, heart pounding. More marks—on my ribs, curling up my spine in broken crescent shapes. Not bruises. Not scars. Sigils.

Something inside me screamed. I grabbed the mirror’s edge and whispered, “What’s happening to me?”

The door burst open. “Lyss!”

Sariah stormed in like the storm she was, eyes wild, blade at her hip. I turned too fast, arms crossed over my bare chest. “What the hell, Riah?!”

“I felt it,” she panted. “Something broke loose. Let me see.”

Reluctantly, I dropped my arms. She stepped closer, eyes scanning the glowing script on my skin. Then she went pale.

“Oh dear Goddess…” her voice cracked.

“What?”

She touched the mark at the base of my neck. “That’s the Luna Seal. The real one. It’s not decorative, not ceremonial. It’s natural, a bloodline magic.”

“Which bloodline?”

Sariah looked up, terrified. “Yours.”

I sat down hard on the bed.

She knelt in front of me, gripping my hands. “Lyss, the Luna Matriarchs, your ancestors, they buried this line when the council tried to erase them. That seal doesn’t awaken unless one survives. And it hasn’t awakened in over a hundred years.”

“But I’m just—”

“You’re not just anything,” she snapped. “Your mother probably sealed your power to keep you safe from the Trials.”

A beat passed between us. The fire cracked. The wind howled through the open window. “I should tell Hector.”

“You can’t,” she said. “Not yet. If they know you’ve awakened, they’ll do more than exile him. They’ll kill you.”

A shadow moved in the doorway.

“I already know.”

Sariah spun, blade drawn—then froze.

Hector stood there. Cloaked and pale, wet from the rain. His eyes locked on mine, and something inside me snapped taut.

“Out,” he told Sariah but she hesitated. “I’m not asking.”

She nodded and slipped past him, throwing one last glance over her shoulder before he shut the door.

I stood. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I had to be.” His voice was rough, fraying at the edges. “I felt it. The moment it lit up in you—I felt it in my chest like a spear.”

I stepped back. “So you came to warn me?”

“No. I came to say I’ve seen it before.”

He crossed the room slowly, removing his gloves. His hand lifted, fingers brushing my exposed shoulder.

“My mother had the same mark,” he said. “Just days before she died.”