CADEON POV
"She's here," Kairan said, bursting into my study without knocking. "The woman from the courtyard. She's demanding to see you."
I didn't look up from the reports on my desk. "Who?"
"You know who." His voice dropped. "The one with silver-grey eyes. The one who shouldn't exist."
My quill snapped in half.
Ink bled across the paper like blood. I stared at it, my panther roaring inside my chest. Another grey-eyed woman. Here. In my fortress.
This wasn't coincidence anymore.
This was a nightmare coming to life.
"Where is she?" I growled.
"The east tower. She appeared out of thin air—shadow magic. My guards couldn't stop her." Kairan's jaw clenched. "She says she won't leave until she meets 'Elira's daughter.' Cadeon, how does she know about Lyra?"
I was already moving, shoving past him into the hallway. "Lock down the keep. No one in or out. And get Lyra to my study. Now."
"But—"
"NOW!"
Kairan ran.
I took the stairs to the east tower three at a time, my claws extending, my vision sharpening as my panther pushed closer to the surface. If this woman threatened Lyra, if she was here to finish what the auction assassins started—
I burst onto the tower landing.
She stood with her back to me, looking out the window at the mountains. Long dark hair. Slim build. When she turned, I saw her face.
Young. Maybe thirty. Beautiful in a cold, dangerous way.
And those eyes.
Silver-grey. Exactly like Elira's. Exactly like Lyra's.
"General Nightfang," she said smoothly. "Finally. I was beginning to think you'd keep me waiting all night."
"Who are you?" I demanded, positioning myself between her and the stairs. "How did you get into my fortress?"
She smiled. "My name is Seraphine. And I got in the same way I've been moving through the empire for twenty years—carefully." She tilted her head. "As for who I am... well, that's complicated. But I think you already know, don't you?"
My blood ran cold. "You're Elira's—"
"Daughter. Yes." She said it casually, like admitting she was someone's daughter wasn't shattering everything I thought I knew. "Surprised? Your spies told you Elira only had one child who died. They were wrong. She had two."
Two daughters.
Lyra and Seraphine.
Both with Elira's eyes. Both hidden for twenty years.
"That's impossible," I said, but my voice lacked conviction. "We tracked Elira for years. We would have known—"
"Would you?" Seraphine moved closer, her steps silent. "Elira was brilliant at hiding things. She hid me in plain sight—raised by a monastery, trained in shadow magic, completely off your radar. And she hid my sister in a rural village so small you'd never think to look there."
Sister. Lyra had a sister.
Did Lyra know?
"Why are you here?" I asked. "Why reveal yourself now?"
"Because my sister is in danger." Her eyes hardened. "Prince Theron wants her dead. Half the court wants her dead. And you—the man who killed our mother—are the only thing standing between her and execution." She laughed, sharp and bitter. "Ironic, isn't it?"
"I won't let anyone hurt her."
"Won't you?" She stepped so close I could see the silver flecks in her eyes. "You killed Elira. Why should Lyra be different?"
The question hit like a blade between my ribs.
"Because—" I stopped. Because why? Because of the mate bond? Because of guilt? Because Lyra looked at me with Elira's fire and made me want to be better than the monster I was?
"Because you feel something for her," Seraphine finished, reading my face. "The mate bond. I can see it on you—golden threads wrapped around your heart." Her smile turned cruel. "Does she know? Does my little sister know she's bonded to our mother's killer?"
"Get out of my fortress."
"Not until I see her." Seraphine's voice turned to ice. "I've been searching for Lyra for five years. I'm not leaving without meeting her."
We stared at each other. Two predators. Two people who loved Elira in different ways.
Finally, I said: "You'll see her. But in my study, under my terms. Try anything, and bond or no bond, I'll end you."
"Fair enough, General." She swept past me toward the stairs. "Lead the way."
---
Ten minutes later, we stood in my private study. Seraphine examined the bookshelves while I tried to figure out how to explain this to Lyra.
'Hey, you have a sister. She practices shadow magic. Also, she might want revenge for our mother's death.'
Perfect. No problems there.
The door opened.
Lyra entered, flanked by two of my guards. Her eyes found me first—wary, angry, still gripping that damn letter opener. Then she saw Seraphine.
She froze.
"You," Lyra breathed. "I saw you in the courtyard. You have my eyes."
"No," Seraphine said softly, turning fully. "You have our mother's eyes. Both of us do."
The room went silent.
Lyra looked between us, confusion and hope and fear warring on her face. "What are you talking about?"
"Sit down," I said gently. "Both of you. This is going to take a while."
Neither woman sat. They just stared at each other.
"I'll start," I said, moving to the wall behind my desk. "Lyra, there's something I need to show you."
I pulled the tapestry aside.
The portrait underneath showed a woman in her late thirties—fierce, beautiful, with silver-grey eyes that seemed to burn even in paint. She wore simple clothes, not noble finery. Her expression was defiant, challenging, alive.
Lyra gasped. "That's—"
"Your mother," I finished. "Elira Thorne. Leader of the human rebellion. The woman who almost brought down the beast empire." I couldn't look away from the portrait. "The woman I was ordered to execute twenty years ago."
"You kept a portrait of her?" Lyra's voice shook. "Why?"
"Because I needed to remember." The words came out rough. "Needed to remember what I'd done. Who I'd killed." I finally turned to face her. "Elira was no ordinary rebel. She was brilliant, strategic, and she believed humans and beasts could coexist peacefully. She almost convinced me she was right."
