The summons arrived wrapped in black wax.
Not red, not gold, not even the royal crest Aerin remembered from childhood. Just obsidian wax stamped with a silver seal shaped like a thorned rose—barren and bloodless. A symbol long forgotten by most, but not by her.
The seal of the Night Court.
Aerin Velas held the letter as if it might combust in her hand. It hadn't yet, which meant it was real. Which meant her exile was over—not from mercy, but from necessity.
She stood alone in the narrow corridor of the manor she had called prison for the last seven years. The walls were crumbling, mildew whispered in the corners, and the only light came from a single flickering candle beside the door. It cast just enough illumination for her to read the words written in cold, formal ink.
Lady Aerin Velas, by order of His Majesty King Halvar II,you are hereby summoned to the capital of Eldryn to fulfillthe terms of the Accord.You are to arrive within five days, no later.Refusal will be considered treason.
No signature. No flourish. Just that one word at the bottom: The Accord.
She read it again, slower this time. Then she laughed.
It wasn't a sound one would expect from a lady summoned back into court life. There was no grace in it, no joy. Only bitterness and irony, rich and sharp as the taste of old blood.
"Of course," she murmured. "Of course it would be me."
The last Velas. The daughter of a traitor.
Seven years ago, her father had been dragged from their estate in chains, accused of conspiring against the crown. The charges had come swiftly, followed by an execution even swifter. No trial. No mercy. Just fire and ash. She had been fifteen.
Exiled to a northern province under watch, she'd been allowed to live—barely. No titles. No inheritance. No future.
Until now.
Aerin looked up as the wind howled through the broken shutters, sweeping dust across the floor like ghost-footsteps. The manor seemed to groan around her, as if it too had read the summons and didn't approve.
She folded the letter and tucked it inside her coat. Her hands were shaking, but not from fear.
If they thought she would return as a humbled girl begging for favor, they were wrong. She was not the child who had watched her father die and said nothing. She was older now. Sharper. Hollowed in all the right places.
And if they had summoned her to play the bride to a monster?
Then she would wear her thorns with pride.
The road to Eldryn was long and unforgiving, winding through barren plains and frostbitten hills. She rode alone, wrapped in her father's old cloak, and spoke to no one save the occasional messenger who passed her by with fearful glances. Her surname was still poison in these parts.
On the third night, a storm chased her into a roadside inn. The patrons turned quiet when she entered, and none met her eyes. She took her meal by the fire in silence, ignoring the whispers.
"They say she's cursed," someone muttered behind her. "That she was promised to one of them."
Aerin didn't flinch. Let them talk.
She'd been cursed long before the Accord chose her.
By the fifth day, the towers of Eldryn rose like daggers against the grey sky. The capital had not changed. Still cold, still cruel, still cloaked in the gilded pretense of civilization. But beneath the marble domes and ivory banners, the rot remained.
Aerin arrived at the gates of the palace in the fading light. Guards in white armor blocked her path until she produced the sealed summons. One of them—a young man with trembling hands—read the letter, then paled.
"This way, Lady Velas," he stammered.
Lady. That word on his lips sounded like an echo of a ghost.
They escorted her not to the throne room, as she expected, but to the west wing—a part of the palace that had been sealed off since the Accord was signed nearly a century ago. The air grew colder with every step.
At the end of a candlelit hall stood a pair of black iron doors. They opened not to a chamber, but to a throne of shadows.
And upon it sat the Duke of the Night Court.
Cassius Thalor did not rise when she entered. He did not greet her, or smile, or offer any courtesies of the court.
He only watched her.
Eyes like ice, skin pale as moonlight, dressed in a long coat of shadow-black velvet. His hair was dark, his face beautiful in a way that felt unnatural—sculpted, sharp, timeless. There was something inhuman about his stillness, like a portrait come to life but not quite alive.
"You are late," he said.
His voice was low, and it echoed in her bones.
"I arrived on the fifth day," Aerin replied, stepping forward. "No sooner. No later. As instructed."
His eyes narrowed a fraction. "You speak as if you are not afraid."
"I'm not."
"A curious thing for a human standing in the court of her predator."
"You summoned me to be your bride, not your prey."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it held no warmth. "Do not confuse the two, Lady Velas."
She held his gaze.
In the silence that followed, something unseen shifted. The doors closed behind her with a hiss, and the candlelight dimmed, as if the very room responded to him.
"I expected someone… weaker," he said finally. "They told me you were broken. A puppet, easy to use."
"Then they underestimated me."
"They usually do."
He rose, and it was like watching night take form.
"I will not lie to you," Cassius said, approaching. "This union is a farce. A clause of a treaty written in blood and desperation. I do not desire you. I do not trust you. But I require you."
"And I'm to be grateful for that?"
"No. You are to survive it."
They stood before each other now, close enough that Aerin could smell something ancient in the air around him—cedar, ash, and cold metal. Power pulsed from him in invisible waves. She refused to step back.
"So," she said, chin lifted. "Is this where we pledge our vows? Kiss the ring? Pretend this marriage is real?"
"No," Cassius said. "This is where I give you a choice."
That surprised her. "A choice?"
"Accept the bond willingly, and you will have freedom. Power. A seat at the Night Court and protection from those who would see you dead. Refuse…" He tilted his head. "And I will find another way to fulfill the Accord. You are not the only Velas left."
She flinched.
He noticed. He always noticed.
Aerin thought of her cousin, barely sixteen, hidden away in a convent. A girl with soft hands and softer will.
No. She would not let that happen.
"I accept," she said.
Cassius nodded once. No ceremony. No celebration.
Just cold silence, and the beginning of something far darker than any fairytale.
Somewhere far below the palace, the old magic stirred. The Accord had been awakened. The oath had been claimed. And the blood would remember… all debts owed.