Moonlight danced across the marble towers of Lunador as the city prepared for its most dangerous celebration.
The Festival of Thorns.
It was a week of beauty and blood—where nobility wrapped their secrets in silks and shadows, where masks weren't just fashion but armor. Petals and poison flowed freely. And this year, the Queen had declared the festival sacred.
Because this year, the Moonbound Court would choose its next heir.
And Eira was walking straight into the heart of it.
---
"They'll smell you before they see you," Corren muttered, straightening Eira's collar as she adjusted the mask over her face. "Even with the sigil hidden, the court knows what old power feels like."
"That's what the glamour's for," Cassian said from across the room. He stood beside an open trunk of enchanted fabrics, lifting a shimmering cloak that seemed to ripple with moonlight. "This should blur her aura."
"And yours?" Eira asked.
He flashed her a grin. "I'm too charming to suspect."
Corren snorted.
The small safehouse just outside Lunador's eastern gate pulsed with tension. Eira was dressed in court fashion now—dark velvet laced with silver, her mask carved like a burning rose, its petals flaring to hide half her face. The locket had been tucked beneath her bodice, the Ember Sigil hidden behind a layer of runes and Cassian's enchantments.
"You'll be announced as Lady Elira of Velmoor," Corren said, handing her a ring with a crest she didn't recognize. "Minor house. Old enough to be forgotten."
"And believable?"
Cassian winked. "You wear mystery like perfume. Just don't talk too much."
Eira took a breath, then another. The trial of the Binding Flame had left a mark not only on her skin, but in her soul. Since awakening the Sigil, she could feel the threads of magic around her—hear whispers that didn't belong to the wind.
She was changing.
And she wasn't sure if it scared her.
Or excited her.
---
The gates of Lunador were lit with lanterns that burned in shades of wine and flame. Music spilled from balconies. Dancers moved through the streets wearing robes of living petals. And above it all, the Moon Palace rose like a dream carved in silver and smoke.
Their carriage passed through without question, the guards too enamored by the spectacle to look closely. That was the festival's great irony—too much attention bred blindness.
Cassian handed her a silver flute. "Communication charm. Blow once if you're in trouble. Twice if you're dying."
"Comforting."
Corren slid a dagger into her sleeve. "You'll be meeting the Queen's court tonight. Watch their eyes, not their mouths."
As they neared the palace steps, Cassian's voice dropped. "And remember—no one must know who you are. Not even hints."
Eira nodded.
The doors opened.
And she stepped into the heart of the masquerade.
---
It was more breathtaking than she'd imagined.
The ballroom shimmered with magic. Chandeliers of floating glass rotated slowly above their heads, casting rainbows on silk banners. The walls bloomed with enchanted roses that whispered secrets to those who dared listen.
Eira descended the stairs, feeling every eye slide toward her.
Mystery.
Intrigue.
Threat.
She moved like she belonged—like she'd danced this dance since birth. And maybe she had, in another life.
At the center of the room stood a throne of thorns. Empty.
Cassian was already mingling, mask shaped like a fox with wings. Corren lingered near the drink tables, observing, calculating.
Eira moved alone, letting the music guide her.
"Striking choice," came a voice from her left.
She turned to see a man draped in forest-green silk. His mask was carved like a serpent, glittering with emeralds.
"Thank you," she said evenly.
"The rose on fire. It's almost... prophetic."
She smiled behind her mask. "Isn't everything here?"
The man chuckled and bowed. "Lord Avareth. I collect rare flames. And I always know when I'm near one."
Before she could answer, a new figure stepped between them.
"My lord, you're suffocating her with smoke."
Cassian.
Lord Avareth raised a brow. "And you are?"
Cassian bowed, never breaking eye contact. "The wind that clears it."
Avareth's smile faltered. "Hmm. Perhaps I'll return later, Lady Elira."
He vanished into the crowd.
Cassian turned to her. "He owns half the mines in Eldros. And sells intel to whoever pays best. Avoid him."
"You jealous?"
"Of course. You're dazzling."
Eira rolled her eyes but let herself smile.
A gong echoed through the hall.
Everyone turned.
The Queen had arrived.
---
She descended from the shadows like mist made flesh.
Tall. Veiled in silver. Her mask was nothing but a sliver of moonlight curved across her brow. Her eyes were white as frost, unblinking. She did not walk—she glided. Behind her came two guards in black armor with golden roses carved into their chests.
The Queen said nothing.
She simply raised a hand.
The thrones behind her shifted, revealing seven empty seats—each carved with a different symbol: a dagger, a crown, a flame, a feather, a coin, a serpent, and a rose.
Eira stared at the third.
A flame.
The Queen spoke. "Let the trials begin."
And then, chaos.
Masked nobles began to form circles, each claiming allegiances, whispering promises. Petitions were handed. Challenges announced.
Cassian leaned close. "Every ten years, the Queen offers the court seven trials. Whoever wins the most, takes the flame throne. It's symbolic—but those who win gain real power."
"What kind of trials?"
"Skill. Strategy. Secrets. And blood."
A herald stepped forward. "Tonight's challenge is the Thorn Waltz."
Eira frowned. "What's that?"
"You'll see," Cassian murmured grimly.
---
Dancers stepped into the center of the room. The music shifted.
Eira was pulled into the circle by unseen hands. She felt the prickle of magic over her skin.
Her partner appeared.
Tall.
Dark-eyed.
His mask shaped like a raven's skull.
"Lady Elira," he said softly.
She didn't recognize his voice, but something about him twisted in her gut.
"Shall we dance?" he asked, offering his hand.
She took it.
The waltz began.
At first, it was beautiful—swift steps, gliding turns. Then the tempo quickened. Thorns sprouted from the floor, weaving through the dancers' paths. Touch them, and the spell would unravel your disguise.
Eira spun, narrowly avoiding a vine.
Her partner moved effortlessly, as if guiding the thorns away from her. "You're light on your feet."
"You're hiding something."
He laughed. "Aren't we all?"
The music shifted again—slower, more dangerous. The floor beneath them turned to glass. Below, illusions played out.
She saw her mother.
Cassian.
The child version of herself screaming in flame.
The raven-masked man stilled. "You burn beautifully, Elira."
"Who are you?" she asked.
But he only spun her once more, and then the music ended.
He vanished into the crowd.
And she stood alone, heart thudding.
The Queen's voice echoed through the hall.
"The flame seat earns one thorn."
Gasps.
The crowd parted, and a herald bowed toward her.
Eira.
The flame throne glowed faintly behind the Queen.
She had won.
---
Later that night, on a balcony bathed in starlight, Cassian handed her a glass of lunar wine.
"You were brilliant."
"I didn't even know the rules."
"Exactly."
She sipped. "The man I danced with—he knew me."
Cassian's eyes narrowed. "Describe him."
"Tall. Raven mask. Smooth. Dangerous."
"I'll find him."
Eira didn't answer.
Because deep inside, she already knew.
He was tied to the second page in her mother's book.
The one that had been torn out.