The morning after the Blood Moon Pact, the capital of Aerthrial stood quiet—but beneath that silence, fractures spread like frost across glass.
Not everyone in the kingdom feared Selene and Lucien anymore. Some had begun to choose sides.
The underground guilds whispered loyalty oaths beneath tavern floors. The beastkin tribes of the northern frost plains sent spirit-summons, their silver-eyed envoys crossing borders by moonlight. Mercenaries once loyal to coin now spoke of something rarer: belief.
But rebellion is never clean.
For every ally gained, a betrayal simmered.
In the west wing of the Valeburne estate, Selene faced the first fracture herself.
Her uncle, Lord Corvin Valeburne, summoned her privately. His crimson robes shimmered beneath the stained glass, but his words were cold.
"You've doomed us," he whispered, eyes sharp beneath gray lashes.
Selene kept her chin high. "No, Uncle. I've freed us."
Corvin's mouth twitched.
"You don't understand politics, girl. You've turned love into rebellion, and rebellion into ruin."
Selene's fingers curled at her side, nails pressing into silk.
"Love was already rebellion in this kingdom."
Corvin's expression hardened. "Then consider this your final warning."
He left no guards at her door when he exited.
He didn't need them.
Bloodline threats cut deeper than blades.
Across the city, Lucien faced his own shadow.
Alaric stood at his side, but tonight his loyalty faltered—not in words, but in silence.
Lucien noticed. He always did.
"What is it?" Lucien asked softly, latching his cloak.
Alaric hesitated, gray eyes flicking toward the window.
"My father sent word."
Lucien's breath slowed. "And?"
Alaric's throat tightened. "He wants me to deliver you."
Lucien's lips pressed into a thin line.
"And will you?"
Alaric's jaw clenched. "No."
A simple word, but one that carried the weight of betrayal—not against Lucien, but against his own blood.
Lucien placed a hand on Alaric's shoulder, golden eyes soft beneath the tension.
"Then you're free, Alaric. Truly free."
But freedom in Aerthrial always had a price.
By nightfall, new banners rose across parts of the kingdom. Crimson and gold thread intertwined—not as a curse this time, but as a symbol of defiance.
Evelyne's agents saw the banners first and sent word back to the Eastern Council. Her hands tightened around the armrest of her cold ivory chair, lips curving into something between a smirk and a snarl.
So be it, she thought. If love chooses to become rebellion, then rebellion will be met with obliteration.
In the Valeburne estate's frost garden, Selene walked alone beneath the blood-tinted moon.
Her heart still ached from the pact. Her pulse still trembled with Lucien's echo.
But her resolve had crystallized into something unbreakable.
When she reached the edge of the snow-draped roses, she whispered softly to the night.
"We won't lose this time."
Behind her, Lira stood in the shadows, eyes wide—not with fear, but with faith.
At the same moment, Lucien looked out from his war room, watching the golden-threaded banners flutter in the wind.
His reflection shimmered faintly in the glass.
Golden eyes.A heart tied to crimson snow.
This was no longer a love story.It was a revolution wrapped in tragedy, written by those willing to bleed for it.
And it was just beginning.