Princess zetulah Viridian POV:
The Moriban Citadel, Night;
I wasn't meant to survive tonight.
That truth clung to me like frostbite as I stood outside Zareth Moriba's chambers, two guards flanking me—silent as tombstones. Their stares weren't neutral. They were expectant.
Because Moriba's invitations weren't invitations. They were traps dressed in silk.
The doors groaned open.
The chamber smelled wrong. Not just incense—something sour, metallic. Blood.
Gold mirrors lined the walls, their glass warped and sickly, reflections stretching too thin, like something inside was pulling them inward. Symbols pulsed underfoot, slow and steady, like a second heartbeat.
Zareth lounged at the center, draped in silks the color of split flesh. Beside him, Selene stood like a marble carving, unreadable.
"A lone wolf is a dangerous thing," Zareth mused, tapping his ringed finger against the armrest. "So, Zetulah… stray or worth keeping?"
My stomach twisted. "What do you want?"
"Loyalty."
His finger barely brushed my forehead.
Fire tore through my skull.
I choked on a scream as something ripped me from my body.
The world twisted. My pulse staggered. Cold air burned through my lungs. The citadel walls vanished—
I stood in ruins.
Not Viridian's ashes. Something older. Wrong.
The air stank of rot. Shadows dripped from the walls like ink. Whispers slithered through the silence, crawling under my skin.
Breathe.
I turned.
The mirrors were here. Warped, liquid silver. The glass rippled—
My reflection stepped forward.
It smirked.
A perfect copy, down to the blood smeared on my fingertips. But its eyes—wrong.
I took a step back. It moved closer.
"What are you running from?" it asked.
My own voice. But not mine.
Then—it lunged.
Too fast. It knew my moves before I made them. Blocked my swing. Anticipated my dodge.
It wasn't a reflection.
It was something else.
I slammed my hands over my ears. "Shut up!"
"Shut up," it echoed, voice dripping mockery.
I swung—blind, desperate. The world cracked.
Wind roared. My reflection flinched. But it didn't disappear.
My breath hitched. I staggered backward—
Zareth's laughter cut through the air like a blade.
The citadel snapped back into focus. I was on my knees in his chamber, lungs ragged, heartbeat uneven.
Selene's gaze flickered. "She lasted longer than most."
I barely heard her. My hands trembled.
Blood smeared my fingertips.
Zareth leaned forward, voice velvet-soft. "That wasn't just a test." A smile curled at the edge of his lips. "It was a mark."
I turned to the mirror.
My reflection was still smirking.
It didn't move when I did.
A cold fist clenched around my ribs.
Midnight brought a knock. Selene in the doorway, backlit by dying torches.
"Father's keeping you close." Her voice softened, sharpened. "Pray that's mercy."
"What do you want?" I rasped.
Jasmine and iron filled my lungs as she leaned in.
"To watch you burn…" A pause. A cruel smile.
"Or rise."
The door shut.
Alone again. Always.
—-----------------
The Moriban Citadel, Dawn;
Blood pooled on the marble floor, each droplet spreading like a tiny rebellion against the polished stone. Mine? Theirs? Gods, what did it even matter anymore? Every splatter looked the same in the end—another stain, another story no one would bother to read.
The citadel's walls pressed down on me, those damned gold pillars glinting like they'd stolen the sun itself. Fitting, really. Moriba always did love flaunting their wealth while the rest of us bled. Last night's silken sheets still clung to my skin—itchy and wrong—the bed softer than any grave my family got. Now, here I stood, draped in someone else's finery, morning chill nipping at my ankles like a hungry stray.
Zareth Moriba slouched in his throne—all black gold and sharp edges—the kind of chair that probably whispered secrets to its occupants. His tarnished-coin eyes followed me, not the way a man looks at a woman, but how a child pokes at a dying beetle. Beside him, Lady Selene's smile could've sliced bone. I swear I felt it skitter down my spine, cold and slimy.
Then he shifted in the shadows.
Kaelith Emberclaw.
Leaning against a pillar like this was some tavern, not a death sentence. Those red eyes—same ones I'd seen glowing in the smoke as Viridian burned—now studied me like I was a riddle he couldn't quite solve. My brother's last gasp echoed in my skull. Run, Zetulah. Live.
"Princess Zetulah." Zareth's voice oozed over me, sticky as spilled wine. "Let's discuss your… prospects."
Prospects. The word tasted like ash. My prospects had died with the last Viridian banner, trampled under Emberclaw boots.
"Moriba offers protection," he said, spreading his hands like a street magician about to pull a trick. "Far preferable to what they"—a nod at Kaelith—"have planned for you."
I barked a laugh, rough and jagged. "Protection? Let's call it what it is. You want a trophy, something shiny to wave when the other houses come sniffing."
Nobles tittered. Selene's blade-smile grew teeth.
"House Viridian is gone." Zareth leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. "But you? You're embers in a drought. Serve us, and maybe those embers don't die."
Serve. My nails bit into my palms, hard enough to draw blood. Breathe. Don't let them see. But what choice did I have? Refuse and die. Agree and… what? Become their puppet? Their pet?
Boots clacked on stone. Kaelith pushed off the pillar, that damned crimson gaze locked on me.
"The Phoenix Princess," he drawled, "caged by lesser vultures. How… poetic."
I whirled on him, silk hissing. "I'll roast on pyres before I beg from Emberclaw."
Something sparked in his eyes—not anger, but… interest? Like I'd suddenly become a puzzle worth solving.
"Fire dies," he murmured, stepping closer. "What happens when your flames gutter out?"
My pulse thundered in my ears. Don't blink. Don't blink.
"You'll be bones before you find out."
---
The council scattered like roaches when lamps lit. But the danger stayed.
Oryn Moriba materialized in the corridor, silent as a shadow—Zareth's ghost of a cousin. His golden eyes glowed faintly, the way a knife does just before it slips between ribs.
"Zareth plays the long game," he said, voice softer than moth wings. "Pawns who forget their place end up in the discard pile."
I crossed my arms, hiding the tremor in my hands. "And you? What's your move?"
His jaw twitched. "I'm the cautionary tale."
He melted into the darkness, but not without a parting shot.
"Sleep lightly, Viridian. My family eats secrets for breakfast."
---
Night fell. My chambers stank of lavender and lies.
I paced, bare feet sinking into rugs thicker than Viridian soil. Survive first. Burn them later. The mantra looped in my head, brittle as old parchment. The wine goblet taunted me from the table—drink it, maybe the nightmares would stay away.
My fingers brushed the stem. Froze.
A slip of parchment peeked from beneath, ink bleeding into the wood.
Trust no one.
The words seared my eyes. No signature. No wax seal. Just three jagged truths.
Outside, wind howled through the citadel's ribs, sounding too much like my mother's war songs. Like the dirge they'd sung when they burie
d my brother.
I crushed the note, paper cutting into my palm. Let them scheme. Let them whisper.
Turns out, even embers can start wildfires.