Page 32

VALERIA

I stand in my suite, cold moonlight slicing through the window and painting the stone floor in jagged shards of silver.

My breathing is unsteady, matching the chaos spinning inside my head.

My entire body trembles, as if the ground beneath me were shifting—and maybe it is, because everything I once believed about myself has shattered.

Half Vrakken. Even thinking the words sets my heart thudding painfully.

I recall the look on Vaelorian’s face as he finally admitted the truth he’d kept from me.

He’d known—or at least suspected—for weeks.

And he let me run around like a na?ve fool, oblivious to the half-monster lurking under my skin.

I press my palm to my stomach, fighting the wave of nausea that churns there.

How could I have missed the signs? The heightened senses, the inexplicable speed, the fact I barely flinch at illusions meant to terrify.

Yet not once did I suspect that my father might have been a Vrakken.

The dark elves told me my father was human, a worthless wretch killed for resisting their cruelty.

A lie, it seems. Or maybe they believed it themselves.

A sharp knock startles me. My pulse jerks. I spin, half expecting Vaelorian to barge in with more half-baked excuses. But the door stays shut. Another knock—this one a little softer.

Taking a slow breath, I approach and open it just enough to see who stands beyond. Helrath, House Draeven’s weapons master, fills the gap with his formidable presence. His pale eyes dart over my face, taking in the tension in my posture.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says quietly. “You look…” He trails off, brow furrowed. “Heard about the… incident in the reception hall.”

I exhale shakily. “Incident” is a mild word for nearly being bitten, and then discovering my blood is lethal to full-blood Vrakken. “I’m fine.”

He shifts his stance, wings twitching behind him. “Vaelorian asked if I’d check on you. He’s busy trying to calm rumors.”

At the mention of Vaelorian, anger burns through me. I clench my jaw. “I don’t need him sending a guard dog to coddle me.”

Helrath’s mouth thins. “I’m no one’s guard dog. But if you want to be alone, I’ll go.”

Part of me wants to slam the door and vanish into my own misery, but I exhale, counting to three, forcing back tears that still threaten. “Stay,” I say wearily. “You might as well come in.”

He steps inside, shutting the door behind him. My suite feels too small now—somehow more claustrophobic since I learned the truth. Helrath’s gaze sweeps the room, then lands on me again.

He sets a hand on his hip. “So… you really are half Vrakken?”

The word really stings, as if he’s verifying something preposterous. I nod, crossing my arms. “That’s what everyone’s saying. Didn’t Vaelorian pass around the news with his morning tea?” The bitterness in my tone is sharp.

Helrath snorts. “Vaelorian’s tearing himself up trying to contain it. But after that idiot from House Sharath tried to feed on you and got singed, it’s not exactly a secret. The rumor mill’s churning.”

I sink onto the edge of my bed, which sits near the unlit fireplace. “Let them gossip. It’s not like I can hide that I burned someone’s mouth.”

He doesn’t argue. Silence weighs on us. Outside, the wind howls across the fortress battlements. A swirl of moonlit dust drifts in front of the window. Helrath finally steps closer, arms folded across his broad chest. “I was training you all this time. Should’ve noticed the signs myself.”

I give a half shrug. “You knew I was different. Everyone saw how fast I learned illusions, how quickly I healed from bruises. But no one guessed I had Vrakken blood.”

His lips twist. “Vaelorian had his suspicions. Didn’t share them with me. Typical of him, he likes to keep secrets.”

A ragged laugh escapes me. “That’s an understatement.”

Helrath studies me, his gaze unexpectedly gentle. “You’re angry. Understandable.”

“Angry doesn’t begin to cover it.” My voice shakes. My nails dig into my palms. “I can’t believe he let me walk around ignorant of what I truly am, using me for infiltration missions, half waiting for me to reveal myself. I feel like a lab animal.”

Helrath grimaces. “He can be cold. But everything he does?—”

“Is for House Draeven, right?” I cut in, chest tightening. “Or so he says. That doesn’t make me any less furious. I’m a living being, not a tool.”

He nods, silent sympathy in his expression. “He’s always been that way, shaped by the Matriarch’s demands. He doesn’t let emotions sway him—most of the time. But I’ve seen how he looks at you. Don’t assume you’re just a pawn.”

