CHAPTER ONE
Verena
MY TONGUE DRAGGED ACROSS THE BLOOD TRICKLING from my lips, copper and heat rolling over the split.
The Roux Forest held its breath with me beneath the thin curve of the moon as I crouched low in the brush. Damp soil pressed beneath my fingertips, steadying the pulse that wanted to tear free of my ribs as hooves struck the realm somewhere in the distance.
I shifted, the sleek black suit cutting too tight across my skin, a second layer I could never peel away, reminding me of what I was beneath it all.
Not a girl, or a savior. But a secret. A weapon.
A coaxing whisper curled beneath my skin, forming into a thought that wasn’t mine, settling just beneath my heartbeat.
Let me see.
I exhaled slowly, trying to quiet it.
At first, it felt like an echo, as if my thoughts were simply louder than they should have been.
Then those thoughts became suggestions. More intrusive.
I shifted my stance again, angling left without thinking. The realization hit a beat later.
I hadn’t chosen that.
I flexed my fingers, grounding myself in the soil again as it pulsed with strains of power. Though, thinner than it had ever been.
Frayed.
Callum always said the forest steadied me. Gemma said the darkness made it worse.
I think both were right.
My pulse balanced as the whisper faded. Not gone, never gone, but resting. For now.
Just breathe, I reminded myself. Just —
Hunt.
The sensation slid through me, unwanted, and I swallowed hard.
Breathe.
I straightened, brushing twigs from my knees. Gods, my muscles burned. I needed to start doing more leg work in training.
Callum had likely already made note of it; my thoughts had been brimming with nothing but complaints for the last half hour, and I was certain he was already keeping score.
The onyx walls of my mind slammed shut, shields we’d practiced snapping into place. Just in time— A familiar pressure tapped at them, gently knocking at the edges.
Callum.
The thing inside me stirred, hissing and coiling tighter, silencing the pressure before it could breach.
Now was certainly not the time for one of his lectures.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the world around the stillness—the way it kept moving, unaware, or uncaring that Selvarra’s prophecy lived and breathed beneath my skin.
The stream gurgled distant behind me, leaves rustled in the hush of the wind. Small sounds, all so fragile and alive, but not the ones I waited for.
Thunder muttered overhead, a low promise.
I tipped my face toward the shrouded sky, waiting for brilliance, for the sharp crack of light through the dark.
Nothing.
There were only the six godstars, glittering faintly amongst sapphire clouds. I’d never believed they were as distant as they pretended.
Unease crept through me when a tremor shook throughout the forest. Hooves, closer now.
My eyes pinched shut as I loosened the grip, calling the Viper free. The curse slithered forward from its confines in a dark rush, coiling over my skin, rising behind my eyes.
Claiming the space I gave it.
A breath left my mouth, pebbling flesh as my eyes opened again, hesitant, gifting it my sight. Only for a moment...
Any longer, and it would not give it back.
Colors blurred as the thing inside me stretched. For now, the leash still held, the curse still mine to command.
My fingers skimmed the fabric stretched against my shoulder and chest, where the stain of the cursed lay permanent, a chill blooming into something vicious.
The bitter wind cut across my exposed skin, tugging strands loose from my braid until chestnut curls lashed across my face.
Despite Csolenia’s cruel winter closing in, the stale taste of summer’s end is not what brought me through the forest tonight.
The moon leaked pale through the clouds, just enough to reveal the shapes ahead. Not wolves or shadows, or any beast that stalked the trees.
Tonight, I hunted for something far worse.
Tonight, I hunted for men.
The pull snapped hard, yanking sharp and sudden, only to meet my resistance. With a shove I forced the curse back into its cage, leaving the door cracked.
Always better to be prepared.
I dropped into a crouch, dagger tight between pulse and palm. My heart thudded, syncing with the storm building overhead as I reached for the hum of my team.
Their magic was muted but braced, each of them holding steady in the dark.
A column of Brightwalkers marched past, none bearing the kingdom’s bright shade, but all black, the color of the power they were bred from.
Each was oblivious to the monster at their feet. Blind, too, to the greater danger they served.
The one seated on Luamis’ stolen throne.
Three slow breaths and the shake in my hand dulled, anticipation easing into control.
A birdcall split the night and my heart slowed, fingers curling tighter around the dagger’s hilt. The strike inside me held its breath until it inhaled the one voice that could cut through everything.
Callum’s. One word, low and commanding.
Unleash.
“On your left, Verena!”
Callum’s shout ripped through the carnage as his sword twisted, driving clean through a Brightwalker’s chest.
