The Duke of Reginald's words hung in the frigid air of the secret chamber like poisoned silver needles, each one driven deep into Liliana's bones.
"He can tell," Liliana said. Her voice was faint in the vast circular room, yet unnervingly clear. "Arthas knew the moment he saw me that I wasn't Princess Isabella."
The duke lifted an eyebrow slightly. "Oh?"
"On our wedding night." Liliana's fingers unconsciously brushed the Moonshadow Vow manacle around her wrist, the metal warm, almost alive. "He seized my wrist and said, 'You are not Princess Isabella.' Our blood had only just mingled, the curse had only just taken hold, and yet he already knew the truth."
"Or perhaps he merely sensed something amiss in your bloodline." Reginald stepped closer. Moonlight spilled down through the domed skylight, coating his silver hair in a cold sheen. "True Silver Moon blood should not be so… faint. Your power feels sealed, leaking out only in fragments—his words, were they not?"
Liliana's heart clenched. How could the duke know what Arthas had said to her in private? Unless—
"You've been watching us," she concluded. It was not an accusation, merely a statement of fact.
"Protecting," the duke corrected smoothly, an elegant yet hollow smile curving his lips. "As a member of the royal family, I am duty-bound to ensure the king's safety. And your arrival, dear cousin-in-law, has introduced far too many uncertainties."
He drew a slender roll of parchment from his coat and unfurled it. Upon it was an intricate diagram inked in faded lines—strikingly similar to the bloodline chart Liliana had seen when she was first brought to the castle, though this one was far older, its edges scorched and blackened.
"This was found among your mother's belongings," Reginald said, handing it to her. "Hidden beneath the floorboards of her herb shop. The fire failed to destroy it. Interestingly, the bloodline flow depicted here does not perfectly align with Princess Isabella's genealogy as recorded in the royal archives."
Liliana took the parchment. The silver tracery at its center resonated with her blood, glowing faintly. Yet the duke was right: certain branches diverged subtly from the official charts she had seen before.
"What does that mean?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"It means you are indeed of the Silver Moon blood," Reginald said softly, with a dangerous gentleness, "but perhaps not of the Bourbon royal line proper. It means your mother—that seemingly ordinary herbalist—may not have been ordinary at all. It means…"
He paused, studying her face as though appraising the authenticity of an antique.
"…that Arthas's insistence on marrying you may not have been merely to protect you, nor solely because he needed a 'remedy.' Perhaps he knew your true identity all along, Liliana. Perhaps this was his design from the very beginning."
"That's impossible," Liliana protested, though her conviction faltered. Memories surged forth—Arthas saying You are the key at the wedding; Your power is sealed beneath the full moon; I can arrange somewhere safe for you after he was wounded…
What if it had all been part of a plan?
"Think about it," the duke continued, his voice sliding like a serpent through grass. "A girl with Silver Moon blood, ignorant of her origins. A 'remedy' perfectly suited to counter the curse. A stand-in who bears an uncanny resemblance to the missing princess. Too many coincidences, don't you think?"
Liliana's fingers tightened, crumpling the parchment. "What do you want, Reginald? Why tell me all this?"
"Because I care about this kingdom." The duke's expression suddenly turned grave. "Arthas is a good king, but the curse has tormented him for too long. And curses, dear cousin, erode not only the body, but judgment as well. He grows ever more dependent on you, ever less willing to heed others. If one day your very existence becomes his weakness…"
He did not finish, yet the implication cut like a blade.
"You want me to leave," Liliana said.
"I want you to make a wise choice." Reginald walked toward the iron door, resting his hand upon it. "If you stay, you will become the focus of every faction's schemes. Arthas will protect you at any cost, and in doing so may expose fatal vulnerabilities. But if you leave…"
He glanced back, gray eyes glinting in the shadows.
"…I can arrange for you to go somewhere safe. There is a convent on the southern frontier. The sisters there are skilled in concealing and safeguarding those of unusual bloodlines. You could live in peace, far from intrigue and slaughter. In return, I will continue searching for a true cure for the curse—rather than relying on a 'remedy' that may fail at any moment."
