Shiva
The floor shuddered beneath her slippers.
Not violently.
Not like a quake.
But like a sigh.
Long. Low. From deep in the stone.
Shiva stopped walking.
Closed her eyes.
And listened.
There it was again.
That sound.
That… pulse.
It wasn't the House.
Not fully.
It was something older than its bones.
And it had woken up.
She stood in the corridor just outside the Council's eastern gallery, framed in golden candlelight and silence. Not a single servant passed her. Not even the air stirred. Her gown—deep crimson today, layered in gauze and rubies—settled like blood around her ankles.
She touched the pillar beside her with one hand.
It was warm.
Too warm.
"She opened it," Shiva whispered.
Not surprised.
Not panicked.
Merely confirming what she already knew.
Seductio Tenebris had been broken.
And the girl—Maryna Valmont—had finally stopped pretending she wasn't the center of this entire game.
Shiva turned from the corridor and descended the west wing staircase.
She didn't rush.
She didn't need to.
The House would hold Maryna for now.
It wanted her.
And Shiva had no intention of interfering before the girl understood what kind of crown waited for her.
But the time for subtlety was ending.
The time for strategy was now.
At the base of the stairs, the doors to the Old Reliquary stood closed.
Most of the Court believed it to be a sealed archive of failed prophecies and burned sigils.
They weren't entirely wrong.
But Shiva knew better.
Because she had kept the room for herself.
And the memory of a woman who had once walked these halls like a flame wrapped in velvet.
Celia Valmont.
Shiva pressed her palm against the door.
It opened for her without hesitation.
Inside, the room was cold.
The air still smelled faintly of crushed lilies and copper.
She moved through the darkness, candles flaring as she passed, until she reached the stone basin at the center.
Within it, a shallow pool of enchanted water lay still.
Sleeping.
She murmured the incantation.
The water shimmered, then parted to reveal a faint reflection—
Not hers.
Maryna's.
Standing in the forbidden library.
One hand still resting on the closed book.
Eyes wide.
Chest rising and falling.
Skin flushed.
Shiva's lips curved slightly.
"So," she whispered. "You've begun."
The image blurred.
Shifted.
Now Maryna stood in front of a mirror, staring at herself.
But the reflection wasn't quite right.
A shadow hovered behind her.
Not Vasilios.
Not Marek.
Not Malenthros.
Something else.
A memory?
A ghost?
Or a lineage finally stepping through the veil?
The water pulsed once and turned black.
Shiva let it go.
The message was clear.
The House had recognized Maryna.
And through her—
Celia's flame had returned.
Shiva moved to the wall behind the basin.
She ran her fingers along the old carvings, pausing on the sigil of the Valmont line.
It had been dormant for years.
But now it glowed faintly.
Silver.
Not gold.
Not red.
Silver meant choice.
A fate not sealed.
A future still unwritten.
And that… thrilled her.
Because it meant the girl could still be guided.
Still be shaped.
"Vasilios will try to protect her," she murmured.
"He'll tell himself it's love. Or fate. Or duty."
She smiled.
"But it will always be control."
And Malenthros?
He was too far gone.
Too deeply bound to his obsessions.
He wouldn't know how to nurture a power like Maryna's.
He would try to possess her.
Devour her.
And when he failed, he would turn cruel.
Predictable.
Only Shiva understood what Maryna could become.
Not a Queen bound by thrones or rituals.
But a new kind of ruler.
One born from fire and blood.
One who understood that love could not replace power—but could be weaponized just the same.
She turned back toward the door.
Paused.
Then whispered into the still air:
"She dreamed of fire before she ever knew its name."
And the House shivered.