Chapter 3 - THE QUEEN THEY BURIEDThe northern fortress had stood for two hundred years.

No enemy had ever breached it.

Yet by sunrise, its banners were gone.

Blackwood soldiers arrived to find the gates wide open.

Not broken.

Opened.

Twenty-seven guards lay unconscious.

No bodies.

No blood.

Only silence.

Draven rode through the ruined gate at the head of his army.

Ren rode beside him.

She had wanted to remain in the palace.

Draven refused.

“You're safer where I can see you.”

Ren gave him a look.

“You don't trust your own palace.”

“I don't.”

“That is concerning.”

“It's also why you're alive.”

Ren almost smiled.

Almost.

Then she saw the fortress.

Her smile disappeared.

Something in her chest hurt.

“This place…”

Draven looked at her.

“What?”

“I've seen it before.”

“You've never been here.”

“I know.”

Ren closed her eyes.

Suddenly, a memory struck.

Fire.

Screaming.

A woman running through smoke.

A baby crying.

A man shouting,

“Take her and run!”

Ren gasped.

Draven immediately reached for her.

“What did you see?”

“My mother.”

“Where?”

“In the fire.”

“What was she doing?”

“She was carrying…”

Ren's voice failed.

Draven waited.

“A baby.”

He went still.

Ren opened her eyes.

“I was that baby.”

Draven looked toward the fortress.

“Your mother was here?”

Ren nodded slowly.

“But why?”

Before he could answer, someone emerged from the tower.

An old man.

His clothes were torn.

His hands were chained.

Two guards dragged him forward.

“Your Majesty.”

Draven stepped down from his horse.

“Who is he?”

“He was hiding in the crypt.”

The old man lifted his face.

Ren gasped.

She knew him.

“Master Orin.”

The old man's eyes filled with tears.

“You survived.”

Ren rushed toward him.

Draven stopped her gently.

“Who is he?”

“My mother's advisor.”

Orin stared at Draven.

Then bowed.

“My king.”

Draven's expression hardened.

“You knew my mother?”

“I knew both your parents.”

“Then speak.”

Orin glanced at Ren.

“Not here.”

They took him into the fortress command room.

Orin told them everything.

Twenty years ago, House Vael had been the hidden royal bloodline of the northern territories.

The Vaels were not kings by conquest.

They were guardians of an ancient pact.

A pact between humans, wolves, and the old magical bloodlines.

Blackwood had once protected that pact.

Until Draven's father broke it.

“He wanted absolute power,” Orin said.

Draven's hands tightened.

“My father?”

“Yes.”

“He betrayed the Vaels?”

“He tried.”

“What stopped him?”

Orin looked at Ren.

“Her mother.”

Ren whispered,

“What did she do?”

“She hid you.”

“Why?”

“Because you were the heir.”

Silence.

Draven stared at Ren.

“The true heir to what?”

Orin answered quietly.

“Everything.”

Ren shook her head.

“No.”

“The Vael bloodline predates Blackwood.”

“I don't want a throne.”

“You already have one.”

Ren looked at Draven.

He was staring at her.

Not with fear.

Not with anger.

With something she couldn't identify.

Hope.

Then Orin said,

“There is one more thing.”

Draven turned.

“What?”

“The Hollow Court does not want to kill Ren.”

“Then what do they want?”

“They want her to awaken.”

Ren's stomach dropped.

“A new age is coming,” Orin said. “One where the old bloodlines will return.”

Draven stepped forward.

“And why is Vesper involved?”

Orin's face changed.

“Because Lord Vesper is not human.”

Silence.

The guards exchanged looks.

Ren whispered,

“What is he?”

Orin looked toward the dark window.

“Something that has been waiting for twenty years.”

At that exact moment, a scream echoed outside.

Draven drew his sword.

Everyone rushed into the courtyard.

One of the Blackwood banners was burning.

Beneath it lay a soldier.

Dead.

Pinned to his chest was another note.

Draven tore it free.

His eyes moved across the page.

His face became terrifyingly calm.

Ren saw the words.

KING DRAVEN, YOU HAVE TWELVE HOURS.

Below that:

SEND US THE VAEL HEIR, OR YOUR CAPITAL BURNS.

Captain Hale asked,

“What will we do?”

Draven folded the paper.

“We prepare for war.”

Ren stepped closer.

“They will attack the capital.”

“Yes.”

“Then you have to let me go.”

Draven turned sharply.

“No.”

“They're after me.”

“They're after my kingdom too.”

“You can't protect both.”

Draven walked toward her.

“I can.”

“You don't understand.”

“I understand perfectly.”

Ren lowered her voice.

“If I stay, people will die.”

Draven stopped inches away.

“And if you leave?”

“They may stop.”

He stared at her.

Then said,

“No.”

“Draven…”

“I spent half my life believing I was a weapon.”

His voice was quiet.

“Now I finally understand what a weapon is for.”

Ren looked at him.

“What?”

Draven's eyes hardened.

“To protect what matters.”

He turned to the army.

“Seal the gates.”

The soldiers obeyed.

Then Orin suddenly cried out.

Ren spun around.

The old man was on his knees.

A black vein crawled up his neck.

Draven rushed toward him.

“What's happening?”

Orin looked at Ren.

His eyes filled with fear.

“They found me.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn't…”

Orin coughed blood.

“They found…”

He looked at Draven.

“Your father.”

Then his eyes widened.

He whispered one final sentence.

“King Alaric is not dead.”

And Orin collapsed.

Draven stood frozen.

His father had been dead for twenty years.

At least, that was what every history book said.

Then something moved behind Ren.

A shadow.

A hand reached toward her.

Draven saw it.

He shouted,

“REN!”

He lunged.

Too late.

The shadow vanished.

But Ren was holding something.

A black feather.

And from the courtyard came a woman's laughter.

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Karine's voice.

“Now you know where the real king is.”