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VAELORIAN

I stand in the torchlit hallway outside my mother’s private receiving chamber, my wings half-furled and my nerves stretched taut.

The stone floor beneath my boots is polished to a high sheen, reflecting the flicker of the iron wall sconces.

My reflection looks back at me—pale skin, dark hair, black eyes that show no human whites—and I notice the tension in my jaw.

One look is enough to tell me I’m primed for a fight.

A pair of House Draeven guards flanks the ornate doors ahead, each bowing slightly at my presence.

Usually, they’d step aside without question, but tonight, they hesitate—uncertain, perhaps, whether to announce me or bar my passage.

My mother’s summons was abrupt, more urgent than usual.

I give the guards a curt nod and push open the doors myself, sending them scrambling to catch up.

Inside, the chamber is dim, lit by a single chandelier of wrought iron and a row of flickering candles on a long table.

The shadows of carved pillars loom along the edges, lending a sense of severity to the space.

My mother, Matriarch Brinda, stands near the far side, dressed in a gown of deep violet that nearly blends into the gloom.

Her silver-white hair is wound in an elaborate updo, accentuating the angles of her face.

She turns as I enter, her posture stiff with contained authority. A handful of our council members murmur in a far corner, but they fall silent at my arrival. Tension coils like a serpent in the air.

“Vaelorian,” she greets me in that cool, measured tone that used to unnerve me as a child. Now, I understand her well enough to know it signals disapproval. “I appreciate your haste.”

I cross the stone floor, wings tucked close to avoid knocking the tall candlesticks that frame the dais where she stands. “Your summons sounded urgent.”

She doesn’t move from her spot, so I halt a few paces away, meeting her eyes. The council members shift in the periphery, their presence reminding me this isn’t a private meeting. Why gather them for a personal affair? A prickle of foreboding runs through me.

“It is urgent,” Brinda says. “We have… discovered something alarming.” Her gaze is razor-sharp, scanning my face. “Would you care to explain why a half-blood roams our halls under your protection?”

My teeth clench. So that’s it. The confrontation over Valeria being half Vrakken—the secret I tried to smother. Clearly, the rumor mill has outpaced my efforts to contain it. “Who told you?” I ask, forcing my voice steady.

She lifts a hand with a dismissive flick.

“Does it matter? I have ears everywhere, Vaelorian. Besides, the fiasco at the last gathering with that Sharath noble was hardly inconspicuous. He ranted about being ‘burned’ by her blood—about discovering a half-breed. You cannot honestly believe House Draeven’s leadership would let such claims go unexamined. ”

A wave of frustration surges through me. I’ve spent days trying to manage the aftermath, stationing guards to hush talk, bribing a few rumor-mongers. Clearly, I underestimated how quickly news travels among the upper echelons. “Mother,” I begin quietly, “she’s?—”

Brinda’s eyes flash. “She’s a liability.

” Her voice rings out, cold and precise.

“There are documented laws—ancient though they may be—stipulating that half-bloods are abominations. Our Council is already whispering about potential punishments for any half-breed who might destabilize the existing balance. Some have called for her execution.”

My temper flares, but I rein it in. Behind Brinda, two of the council members shift, uneasy.

They must sense my anger. “Are you telling me the Council is rallying behind that archaic dogma? We face a war with Xathien, a threat that could undermine us all, and they’re worried about a single half-blood female? That’s madness.”

Brinda inclines her head slightly, acknowledging my point.

“Madness or not, it’s a real concern. If we let her live openly, we risk scandal among other Vrakken Houses who fear half-breeds.

They may question our leadership. The dark elves might also catch wind—if they haven’t already—and see her as a prime specimen for their vile experiments.

We become a target. House Draeven can’t afford that vulnerability. ”

My wings twitch, scraping the edge of my coat. I glance at the silent council members, reading the flickers of doubt on their faces. I catch a faint whisper from one: “He must relinquish her.” My blood ignites.

“I won’t hand her over,” I say, voice low but resolute. “She’s proven her worth as an operative. Her infiltration has been key to uncovering Xathien’s plans. She is not some worthless half-breed to be discarded.”

One of the councilors, a wiry man with hair the color of ash, steps forward.