"Arthas will never agree," Liliana said.
"Which is why he must not know," the duke whispered. "Three nights from now is the new moon. His power will be weakest, his senses dullest. The eastern tower's hidden passage will be unguarded. I will be there. We leave before dawn."
Liliana stared at him. "Why help me?"
"I told you—for the kingdom." His smile never reached his eyes. "And for… atonement."
The door closed soundlessly, leaving Liliana alone in the chamber, clutching the parchment that might upend everything.
She did not leave at once. Instead, she turned again to Princess Isabella's portrait.
The girl in the painting gazed out with clear eyes touched by a sorrow beyond her years. Drawing closer, Liliana noticed a detail she had previously overlooked: the open book in the princess's hands, its pages filled with minuscule script. She brushed the canvas lightly. The letters rose subtly beneath her fingers—true pigment, layered thickly, not a flat illusion.
She needed to read them.
There was no ladder in the chamber, but the bookshelves were climbable. Liliana shed her cumbersome hoops and outer gown, keeping only her shift, and began to climb. The wooden shelves creaked beneath her weight; dust cascaded down. By the time she reached the painting's height, her hands were filthy and her breath ragged.
Now she stood face to face with Isabella.
The text on the page was written in ancient runes—symbols Liliana should not have known. Yet as she stared, her mother's voice echoed in her mind, humming an old melody, and the runes unfolded into meaning:
Daughter of the Silver Moon, bound by blood,
Truth lies hidden between the tear-marked stars.
To break the seal, three trials await:
The Mirror Lake, the Echoing Well, the Crown of Thorns.
First, behold truth in mirrored waters.
Second, hear the heart's own voice.
Last, choose the path amid thorns.
Pass all three, the seal shall break;
The Silver Moon made whole, the curse undone.
But fail, and blood shall turn against itself—
Moon eclipsed, lives lost, twin stars fall.
Liliana's breath caught. This was the way to unseal her blood—and the only way to fully break Arthas's curse. Yet moon eclipsed, twin stars fall… failure meant death for them both.
Below, a smaller annotation followed:
Trial sites: Mirror Lake lies deep within the Silverpine Forest. The Echoing Well rests beneath the castle. The Crown of Thorns… resides within bloodline memory.
Warning: Trials are irreversible. Once begun, they must be completed. Those who abandon them shall forever lose the Silver Moon's power, becoming mortal, while the bound curse runs utterly rampant.
Liliana's hands trembled. At last she understood her mother's words from her dreams: Go to the hidden chamber. See her true face. Then decide—will you remain her shadow… or shatter the mirror?
Princess Isabella was the shadow—the kingdom's expectation, a political instrument. And Liliana herself… she could continue playing that role, or undertake the trials and become whole.
At the risk of death.
She climbed down carefully, her knees weak when she reached the floor. Still clutching the parchment, she tucked it and the memorized verses into the hidden pocket of her shift.
As she left the chamber, Liliana cast one final glance at the portrait. The moonlight had shifted; Isabella's melancholy seemed to soften into the faintest, almost imperceptible smile, as if whispering: Choose.
When Liliana returned to her chambers, dawn was already breaking.
Arthas was not in bed.
She followed the low murmur of voices to the adjoining study. The door stood ajar.
"So the arrows did come from the royal armory," Arthas said, his voice taut with restrained fury.
"Yes, Your Majesty," replied Captain Gareth. "And the records show that the batch of silver-tipped arrows was commissioned a month ago—for Duke Reginald's private guard."
Silence.
Liliana held her breath.
"Reginald…" Arthas said slowly. "What else has he been doing?"
"Frequent meetings with southern envoys. Three secret visits to the Chancellor's estate. And…" Gareth hesitated. "Someone saw him enter the eastern restricted wing before last night's ball."
"The hidden passages?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Liliana's heart pounded. Reginald was indeed plotting—but Arthas was already aware.
"Increase surveillance, but do not alert him," Arthas said coolly. "I want to know exactly what he's planning. And investigate Liliana's mother—thoroughly. I have a feeling we've missed something."
