CELESTE'S POV
The sound of boots on stone woke me from a nightmare about drowning.
I jolted upright, my chains rattling against the floor. My whole body ached from sleeping on cold stone. The silver star mark on my wrist still glowed faintly, the only proof that last night's vision wasn't just a dream.
Two guards stopped outside my cell. One was young with kind eyes. The other was older, with a face like a bulldog.
"Prisoner Starweaver," the bulldog guard announced. "By order of the High Council, you will be executed at sunset today."
The words hit me like a punch to the stomach.
Today. Sunset. Executed.
I had maybe twelve hours left to live.
"I'm only twenty-three," I whispered. My hands started shaking so badly the chains jangled. "Please, there has to be a mistake—"
"No mistake." The younger guard looked away, uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."
They left me alone again.
I stared at the tiny window near the ceiling. Morning sunlight streamed through the bars, painting golden stripes across the filthy floor. Outside, birds were singing. Somewhere in the palace, people were eating breakfast and laughing and planning their normal days.
And I was going to die before the sun went down.
This couldn't be how my story ended. Not like this. Not for crimes I didn't commit.
The silver mark on my wrist pulsed with warmth, reminding me of the voice from last night. Help is coming. Trust the one who walks in shadows.
But no help had come. The dungeon was still locked. The guards were still outside. And I was still chained up like an animal waiting for slaughter.
Maybe the voice was wrong. Maybe I'd just imagined it because I was desperate and scared.
No. I couldn't think like that. I had to try something.
I closed my eyes and reached deep inside myself, searching for my magic. It was there—I could feel it buried beneath layers of iron and binding spells. My celestial power, the gift I'd been born with, the connection to the stars that made me special.
It was trapped, but it was still mine.
I remembered my grandmother's lessons from when I was little. She used to take me to the roof on clear nights and teach me the old words, the ancient language that witches spoke before the kingdom even existed.
"Magic doesn't come from outside," she'd told me. "It comes from inside. From your soul. And nothing can truly lock away your soul, little star."
I whispered the words now, my voice barely a breath. "Stellae lucis, audi me. Stars of light, hear me."
The iron chains around my wrists started to warm up.
I kept going, speaking faster. "Vincula frange. Break these bonds. Libertatem mihi dona. Give me freedom."
The chains grew hotter. Pain shot through my arms, making me gasp, but I didn't stop. I poured everything I had into those ancient words—all my fear, all my anger, all my desperate need to survive.
"Stellae lucis, AUDI ME!"
The chains suddenly blazed red-hot.
I screamed as they burned into my skin. The smell of burning flesh filled the cell. Tears poured down my face, but I kept chanting, kept pushing, kept trying to break through.
For one beautiful second, I felt my magic respond. It surged upward, pressing against the iron cage that held it prisoner—
Then the chains flared even hotter, and my magic slammed back down.
I collapsed on the floor, sobbing. My wrists were burned worse than before, blistered and raw. The pain was so intense I thought I might pass out.
The door at the top of the dungeon stairs crashed open. Heavy footsteps thundered down. The guards must have heard me screaming.
"What's happening down there?" the bulldog guard shouted.
But then a different sound cut through the air.
A sound like a thousand hammers hitting stone all at once.
The entire dungeon shook. Dust rained from the ceiling. Cracks spider-webbed across the walls.
"What in the—" the guard started to say.
The wall beside my cell exploded inward.
I threw my arms over my head as chunks of stone and brick flew everywhere. The noise was deafening—like thunder and avalanches and the end of the world all happening at the same time. Dust filled the air so thick I couldn't see anything. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think.
When the dust finally started to settle, there was a massive hole in the dungeon wall. Sunlight poured through it, making me squint after spending so long in darkness.
A figure stepped through the rubble.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black armor that seemed to swallow the light around it. He moved with the deadly grace of a predator, his boots crunching on broken stone.
As the dust cleared more, I could see him better. He had dark hair and a face covered in scars—one ran from his eyebrow to his jaw, another crossed his neck. His eyes were the deepest black I'd ever seen, like looking into midnight itself.
In his hands, he carried a sword that was almost as tall as I was.
This was the most dangerous-looking person I'd ever seen in my life.
The guards at the top of the stairs started shouting. Alarms began to blare throughout the palace. But the man in black armor didn't seem to care. He walked straight toward my cell, his dark eyes locked on me.
"Celeste Starweaver?" His voice was deep and rough, like gravel grinding together.
I couldn't speak. I just nodded.
He studied me for a long moment. I couldn't read his expression at all. Then he reached down and grabbed the iron chains around my wrists with his bare hands.
I saw black marks spreading across his skin where he touched the chains—like living shadows crawling up his arms. It looked painful, but he didn't even flinch.
He pulled.
The chains snapped like they were made of paper.
My magic surged free, flooding through me so fast it made me dizzy. Silver starlight exploded from my hands, lighting up the entire dungeon. I gasped as power I'd thought was gone forever came roaring back to life.
More guards pounded down the stairs. At least a dozen of them, all with swords drawn.
The man in black armor stepped between them and me, his massive sword raised. "Stay behind me," he commanded.
"Who are you?" I finally managed to ask.
He didn't take his eyes off the approaching guards. "Commander Theron Nightshade. Your grandmother sent me a message before she died. She said when the time came, I would know to find you here."
"My grandmother?" My heart squeezed. Grandmother had died six months ago. "What message?"
"She said you'd need me." Theron glanced back at me, and for just a second, something that might have been kindness flickered in those dark eyes. "She said I had to protect you, no matter what."
The guards reached the bottom of the stairs, spreading out to surround us.
"Commander Nightshade!" the bulldog guard shouted. "You're interfering with a Council execution! Stand down!"
"No," Theron said simply.
"We'll kill you both!"
"You can try."
The guards charged.
Theron moved faster than should have been possible for someone so big. His sword became a blur of black metal, striking and blocking and spinning. Three guards went down in the first five seconds. The others hesitated, suddenly not so confident.
But more guards were coming. I could hear them shouting upstairs. Soon there would be too many, even for someone as skilled as Theron.
"Can you run?" he asked me, not even breathing hard despite the fight.
"Yes."
"Then we run. Now."
He grabbed my hand—his skin was burning hot where the shadow marks touched me—and pulled me toward the hole in the wall.
Outside, I could see a massive black horse waiting, pawing at the ground impatiently.
"We'll never make it," I said, looking back at the flood of guards pouring into the dungeon. "There are too many—"
Theron suddenly grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him. His dark eyes bored into mine.
"Trust me or die," he said. "Choose."
I looked at this scarred stranger who'd smashed through a wall to save me. This man my grandmother trusted. This Commander who fought like a demon and had shadows crawling across his skin.
Every instinct screamed that I should be afraid of him.
But the silver star on my wrist was glowing so bright it hurt to look at.
Trust the one who walks in shadows.
"I trust you," I whispered.
Something shifted in Theron's expresion. He nodded once, then swept me up in his arms like I weighed nothing.
He ran.