I scoff, bitterness rising. “He uses me, then claims it’s for my protection. He’s never fully honest. And when I call him on it, he says it’s complicated or that I couldn’t handle the truth. Now I’m left with this… monstrous lineage, and no idea what it means for me.”

Helrath’s posture softens. “You’re not monstrous. Being half Vrakken doesn’t automatically make you evil, or savage, or anything else. It’s just power. You decide how to wield it.”

My eyes burn with unshed tears. “The dark elves might dissect me if they find out. Vrakken see me as an abomination. Where do I belong? Nowhere. And Vaelorian—” I bite my lip.

“I hate him right now. But I can’t… I can’t ignore what we had, or the fact that he’s the only one who seemed to believe in me from the start. ”

“That’s the tricky part, isn’t it?” Helrath murmurs. “You can hate him for his methods, but you also know he’s not lying about the danger. House Draeven may be your best shield.”

I shake my head, tears slipping free. “He’s always three steps ahead, manipulating me. I thought we had… something real. But it’s overshadowed by this betrayal.”

Helrath sinks onto a nearby chair, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m not good with emotional stuff. But from what I see, you have two choices: you can confront him, lay all your anger on the table and see if he’ll meet you halfway, or you can run.

If you run, though, you’ll be hunted by dark elves who’d love to experiment on you, and maybe some Vrakken who see you as a threat. ”

Dread coils in my gut. The thought of wandering alone, with no allies, while half the world hunts me for my blood… “That’s no choice at all,” I whisper, voice choked.

“Exactly.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So maybe you should talk to him. Yell if you must. Smash a vase. But figure out if there’s enough trust left to move forward.”

My throat constricts. “He’s busy controlling rumors, you said. Probably no time to talk to a worthless half-blood.”

Helrath grimaces. “He’s the Prince of House Draeven, but believe me, if you demanded an audience, he’d come.

You have more sway than you realize.” He stands, letting out a rough sigh.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to think. I’d prefer not to see you throw your life away by fleeing.

You’ve got potential—don’t let anger blind you. ”

I want to retort, but my anger fizzles into weariness. Helrath dips his head in a half-salute and heads to the door. “Take care of yourself, Valeria. I’m around if you need a sparring partner or just someone to vent at.”

He exits quietly, leaving the room in near-darkness.

I stay there, perched on the bed’s edge, for what feels like hours.

My mind spins through a dozen possibilities.

I could slip out of House Draeven tonight, vanish into the wilds, try to start anew.

But how long before the dark elves sniff me out?

Or another Vrakken House deciding I’m a living commodity?

No. Running is a fool’s errand. Helrath is right.

That means I’m stuck dealing with Vaelorian—prince, manipulator, the only one who saw what I could be.

Memories of our night together flood back, the intimacy that felt so genuine at the time.

Now, every moment is tainted by the knowledge that he might have been testing me, measuring my capacity for Vrakken strength.

A surge of rage stabs my chest. I can’t let him get off easy. My entire life has been shaped by manipulative people—dark elves, Vrakken, you name it. If he wants me to remain under his banner, we’re going to have a reckoning.

I stand, squaring my shoulders. Enough wallowing. If I’m half Vrakken, I won’t hide from confrontation. Marching to the door, I yank it open. A startled guard posted outside stiffens, but I ignore him, striding through the corridor with purposeful steps.

I find Vaelorian in his study—a place I’ve become all too familiar with. The heavy wooden door stands slightly ajar, golden lamplight spilling out. My heart bangs against my ribs, but I push inside without knocking.

He sits behind the desk, hair disheveled, tension etched into every line of his face. Scrolls and coded messages clutter the surface. He looks up sharply. Our eyes meet—my fury reflected in his swirl of regret.

“Valeria,” he breathes, half-rising. “I was going to come see you?—”

“Save it,” I snap, slamming the door behind me. My voice echoes in the hush. “We’re talking right now.”

He sets his quill down, leaning forward, wings shifting restlessly. “I’m listening.”

I pace toward the desk, hands fisted at my sides. “You… you let me believe I was just another operative. All the while, you suspected I was half Vrakken. You tested me—my illusions, my reflexes—like I was a lab experiment. Did you even care about me, or was that all part of your grand strategy?”

Pain flickers in his gaze. “I never intended to reduce you to a specimen. You were… are… important. I needed to protect you.”