The soldier fell instantly.
I turned on instinct, my dagger slicing through flesh as I was met with hot, wine-dark blood speckling my face.
Gross. Wait—note to self: restock wine.
The man’s mouth gaped, his hands fumbling at his neck in disbelief.
I didn’t flinch when his knees buckled. Didn’t look away when blood poured down the gash and his eyes faded empty.
I only planted my boot against his chest, pressing him flat, feeling the last of him leave under my heel.
Heat fluttered hungry down my spine.
It was thrilling, watching cruelty drain itself. It fed us both.
My gaze snagged on the golden lion stitched over his chest, now drowned in red. The king could rot in hel for all I cared, but Luamis wasn’t to blame. Nor its true heir.
I almost pitied the lion.
I exhaled, calling out to Callum, “Is that all of them?”
The forest stretched deserted, clouds smothering the sliver of moon we were allowed. Callum emerged between shadows and trees, sword still raised, his steps nimble and hushed.
“Has to be.” The wind shifted his auburn hair in gentle waves as a matching fire ignited in his palm. “Ford and Rook went after the runners. Duke and Gus took the scripts they found back to camp.”
Great. I was covered in gore, but at least we got what we came for.
“Are we good?"
Callum stared into the dark, so focused that I didn’t need to ask. The gold in his eyes flared as he listened, wielding the gift that set him apart.
Sword in one hand, fire in the other, he nodded, moving toward me.
The all-black gear we wore veiled most of him, but his hair burned like a beacon in the night. The ivory-cut of his face caught the glow of the flame, showcasing the freckles painted all the way to the tips of his pointed ears, each gilded in the light.
I always figured he must take after his father, wherever the fates hid him now. There are none of our mother’s features settled into him. No silver hair or honey brown eyes. Not one inch of her sun-browned glow.
But his heart? The gentle nonsense? That’s all Gem.
I didn’t share any of it, though. None of it mine to inherit.
His mouth tipped up, dropping just as fast when he caught my expression.
“What?” He glanced at himself, the confusion clearing the instant he saw the reason for my scowl.
“You’d think after the eight hundred years you’ve lived—” I muttered, “You’d realize your hair is basically a come stab me sign after sundown.”
The fire winked out, obedient at my sneer.
He shoved damp strands back from his forehead, leaving streaks of crimson and dirt in their wake.
“Four hundred,” he corrected.
I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, come on,” he groaned. “It’s not like my hair would give me away any sooner than the actual fire in my hand.”
Despite the resistance, a smile tugged at my mouth before I clicked my tongue, head shaking at his unusual carelessness.
“The amount of shit you give me for even breathing without that damned head wrap covering my face.”
He pointed lazily toward my head, one brow arched. “You’re aware you’re not currently wearing it, then?”
My hand shot to my face. Fuck.
Maybe I had forgotten ripping it off before slicing my dagger clean across that guy’s throat. To be fair, the thing was impossible to breathe in.
“I’m not the only brunette in Csolenia,” I reminded him. “Red hair, however...”
Only one man wore flames that bright. Only one whose magic burned to match them. The commander of the king’s guard, my brother, and the leader of our Order.
Callum only scoffed, his smirk fading when the wind shifted, brushing cold against our skin. A low howl rolled through the trees, not wolf, not mortal—
My stomach tightened. “Cal…” I whispered. “Did you feel anything different? Any sign of the Bale?”
The fall of the three kingdoms came faster than anyone expected. The gods had warned us, if we became divided, we would crumble.
Yet still, greed triumphed.
So, a sickness spread through Selvarra. Despite the rumors against the curse, the sickness, the rot, was not me.
“Nothing.” His voice came steady, though his flame wavered. “Just the usual hum. Magic feeding, yielding. No Bale though.” His stare cut to mine. “But you faltered. Keep your shields tight, Verena. Don’t let them slip.”
I gave him an assessing look. “No one can be as precise and perfect as you, every godsdamned second.”
He only lifted his chin, smug, that familiar spark lighting his face. “Perfection runs in the Hale veins.”
My face betrayed me, a flicker of fracture that never quite healed.
Perfection didn’t run in my veins. I wasn’t a Hale. I wasn’t anyone.
Once, I had been an orphan no one remembered. Until Callum had found me in a wicker basket in this very forest, with an ivory blanket and a name stitched into its seam.
Verena.
I became Verena Hale that day, twenty-six years ago. Until I was old enough to decide to change the H to a V.
Vale. The one part I had made my own.