"Yes, sire."
Footsteps approached. Liliana quickly stepped back, feigning a return from the bedchamber. The door opened; Gareth bowed to her and departed. Arthas stood in the doorway, a fresh bandage on his shoulder, his face still pale.
"Where were you?" he asked sharply.
"I couldn't sleep. I walked in the garden," Liliana replied—the excuse she had prepared.
Arthas stepped closer and inhaled lightly near her hair. "Dust. Old paper. And…" His pupils contracted. "Reginald's cologne. Cedar and amber. Faint, but unmistakable."
Liliana froze.
"He spoke to you," Arthas said. It was not a question. "When? Where? What did he say?"
There was no anger in his tone—only the cold focus of a predator. Lying was useless, but full truth was impossible.
"We met near the library," she said, choosing a partial truth. "He… advised me to leave. Said my staying would harm you and the kingdom."
Arthas's eyes narrowed. "Did he offer you a destination?"
"A convent on the southern border."
A low growl rose from Arthas's chest—something not entirely human. "He wants to take you from me."
He pulled her into his arms abruptly, the movement rough, yet his embrace impossibly gentle. His face buried in her neck as he inhaled deeply, as if erasing Reginald's scent with his own.
"I won't allow it," he said into her shoulder. "You are mine, Liliana. My queen. My remedy. My—"
He stopped, but she felt his body tremble—not with weakness, but with something closer to fear.
"I won't leave," she whispered, stroking his back. "But I need the truth, Arthas. About my mother. About my blood. About… Princess Isabella."
Arthas stiffened and slowly released her. "Who told you about Isabella?"
"Reginald," Liliana said, meeting his gaze. "He said you searched for her for ten years. That you painted her portrait. That you might not be able to tell her from me."
Arthas's expression fractured—anger, pain, and a sorrow she could not fully read. He turned to the window, staring at the brightening sky.
"Isabella…" he murmured, as if invoking a spell. "When I first met her, she was six. I was eleven. She was crying in the garden because her favorite doll had fallen into the fountain."
Liliana listened in silence.
"I retrieved it for her, and she laughed through her tears, tucked a small white flower into my collar." His shoulders rose and fell. "I hated the idea of an arranged marriage, hated being bound by fate. But in that moment, I thought… perhaps it wouldn't be so terrible."
He paused for a long time.
"The day she vanished, I was practicing archery in the palace grounds. When the news came, I fell from my horse and broke my arm—not from the pain, but because…" He turned, amber eyes glowing. "I felt her disappear. Something severed."
"A connection?"
"The latent resonance between Silver Moon blood and the wolf's curse," Arthas said, touching the moonstone at Liliana's brow. "Even without a formal bond, our bloodlines respond to one another. I knew the instant she was gone. And my father's curse worsened that very day. Not a coincidence."
He knelt before Liliana—this proud king, this powerful wolf—one knee to the floor, clasping her hands.
"Liliana, listen to me," he said firmly. "I searched for Isabella for ten years. I painted her portrait—both true. But the moment I saw you…"
He looked up, gold burning in his eyes.
"I knew you were not her. Your eyes hold what hers never did—resilience, intellect, a wild vitality. Isabella was a hothouse flower, needing shelter. You… you are silver fern, growing from stone—fragile, yet unyielding."
Liliana swallowed. "Then why marry me? If you knew I wasn't the princess—"
"Because your blood is real," Arthas said, cupping her cheek. "Because you needed protection. And because…" He hesitated—she had never seen him hesitate before. "From the moment you entered the throne hall, something deeper than the curse stirred in me. I wanted to know you, to be near you. A wolf's instinct—primitive, perhaps. Once a mate is chosen, there is no letting go."
Liliana knelt to face him. "Reginald said my mother left behind a different bloodline chart. That you might have known who I truly was all along."
Arthas grew solemn. "Do you believe him?"
"I want to believe you," Liliana said softly. "But I need the truth."
