TO RUIN A KING

The moon over Valecliff hung swollen and ruddy, casting a grim light over the ruins of what had once been the Hall of Ancients. Smoke curled through the cracks in the shattered dome, where ivy now tangled with scorched rafters and ash-coated stone. The fire hadn't started naturally. Magdalene could feel it in the air—the sharp hum of corrupted magic lingering like a whisper in her blood.

The Valecliff Council had been meeting here. And now… nothing but embers.

She crouched low behind what remained of a pillar, brushing soot from her gloved fingertips, heart thudding beneath the thick wool of her cloak. "They were slaughtered," she murmured.

Cassian stepped forward beside her, face drawn. "Ritualistic, too. See the markings along the floor?"

She followed his gaze to the symbols carved into the stone with surgical precision. Runes that pulsed faintly with dark energy—sigils no common warlock would dare inscribe.

Magdalene's stomach twisted. "Bloodbinding," she whispered. "This is ancient. Forbidden magic."

Cassian nodded grimly. "And whoever did this wanted us to find it."

A cold wind howled through the broken arches above them, sweeping ash into the sky like ghosts. Magdalene stood slowly, every movement deliberate. She pulled her hood back and let her true face breathe the cold night air—no more Selene Noir, not for now. Here, in the ruin of her birthright, she was Magdalene Rivers, heir to a fallen bloodline and the last tether between fate and fury.

"This wasn't just about silencing the Council," she said, voice flat. "This was a warning."

"To whom?" Cassian asked.

"To me."

His eyes darkened. "We should leave. If the one who did this is still near—"

"We're not running," Magdalene cut in sharply. "Not this time. Every death here will mean something, or I'll burn the realm down myself to make it so."

Cassian didn't argue. He knew better. He simply reached into his satchel and handed her a vial—liquid silver, swirling with captured starlight. Warding elixir.

She downed it in a breath.

A crunch of boots behind them.

Both spun, weapons drawn—hers a silver dagger etched with runes, his a short sword humming with latent fire.

Maddox Vale stepped from the shadows.

He was alone.

Drenched in moonlight, eyes glowing faintly gold, shirt open at the throat as if he'd come straight from a shift. There were ash streaks on his coat. A scrape along his cheek. No crown. No guards. Just a man whose world was unraveling.

Magdalene froze.

His voice cut the silence. "You should've waited for me."

She steadied her breath. "And let you talk me down? We both know you would've tried."

"I would've protected you."

Her blade didn't lower. "I don't need your protection."

They stood a few feet apart, the air thick with what was never said—regret, desire, betrayal. The scent of blood and burning wood swirled around them like perfume on a battlefield.

Maddox looked past her to the sigils. "You think this is the work of Herros?"

Cassian tensed. "You shouldn't be here, Vale."

Maddox ignored him. "I followed the trail too. Saw the scorch marks near the Cinderglen path. This magic—this signature—it's old, yes. But not Herros. Not exactly."

Magdalene narrowed her eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying… this might be the beginning of something bigger. Something darker than Herros ever was."

He stepped closer, slowly, warily—as though he knew one sudden move might make her vanish.

"I need your trust," he said.

Her jaw clenched. "You had it once. You crushed it."

He looked at her with something raw, unguarded. "Then let me earn it back."

Cassian scoffed. "This isn't the time for your redemption arc, Your Highness. Your Council is dead."

"Which is why I'm standing here instead of hiding in a castle," Maddox snapped.

Silence.

Then—Magdalene turned away, scanning the ruin once more. "If the sigils weren't Herros'… then whose?"

Maddox knelt beside the largest rune. "It's a binding circle—but not to trap. To summon."

Her breath caught. "Summon who?"

He stood, expression grim. "The Forgotten."

Cassian cursed low under his breath.

"You can't be serious," Magdalene said. "The Forgotten are a myth. A bedtime story to scare fledglings."

"No," Maddox said, his voice grim and sure. "They were banished. Not destroyed. Someone's trying to bring them back."

Magdalene's thoughts spiraled, connecting threads she didn't want to see. The prophetic dreams. The strange flickers in her magic. The way the moon itself had begun to pulse with something ancient and alive.

"They'll come for the bloodlines first," she whispered. "The oldest packs. The purest."

Maddox met her eyes. "That means us."

A rustle from behind. Too fast, too quiet.

Cassian was already moving.

A figure leapt from the shadows, clad in crimson robes, face hidden, blade gleaming silver.

Magdalene ducked just in time. Cassian's blade met the intruder's in a flash of fire and steel. Maddox was already at her side, yanking her back, shielding her with his body as three more robed attackers emerged from the smoke.

Ambush.

Cassian took down the first with brutal precision, blade through ribs. The second lunged for Magdalene—she twisted, shoved her dagger through his gut, yanked upward. Blood sprayed, sizzling against the rune-lit stones.

The third attacker moved differently. Graceful. Fast. Too fast.

Maddox lunged—but too late.

The blade sank into Magdalene's shoulder.

She screamed.

Magic exploded from her body, raw and uncontrolled. The force threw the attacker backward into a column, bones snapping on impact.

Cassian rushed to her side, ripping the blade free.

Maddox caught her as she fell. "Magdalene—Magdalene, stay with me."

She gasped, hands slick with blood. Her vision blurred. "It's poisoned…"

He looked at the blade. His expression darkened.

Moonfang venom.

Only one place carried that kind of toxin.

"Valeblood assassins," he said, voice like ice.

Cassian's face paled. "But… those are your wolves, Maddox."

The king didn't answer.

Because he already knew.

He'd been betrayed.