Zephyrine


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    “Few years ago, before you were born, we received a prophecy,” Lord Eryndor said from ahead, and Lady Sylvara carried the words forward.


    “An unholy union between a cursed monster and an Ashmere will be formed, and it will bring forth chaos, destruction, and power imbnce to all realms. We are the true leaders. We had to stop it.”


    “A cursed monster?” she continued, her tone sharp. “No werewolf bears such a fate, except in the Lycan Kingdom. He was a prince then and dangerous. Dangerous to everyone and to himself. We heard stories of his monstrosity, but with his father’s chains binding him, we believed no such destiny woulde to pass.”


    Lord Osmir leaned forward.


    “That was until Ashmere bloodlines grew dangerous, unstoppable. Your father, the Warlord. Your mother, a war general. Your brother, a strategist. Every rtive on your father’s side raised as soldiers. Even your women taughtbat. Not a single war did you lose. You were bing unstable, a threat.”


    He exhaled heavily.


    “Before you rebelled, before prophecy came to life, we saved the shifter empire. We gave your family the honorable death of warriors. They died in battle, not disgrace.”


    Silence pressed in, so heavy I nearlyughed. Instead, I only scoffed at their words.


    “You sent Ashmeres into a war with no return. You lied to the greatest Warlord of this empire, tricked him into leading his army into a battlefield of suicide. And after all that, you sleep peacefully at night? Now you dare cloak your treachery in prophecy and curse tales?”


    I scoffed again, stepping forward, climbing the stairs until I stood before them.


    “You said my parents died as warriors? Do you know how they died? In their bed. In their camp. Where they were most vulnerable. You used our own kind against them. You cornered them on all sides until retreat was impossible. That’s no battlefield, no honor. That is ughter. And you call it service to the empire?”


    The hall thickened with tension. Lady Sylvara met my burning gaze, unflinching.


    “You of all people have no right to speak,” she snapped, cold as steel. “The prophecy we thought never to see, the unholy union of a cursed monster and an Ashmere, it is you and the Lycan King. If only we had known sooner, you would not have survived. Ashmeres were always puppets of the Council. They bowed to orders, and so will you. Your affair with the Lycan King is already under scrutiny. For now, remain silent and await our orders. Do you understand?”


    Cold ran through me, sharp as des. For one blinding moment, I nearly imagined slicing her throat open right there. But not yet. Not yet.


    “Whatever you say or do, nothing and no one wille between Lycannar and me,” I said, my voice precise and deadly calm. “And I will demand again that you pull Ash Pack from the Council. Next time I return and see no preparations, I swear on my father’s name, I will spill blood.”


    7:26 pm P PPP. рррр.


    I turned for the exit. Lady Sylvara’s voice cracked across the hall.


    “Just because you are his whore doesn’t mean you are above this Council.”


    I smirked, never pausing in my steps, and threw my words over my shoulder.


    “His whore? Then I stand higher than you already.”


    ***


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    Ash Packy quiet beneath the evening sky when I returned. I descended the carriage and walked straight into my chamber, needing air, needing calm.


    At the window, I steadied my breath, but the thought burned. How could they not show an ounce of remorse? How could they not even try to deny it? They didn’t need to. The letters already screamed their guilt.


    But the prophecy… could it be true? Where did they even hear it?


    “Mydy?” Blue’s voice came softly behind me. I turned to meet her gaze, and the lump in my throat only tightened. How I wished, truly wished, that Lycannar were here. “Are you alright?”


    The question made breathing harder. I turned away, sinking onto the chair before the mirror.


    A cursed king, bound to a ck Tower etched with spells and ancient marks. A man who never dared meet his own reflection. A man who spoke little, who lived in shadows, who only knew right and wrong when it served him.


    I lowered my gaze, swallowing against the ache.


    “Call Jurrek, Blue.”


    “Yes, mydy.”


    Blue slipped out. Almost immediately the door opened again, yet it wasn’t Jurrek. It was Isolde. She stood silently in the doorway, eyes on me for what felt like eternity, then crossed over to pull me into her arms.


    “Who would have thought those we trusted most would spin such cmity?” she whispered, pulling back. I swallowed hard, still unable to answer. <fn0620> Original content can be found at FιndＮovel</fn0620>


    The door creaked open again. Blue returned alone.


    “Beta Jurrek has left the pack for a quick errand. He won’t return until morning.”


    I frowned. Jurrek hadn’t mentioned leaving. Whatever it was, it must have been urgent.


    I turned slowly toward the mirror, my reflection staring back at me as my thoughts drifted to Dessyn and Moon. I wondered how they were faring.


    They had left at the darkest hour, riding without pause, they should have arrived by noon.


    My gaze shifted to the fractured relic mirror. With all the hesitation and fear in the world, I lifted it, the handle cold against my hand, and raised it to my face. I had to see how Varyn was faring.


    7:26 pm P p pp.


    +10 Free Coins


    For a fleeting moment, only my own reflection looked back. Then it rippled, shifting, revealing him. My blood brother.


    This time, my heart sank to the pit of despair. He was caged. Trapped in an underground prison.


    7:26 pm