He drew a deep breath. "I know nothing of your mother's origins—that is the truth. But I did suspect your blood was not purely Bourbon. Silver Moon blood is ancient and scattered beyond the royal house. As for Reginald…"
He stood, pulling her up with him.
"He is my cousin—and my greatest threat. His mother has royal blood. Without an heir, he could claim the throne. You, my love, may bear that heir—and you may also break my curse. Either would end his ambition."
A chill ran through Liliana. "So the assassination at the ball—"
"Likely his work, designed to implicate the southern lords." Arthas sneered. "Classic Reginald—layered schemes, truths buried in lies. His urging you to leave was not for your sake, but to weaken me."
"But if I stay?" Liliana asked. "If I complete the trials, break the seal, and truly shatter the curse?"
Arthas froze. "Trials? What trials?"
She produced the parchment and her copied runes. Arthas scanned them quickly, his face darkening.
"Mirror Lake. The Echoing Well. The Crown of Thorns…" he murmured. "They are real places. Mirror Lake lies deep in Silverpine Forest—an ancient Silver Moon sanctuary. The Echoing Well… beneath this castle. My father lost himself there. As for the Crown of Thorns…"
Pain flickered in his eyes.
"That is the final trial. Only three in history have attempted it. None survived."
"But if I succeed," Liliana insisted, "both my seal and your curse can be broken. The Silver Moon made whole, the curse undone."
Arthas gripped her shoulders. "Do you understand what failure means? Moon eclipsed, twin stars fall. We both die."
"I know," Liliana said calmly. "But if I don't try, your curse will worsen until it consumes you. And I will never know who I am—why my mother hid my blood, why I was drawn into all this."
She smoothed the crease between his brows.
"You taught me to be strong. To fight. This is my battle."
Arthas stared at her, emotion surging—fear, pride, dread, and a love so deep it nearly overwhelmed her.
"If this is your choice," he said at last, voice hoarse, "I will not stop you. But I will stand with you—every step."
"The trials say they must be faced alone—"
"I will wait beyond each threshold," Arthas interrupted, lacing his fingers with hers. "If you fail, if you die… the curse will recoil, and I will die as well. In essence, we remain together."
The grim romance of it made Liliana laugh and cry at once. She rose on her toes and kissed him.
"Then where do we begin?"
Arthas turned toward the fully risen sun. "Mirror Lake lies three days' ride from the castle. But Silverpine Forest is dangerous now—wolves gathering, and… other things. We must prepare."
"When do we leave?"
"In three days," Arthas said, eyes flashing. "On the new moon. My power will be weakest—but it is also when Reginald is most likely to act. We will let him believe you fled to the southern convent."
Liliana remembered Reginald's arrangement—the same night, the eastern passage.
"He'll discover the truth."
"Let him," Arthas smiled, a wolf's grin—wild and cunning. "Let him think his plan succeeded. While we ride for Silverpine Forest and your first trial."
And so the plan was set. Arthas busied himself with preparations—choosing loyal guards, gathering supplies, spreading false rumors. Liliana was instructed to appear hesitant, to give Reginald hope.
For the next three days, she played her part well—distracted in public, repeatedly "running into" the duke, speaking in half-finished sentences. Reginald took the bait, offering encouragement, painting the convent as peaceful, promising protection, hinting that leaving was the greatest kindness she could show Arthas.
In private, Liliana prepared for the trials. She scoured the castle library for lore on Silver Moon blood and Mirror Lake, questioned the old gardener about Silverpine flora, and secretly brewed remedies—coagulants, painkillers, stimulants.
On the second night, as she recorded her formulas in the study, Arthas entered carrying a small wooden box.
"For you," he said, setting it down.
Inside lay a dagger—no ceremonial trinket, but a true weapon. The blade was slender and slightly curved, forged of a dull-glimmering metal, a moonstone set into the hilt.
"Moon-silver," Arthas said. "Especially effective against werewolves and certain dark creatures. More practical than those manacles you chose."
Liliana drew the blade; candlelight flowed across it like liquid mercury. "It's beautiful."
"And lethal." Arthas took her hand, adjusting her grip. "Steady wrist. Use your body's weight when you thrust. If you must use it…"
He stepped behind her, guiding her through several strikes.