“My lord, with respect, her lineage poses a direct challenge to the stability we maintain. If rumors spread that House Draeven harbors a half-blood, we could face hostility from neighboring Vrakken. Your mother simply advises caution.”

“Caution?” My gaze snaps to him. “Caution means we keep her concealed, safe from prying eyes, not that we murder her to appease outdated superstition.”

He hesitates, glancing at Brinda. She remains composed, though tension lines her jaw. “I have not endorsed her execution,” she clarifies, “but certain influential council members and allied Houses might demand it if we don’t present a suitable plan.”

Wings rustling, I say,“Then the plan is that she stays under my protection. The Council can attempt to bring the matter to a vote, but they’ll have to go through me.” A flicker of defiance burns in my chest. “I won’t relinquish her to appease their fears.”

A hush falls. The council members exchange uneasy looks. Brinda’s lips press into a thin line. “Why is this so important to you?” she asks softly, stepping closer so the others can’t easily eavesdrop. “You’ve never hesitated to discard a compromised operative in the past.”

My throat tightens. She’s right in a sense: I’ve done plenty of ruthless things for House Draeven’s benefit.

I’ve cast aside incompetent thralls or betrayal-suspects.

But Valeria is different, no matter how I spin it.

She has proven invaluable, yes, but beyond that, she…

matters. On a level I’m not used to acknowledging.

I clear my throat, striving for calm. “I believe she’s crucial to our fight against Xathien. Her half-blood heritage grants unique strengths—she can resist illusions, sense hidden spells, recover quickly from injuries. She’s an asset we can’t replicate.”

Brinda’s eyes narrow. “Asset, hmm?” Her voice is deceptively smooth. “And that’s all?”

I hold her gaze, wrestling with the admission building in my chest. She’s more than an asset.

But if I confirm I harbor personal attachments, that might only make me appear compromised.

“House Draeven needs her,” I say at last. “Her infiltration successes speak for themselves. If the Council pushes for her execution, I’ll oppose them. ”

Brinda stares at me for a long, unblinking moment. Then she inclines her head. “Very well. I’ll attempt to temper the more hostile voices. But you must provide an alternative. They’ll want assurances that her existence won’t endanger our alliances or draw the dark elves’ attention.”

My relief is laced with tension. “I’m already working on that. Once we intercept Xathien’s next transport—and expose the full scope of the dark elves’ essence-harvesting plan—Valeria’s role will be recognized as indispensable. People will be too focused on the threat to question her heritage.”

“That is your gamble,” Brinda says, turning away to address the others.

“For now, the Council will refrain from any official decree. But be warned, Vaelorian: if she stumbles, if the dark elves capture her or if she draws hostile scrutiny from other Houses, they’ll demand her life.

And next time, even my influence might not shield her. ”

I nod, forcing a dip of respect. “Understood.”

Brinda studies me a moment longer, as though gauging my resolve.

Then she beckons the council members with a wave of her hand, dismissing them.

They file out, each offering me a parting glance—some sympathetic, others guarded.

I sense their unease. Good. Let them be uneasy. Valeria isn’t up for negotiation.

The chamber empties, leaving only Brinda and me in the flickering candlelight.

The silence weighs heavily, like a cloak of tension draped around my shoulders.

I half expect her to demand more details about Valeria’s parentage or question if I truly can keep her presence secret.

Instead, she releases a slow breath and moves to a small side table, pouring two glasses of a dark, viscous wine.

“Join me,” she says, the invitation sounding more like a command.

I approach, accepting the glass she extends.

She sips hers, her gaze drifting to the tall windows overlooking the fortress courtyard.

Shadows shift across the glass, silhouettes of patrolling guards.

I swirl the wine, inhaling its faintly bitter bouquet.

Usually, I’d savor the taste, but my nerves hum too intensely.

“Mother,” I say quietly, wanting to break the uneasy silence. “You disapprove of my stance.”

She sips again, then sets her goblet down.

“I disapprove of anything that undermines House Draeven’s stability.

A half-blood—particularly a human -Vrakken mix—could sow chaos if not handled carefully.

” Her expression remains composed, but I detect the flicker of genuine concern in her eyes.

“I also sense that your attachment to her is clouding your judgment.”

My jaw tightens. “I’m loyal to House Draeven, first and foremost.”