Chapter 1 #2
She still held out hope for a few others she hadn’t heard back from.
Part of her—the part she didn’t want to examine too closely—simply wanted to belong somewhere.
To walk into a room and be recognized not as Sanguis Incertus, but as one of them.
Thirty years old already, and she’d never had that.
The orphanage was her second home, the children her family, but there was a particular ache in being without an anchor to a larger world.
And if coven acceptance also meant access to leaders with government connections—people who might intervene on Starlight’s behalf—she wouldn’t be too proud to want both.
She shook her head and returned to dinner preparations. Outside, snowflakes had begun to fall. She already knew the children would be famished tonight—the little ones always ate more in the winter.
They might not have much, but full bellies were non-negotiable. Her mother had held that line during her years as Starlight’s steward, and Cassia had no intention of letting it slip.
To a Kitchen Witch, food was more than comfort. It was shelter. Certainty.
Love.
Cassia was almost done cleaning up the counter when footsteps skidded to a halt at the door. She lifted her gaze and found Devlin, his cheeks still flushed from the cold.
“Miss Aura!” he panted. “They’re back.”
Her hand froze. “Who?”
“The Agmon people! There’s an agent outside with a whole group!”
She exchanged a panicked glance with Opalina and Lilibeth, and rushed out.
The cold hit her the moment she stepped through the front door—raw, wet, carrying the smell of exhaust and frozen mud.
In the courtyard, a cluster of men stood in dark coats that looked like they cost more than a month of Starlight’s groceries.
They spoke in low voices over clipboards and rolled-up blueprints.
One man was photographing the building’s facade.
At the centre stood Mr. Revus, the company’s agent.
Cassia approached and coldly greeted, “Mr. Revus. I thought I made it clear—no visits until we hear back from Agmon’s management.”
The man sighed, adjusting his coat’s lapel. He looked genuinely reluctant, as if he didn’t enjoy this confrontation any more than she did.
“Miss Aura, I understand your frustration, but I’m afraid you’re out of options. We have earmarked the land for development, and the deal is very close to being completed.”
Panic surged, but she forced it down.
“I am not out of options.” The words came out thinner, higher, betraying her. “The High Registry has not issued a new Certificate of Ownership, and we still have the lease for another month. That means right now, you are trespassing.”
Mr. Revus lifted his hands. “Miss Aura, I’m merely doing my job. My employer sent me to show the site so the survey crew can get ready.”
Cassia’s breath caught, the ground tilting beneath her feet. Survey crew. They certainly couldn’t wait to get started.
“Regardless, you’ll need to leave,” she insisted. “We are still the legal tenant, and we’ve received no formal notice of your visit. If you want a survey, make an appointment.”
For a moment, she thought he’d argue. Instead, Revus sighed and murmured to his men before herding them off the grounds.
Cassia didn’t let herself sag until the gate clicked shut behind them.
She turned and walked back inside, the front door groaning shut behind her.
She pressed her back against the foyer wall and let the children’s coats swallow her—wool and cotton and the faint smell of playground dirt.
Her cheeks were still burning. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
How dare they. How dare they bring a survey crew in broad daylight, when the children could see them.
She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks, held them there until the heat faded, then walked back into the dining room. Every head turned.
“Go on,” she told them. “Finish your tea and cake. Then you can play outside.”
The smile she gave them was easy, practiced. They didn’t need to see her unravel.
She ruffled Devlin’s dark hair as she passed, careful to avoid his horns. The half-demon boy hated being touched there. His eyes—too sharp for twelve—narrowed with questions he didn’t ask.
Her chest tightened. He shouldn’t have to carry this weight. His days should be filled with games and mud-stained knees, not the dread of losing the only home he’d ever known.
Back in the kitchen, Cassia sank into a chair. Opalina reached across the table, squeezing her hand. Lilibeth wordlessly poured a cup of tea, setting it in front of her with a square of dark chocolate on the saucer.
“What will you do?” Opalina asked gently.
Cassia rolled the chocolate between her fingers.
She had already tried government channels.
Their policy was simple: surrender the children, and the Ministry would scatter them across the country.
But there weren’t enough homes willing to take mixed-blood children.
And even if there were, she’d seen what happened to Untethered children in unfamiliar places—the bullying, the isolation, the runaways.
She couldn’t let that happen. Not while she still had a choice.
“I’ll plead our case with Agmon Group’s owner himself,” she decided.
Opalina’s brow furrowed. “And who, precisely, is the owner?”
Cassia lifted her gaze. “Agmon Alderrath.”
Both Opalina and Lilibeth winced.
“Of all the demons in the whole city of Angelene,” Lilibeth huffed, “of course you have to deal with him—a confirmed bigot and a total ass.”
“He’s the only one with the power to save Starlight.”
“And if he won’t see you?” Opalina pressed.
Cassia set the chocolate down, fingers curling into her palms. “Then I’ll go to him and make him see me.”
After Opalina and Lilibeth left, Cassia called Agmon Group’s office for the third time.
A receptionist answered with a brisk “Please hold” before a peal of bland, vaguely pleasant music chimed down the line.
She waited five minutes, then ten. When fifteen minutes passed and she’d yet to speak to anyone, she slammed the receiver down.
Silence—that was her answer. She had no choice now but to seek him out in person.
She packed a box of honey cakes, still warm from the oven.
In her world, magic wasn’t the only currency.
Reputation, hospitality, and small offerings still carried weight, especially among the old blood.
Demon nobles were prickly about traditions.
Showing up to plead for a lifeline with nothing to offer would seem presumptuous.
But a gift, especially one laced with subtle enchantments for clarity and calm?
That should send a message: I came in good faith.
As she tied a ribbon around the box, her heart twisted. The orphanage had always been a safe haven, but it meant nothing if the land slipped out from under them.
Starlight must be saved.
And she’d get Agmon Alderrath’s attention—one way or another.
Once Mrs. Thimble and Matilde returned from the market, Cassia went out into the crush of early Yulefrost celebration.
Tonight was the start. For a month, the whole country would celebrate, as it had for centuries.
Across the street from Starlight, Eldryn Gardens pulsed with festival light—the only neutral ground in a city divided into four distinct districts.
She cut through the crowd, the scents of spiced wine and woodsmoke heavy in the air.
The Human District roared with a street fair’s chaotic joy behind her as she left, and beyond it, to her right, the elven spires gleamed like frozen starlight.
She passed the Witch District’s entrance, shimmering with protective enchantments.
Her steps slowed, and she couldn’t help but watch their domain—a glowing dreamscape, thick with enchanted fog and flickering illusions.
Runes blazed in the air; snowflakes danced in rhythmic spirals.