"Aim here," he said, indicating throat, heart, abdomen. "No hesitation. Your enemy will not hesitate."
She leaned into him, feeling his warmth. "You're worried Mirror Lake is dangerous."
"It is sacred—and sacred places attract profane things," Arthas murmured into her hair. "And Reginald may guess our true destination."
"You'll protect me," Liliana said.
"I will," he replied softly. "But you must also be able to protect yourself. Because I may not always be at your side."
She turned. "What do you mean?"
"During the Mirror Lake trial, I cannot enter the lake's heart," Arthas said grimly. "Ancient magic repels the wolf's curse. Forcing entry would trigger defenses. You must face it alone."
Fear surged, but she forced it down. "Then what must I do?"
"Behold truth in mirrored waters," Arthas said. "Each trial differs, but all revolve around truth—of self, fear, desire. You must face the questions you've avoided: who are you? What do you want?"
Who am I? Liliana Green, an herbalist's daughter, bearer of Silver Moon blood, queen to a wolf king. These were labels, not essence.
What do I want? At first, freedom. Then survival. Now…
She looked at Arthas—at herself reflected in his eyes.
She wanted him to live, free of the curse. She wanted to know her blood, her mother's secret. She wanted strength—not for power, but for choice.
"I will face it," she vowed.
Arthas cradled her face and kissed her deeply—a mark, a vow, a mingling of farewell and reunion.
"Whatever you see in Mirror Lake," he whispered, "remember this: I am here. Flawed. Cursed. But loving you."
That night, Liliana slept in Arthas's arms. Her dreams held no ash, no weeping princess—only a moonlit lake, still as glass, reflecting the stars.
And deep within the castle, the silver mirror rippled once more.
It showed Liliana sleeping, Arthas guarding her side. Then it pulled back—revealing Silverpine Forest, the faint glow of Mirror Lake, and the shadows waiting at its shore.
A voice emerged, low and ancient:
"The Silver Moon's daughter shall come."
"The Wolf King walks beside her, curse entwined."
"The Mirror Lake shall show a double truth—"
"Her blood's enigma. His hope of redemption."
"And the Crown of Thorns…"
The image shifted—a blurred figure wearing a crown of thorns.
"…shall decide the kingdom's dawn—or endless night."
Outside the mirror, a black-gloved hand hovered, then clenched.
"Then let us," a voice murmured, "add a little… interest to the trials."
The night of the new moon arrived.
The castle lay under unnatural stillness. No moonlight—only sparse starlight veiling the world in gray.
At midnight, Liliana slipped from her chambers with a small pack and the moon-silver dagger. Dressed in dark travel clothes, she moved swiftly through familiar yet alien halls toward the eastern tower.
The hidden passage lay behind a tapestry. Following Reginald's instructions, she pressed the upper-left corner of the third stone. A soft click; a concealed door slid open.
The passage was damp and dark, smelling of mold and rust. She lit a small oil lamp. The narrow walls bore old water stains; faint footprints marked the floor—none recent.
Doubt crept in. Would Reginald truly be waiting?
After ten minutes, the passage sloped upward. A dim light glimmered ahead. Liliana extinguished the lamp and crept forward.
The exit opened into an abandoned hunting lodge at the forest's edge. A silver-haired figure stood inside, back turned, starlight glinting off his hair.
"You're punctual, cousin-in-law," Reginald said, turning with a smile. Two guards flanked him. "The carriage waits on the forest road. We'll be thirty miles away by dawn."
Liliana stayed in the doorway. "What protection will I have at the convent?"
"The sisters are adept in warding magic," Reginald said, approaching. "They'll conceal your Silver Moon aura. You'll be safe."
"And Arthas?" she asked. "If I leave, what of his curse?"
Impatience flickered across Reginald's face before he masked it. "I will continue seeking a cure, as promised. Now we must go—"
He stopped abruptly, ears twitching.
Liliana heard it too—a distant wolf's howl, long and lonely, echoing through the moonless night.