"Almost?" Seraphine's voice cut like a knife. "But not enough to spare her life."
"No." I met her accusing gaze. "The king gave me a direct order. Execute Elira Thorne or be executed myself for treason. I chose to live. I chose wrong."
Lyra stepped closer to the portrait, her hand reaching out but not quite touching. "She looks... strong."
"She was the strongest person I've ever met." I moved beside Lyra, keeping distance between us. "When I caught her, she didn't beg. Didn't cry. She looked me in the eyes and said, 'My daughters will finish what I started. And when they do, General, I hope you remember you had a choice.'"
"Daughters," Lyra whispered. "Plural."
"I didn't understand then. We thought she only had one child—you—and our spies reported you'd died." I glanced at Seraphine. "We were wrong. Elira hid both of you. Separated you. Protected you the only way she could."
Lyra turned to Seraphine. "You're my sister?"
"Yes." Seraphine's expression softened slightly. "I've been searching for you for years. Elira told me about you before she died—said you were hidden somewhere safe, raised by a man named Torin."
Tears filled Lyra's eyes. "Papa. He died protecting me."
"I know. I'm sorry." Seraphine moved closer. "But you're not alone anymore. You have me now."
The moment should have been touching. Reuniting sisters. Family found.
But my panther snarled a warning.
Something was wrong. Seraphine's magic felt... off. Dark. Twisted in a way that made my instincts scream danger.
"How did you know Lyra was here?" I asked carefully. "How did you know I bought her at the auction?"
Seraphine smiled. "I have my sources."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting." She turned back to Lyra. "Sister, I need you to come with me. It's not safe here. The general can't protect you from everyone—"
"No," I said flatly.
Seraphine's eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"
"Lyra stays here. Under my protection. You want to visit? Fine. But she doesn't leave this fortress."
"You don't own her—"
"Actually, I do." The words tasted like poison. "I paid twenty thousand gold marks. By law, she's mine for the next year."
Lyra flinched. Seraphine's face went cold with rage.
"So that's it?" Seraphine hissed. "You kill our mother, buy our sister like property, and expect us to just accept it?"
"I expect you to keep her alive," I shot back. "Which is more than you've managed for five years of 'searching.' Where were you when her village burned? When she was dragged to auction? When Prince Theron tried to have her executed?"
Seraphine had no answer.
Lyra stepped between us, her voice shaking but firm. "Stop. Both of you." She looked at me. "You don't get to fight over me like I'm a prize. I'm a person." Then to Seraphine: "And you don't get to show up and demand I leave with you when I don't even know you."
Both of us fell silent.
Lyra turned to the portrait of her mother, her shoulders trembling. "I need time. To think. To understand all of this."
"Of course," Seraphine said quickly. "Take all the time you need. I'll stay in the capital. When you're ready to talk, send word." She shot me a warning look. "If he lets you."
"He will," Lyra said quietly. "Won't you, General?"
It wasn't really a question.
"Yes," I agreed. "But Seraphine visits here. You don't go to her."
Seraphine's jaw clenched, but she nodded. "Fine. I'll return tomorrow."
She vanished—literally disappeared into shadows—leaving only the scent of dark magic behind.
The moment she was gone, I sagged against my desk. That woman was dangerous. Everything about her screamed threat.
"You don't trust her," Lyra said.
"No."
"But she's my sister."
"Maybe." I met her eyes. "Or maybe she's something worse pretending to be your sister."
Lyra's face went pale. "You think she's lying?"
"I think Elira had enemies. Powerful ones. And I think anyone showing up now, claiming to be her daughter, needs to prove it." I moved to the window, looking out at the darkening sky. "I also think you need training. Real training. Kairan will start tomorrow."
"Training for what?"
"Survival." I turned back to her. "Because Lyra, whether Seraphine is really your sister or not, one thing is certain—people will try to kill you. Nobles who fear Elira's bloodline. Prince Theron who wants you dead. Maybe even Seraphine herself if she's playing a longer game."
Fear flickered across her face. "Then why keep me alive? Why not just—"
"Because I owe your mother." The words came out before I could stop them. "I took everything from her. Her life. Her revolution. Her daughters' futures. The least I can do is make sure one of those daughters survives."
Lyra stared at me for a long moment. "You're a murderer. A monster. Everything I should hate."
"I know."
"But you loved her, didn't you?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "My mother. You loved her."
The question pierced straight through me.
I wanted to lie. Should have lied.
Instead: "Yes. I loved her. And I killed her anyway. That's the kind of monster I am."
Lyra's eyes filled with tears. "I don't know whether to hate you or pity you."
"Hate is safer," I said quietly.
She left without another word, her guards escorting her back to her room.
I stood alone in my study, staring at Elira's portrait.
"Your daughters are here," I told the painted eyes. "Both of them. And I don't know how to protect them from what's coming."
The portrait didn't answer.
But as I turned to leave, I could have sworn Elira's painted smile looked... different.
Almost like she was laughing at me.
My blood ran cold.
I stepped closer, examining the portrait.
The paint was fresh in one corner—so fresh it was still slightly wet.
Someone had altered it. Recently. In my own locked study.
And in that fresh paint, hidden in the shadows behind Elira's shoulder, was a message written in tiny letters:
*"THE REAL DAUGHTER WILL KILL YOU. THE FALSE ONE WILL SAVE YOU. CHOOSE WISELY."*
My hands shook.
Which daughter was real?
Which was false?
And who the hell had gotten into my study to leave this message?