SYLRA’S POV
The sparring session with Caelen wasn’t for another hour, and I needed to get out of my head before he started pointing out every one of my flaws with that smug tone he thought was helpful.
The royal library was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that made you feel like you were being watched by books older than your name.
I wandered past shelves of military treaties, magical theory, family lineages… I wasn’t looking for anything, until I saw it.
A leather-bound book, worn at the edges, tucked between two volumes of dusty war records. The name etched on the cover in faded ink stopped me cold.
Lyra Thorne.
My mother.
My hand trembled as I reached for it. No one had ever told me there was a journal—hers. Not in all the stories. Not from my father. Not even from the High Seer.
I opened it slowly, reverently. The scent of aged paper and wild roses drifted up. Her handwriting was delicate but precise. Familiar in a way I couldn’t explain.
Day 42. The power is changing again. I felt it in my bones last night, like the ancestors were whispering through my blood. The stronger it gets, the more I feel pulled. I’ve tried to tell Maelric, but he insists I keep it hidden. If they knew I was drawing from the Blood— the old magic—they’d brand me a traitor.
I blinked, rereading it.
The Blood.
I turned another page.
They told us it was forbidden. But how can something forbidden feel like home? I can see things when I let go, visions, shapes, voices not of this time. My wolf responds to it, not in fear but in hunger. It’s like she knows this magic was once hers.
My hands gripped the pages tighter.
I wasn’t breathing.
If anything happens to me, I hope Sylra inherits this strength. I hope she’s not afraid of it. I hope she’s not lied to, the way I was.
Something sharp burned behind my eyes. I flipped another page, and suddenly everything blurred.
The library faded.
And then I heard a whisper.
Blood calls to blood.
I staggered backward, dropping the book to the table with a thud. My head spun. Visions flickered behind my eyes, flashes of unfamiliar wolves, women in ancient garb chanting under moons, a river of red light flowing through the woods.
And then silence.
“What the hell is this?” I whispered, clutching the table edge.
No one told me about this.
No one warned me I might be connected to something older, deeper, dangerous.
I needed answers.
I stormed through the corridor leading to the royal war chamber, clutching the journal to my chest.
Two guards at the door stiffened as I approached.
“The King is in a meeting,” one said.
“I need to see him.”
“He gave strict instructions—”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m his daughter. Let me in.”
The hesitation was brief. Then the doors creaked open.
I stepped inside and froze.
“…She’s not ready,” a councilman was saying. “Even Caelen Rhys admits it.”
Silence followed.
My stomach dropped.
“She’s powerful, yes, but that alone doesn’t make her fit to rule,” the voice continued. “If your own chosen advisor questions her capacity—perhaps it’s time to reconsider her appointment.”
I couldn’t move.
Caelen told them I wasn’t fit?
I backed out before quickly. My lungs refused to cooperate, my heartbeat was deafening as I raced out.
Maren nearly smacked into me in the corridor. She was flushed, panting, scrolls tucked beneath her arm.
“I’ve been looking all around for you, Princess.”
I didn’t stop walking.
“Where is he?” I asked, voice razor-sharp.
Maren blinked. “Who?”
“Caelen.”
“Oh—he’s at the training grounds. Waiting for you.”
Perfect.
Without another word, I pivoted and charged through the halls, vision red and pulse boiling.
The journal was still under my arm. I didn’t care.
The moment I stepped onto the training field, I saw him—leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, face irritatingly relaxed. He looked up at the sound of my boots hitting the stone path.
“Sylra—”
My fist met his jaw before he finished the sentence.
He staggered, blinking like someone had just slapped the smug out of him.
I shook with fury.
“How dare you?” I snarled.
His eyes snapped back to mine, wide. “What the hell was that for?”
“You told them,” I hissed. “You told the council I wasn’t ready.”
“I—what are you talking about?”