"He's found us," Reginald cursed, grabbing her arm. "Move!"
She tore free. "No."
Reginald narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"I'm not going with you," Liliana said, hand on her dagger. "I know your true aim—to weaken Arthas and claim the throne."
All warmth vanished from Reginald's face. "Clever girl. But you're too late."
He gestured. The guards drew swords and advanced.
Liliana drew her dagger, adopting Arthas's taught stance. The blade felt both strange and familiar, resonating faintly with her blood.
"Don't struggle," Reginald said coldly. "You can't win. Come quietly, and I'll ensure you don't suffer."
The first guard lunged. Liliana twisted aside; her blade slashed his arm. Moon-silver sliced through leather and flesh. He screamed as white smoke hissed from the wound.
The second guard advanced cautiously, sword probing toward her shoulder. She parried; sparks flew. His strength overwhelmed hers, numbing her arm. The dagger nearly slipped free.
Reginald watched, bored.
Then another howl—closer, just outside.
The door burst open.
A massive black wolf charged in, amber eyes blazing. It leapt upon the second guard, fangs tearing his throat in a blur of motion.
Reginald's face drained of color. He drew a silver-bladed sword. "I knew you'd come, cousin. On the new moon, at your weakest, you dare take wolf form?"
The wolf snarled—but its movements were slower, breath labored. The new moon weakened werewolves.
"Seize her!" Reginald barked to the wounded guard. "Use her as a shield!"
The guard lunged. Liliana stumbled, fell. Her dagger clattered away.
The wolf moved—but Reginald struck first, silver blade plunging toward its flank.
"No!" Liliana screamed.
The sword pierced fur, but only shallowly, caught by dense muscle. The wolf howled and snapped at Reginald, raking his arm. He retreated, blood pouring.
"Withdraw!" Reginald commanded, fleeing with his guard through a hidden door.
The wolf tried to pursue but faltered, blood soaking its side. Liliana crawled to it, retrieved her dagger, and pressed her coat to the wound.
"Arthas," she whispered. "Let him go. We stick to the plan."
The wolf met her gaze. Humanity flickered. It nodded, body shifting.
Arthas collapsed into human form, pale, silver poison already spreading from the wound. Liliana quickly applied her prepared salve. It hissed against the toxin.
"You anticipated silver weapons?" Arthas gasped.
"I anticipated everything," she said, working briskly. "Including your dramatic entrance."
He laughed weakly. "I'm no hero. I just… couldn't leave you alone."
She bandaged him and helped him up. "We must leave. Reginald will realize the truth soon."
Arthas whistled. Two black horses emerged from the trees, packs strapped to their backs.
"Mirror Lake lies three days away," Arthas said, mounting and pulling her up before him. "If we ride hard, two."
She leaned back against him. "Your wound—"
"Werewolf healing, plus your salve. I'll mend by dawn," he said, urging the horse forward. "Hold tight."
They plunged into the forest, leaving the lodge and Reginald's schemes behind. Liliana glanced back once—the castle loomed like a slumbering beast, its lights like watching eyes.
Then she turned forward—to the dark forest, to Mirror Lake, to her first trial.
High in a castle tower, Reginald clutched his wounded arm, watching their escape. His expression was dark, yet a strange smile curved his lips.
"Go, dear cousin," he murmured. "Go face your 'truth.' And when you see it… let us see if the Wolf King can still hold your heart."
He raised a small silver mirror. Within it shimmered a moonlit lake, reflecting two figures—Liliana, and beside her, another blurred form.
"The game," Reginald whispered, "has only just begun."
Deep in the forest, Arthas suddenly reined in his horse.
"What is it?" Liliana asked.
"I feel… watched," he said, scanning the darkness. "Yet there's nothing."
She tightened her grip on the dagger. "We go on?"
"We go on," Arthas said, urging the horse forward. "Whatever awaits us, we face it together."
They rode deeper into Silverpine Forest—toward Mirror Lake, toward truth, toward a trial that might change everything.
And in the shadows behind them, something stirred. Eyes glimmered with inhuman light, and silently, it followed.