Selene
She waited until Kael fell into one of his long, still trances—what he called rest, though she knew vampires didn't sleep like humans did. They remembered instead.
She crept past him, hands trembling, toward the sealed chamber he'd forbidden her to enter.
It wasn't locked with chains or runes.
It was locked with fear.
She opened it anyway.
Inside, the air was heavy. Not with magic—but with memory. Dust hung like a shroud, and at the center of the room sat a cracked pedestal, bearing a book bound in what looked like skin.
Selene stepped closer.
She didn't need Kael to tell her what it was.
The Grimoire of the Bloodline.
She opened it.
And read.
---
The words carved through her like blades. Genealogies traced back centuries. Rites written in bone and blood. Names she didn't recognize—yet somehow knew. Over and over, a phrase appeared in the margins:
"The Vessel must not love."
Her hands shook. She flipped faster. Near the back, an entry stopped her breath cold:
> Selene Virelaine—marked at birth. Conceived during eclipse. Third daughter of the last bearer. Parents eliminated. Sisters executed. Containment approved.
She dropped the book.
"No," she whispered. "No no no—"
But the truth didn't care.
They had killed her family.
To protect the curse inside her.
---
Kael stood in the doorway.
He didn't stop her from reading. He didn't try to explain.
That hurt more.
"You knew," she said, voice splintering. "You knew they murdered my parents and you still kept me here. Trained me. Watched me like I was some experiment."
"I didn't lie," Kael said quietly. "I told you your blood was dangerous. I never said it was innocent."
Selene's lip curled. "You told me I could still choose. Was that a lie too?"
"No." His eyes were red—not with power, but sorrow. "But you'll only get one chance."
She laughed bitterly. "One chance to choose what? Be a puppet? A queen? A weapon?"
Kael stepped forward.
"One chance to break the cycle."
---
Elsewhere
The silver knight reached the ruins of Castle Virelaine by moonlight.
Its towers were shattered. Its halls filled with vines and ghosts.
He walked to the throne room, where the portrait still hung—Selene's mother, painted in silk and fire, a woman of impossible beauty and veiled eyes.
The knight drew a dagger of bone.
Slit his palm.
Spoke the name of the dead queen.
And from the mirror above the throne…
She answered.