The sunlight spilled in through the curtains, warming my skin and dragging me gently from sleep.

I blinked against the light. At some point during the night, I must have drifted off while talking to Valen. His arm had been draped over me—warm, protective. But now...

I shifted lazily beneath the sheets, stretching with a quiet yawn.

The bed was empty.

I sat up, glancing around. “Maybe he’s already working…”

The room still held his presence—the faint scent of ash and winter air clinging to the sheets—but he was gone. Strange. I had expected at least a shadowy goodbye.

Shrugging it off, I swung my legs out of bed, standing. The room was surprisingly warm this morning. I reached for the hem of my nightdress and pulled it over my head, letting it fall to the floor. Just as I turned toward the wardrobe—

Click.

The door creaked open.

A servant stepped in.

For a moment, we just stared at each other.
Both frozen.
Both completely dumbfounded.

Then, all at once—

“GET OUT!” I screamed.

I grabbed the nearest object—a book from the nightstand—and hurled it at him with full force. The poor boy let out a startled yelp and ducked, the book hitting the doorframe with a loud thud as he scrambled out.

The door slammed shut.

Heart hammering, I yanked on the first dress I could find, cheeks burning.

“Gods above,” I muttered under my breath, smoothing the fabric over my waist. “Kill me now.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or both.

Where was Valen when I needed a locked door and a warning bell?

I barely had time to pull on a proper dress before I stormed out of the room, still red in the face.

I found him in the hallway, speaking to a guard in low tones, his back turned to me.

“Valen!” I called, voice sharper than intended.

He turned, one brow arched, eyes cool as always. “You’re awake.”

“Oh, I’m awake all right,” I muttered, marching toward him. “And naked. I was naked.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Explain.”

“A servant walked in on me. Just—opened the door. Walked in. Saw everything.”

A pause. Too long.

Then:
“What.” His voice dropped, lower than I’d ever heard.

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, though my cheeks still burned. “I threw a book at him. Probably gave him a concussion.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Then: “Which servant.”

“What?”

“Give me his name.”

I frowned. “No.”

“Describe him.”

“No!”

“White gloves? Tall? Red hair?”

“Valen, no one’s dying over seeing me naked—!”

“I’ll erase his eyes.” My jaw dropped. “That’s not normal!” He stalked forward, towering above me now, his expression glacial. “You are mine. No one sees what’s mine.”

“Oh gods, you’re insane.” I pushed his chest, but he didn’t move. “You’re—” My finger jabbed his chest again, and I realized belatedly that it had exactly zero effect on the wall of vampire muscle in front of me. “—a controlling, terrifying, overreacting—”

His hand caught my wrist mid-jab. His voice was low, almost tender.

“You’re allowed to insult me. You’re allowed to be angry.”
A beat passed.
“But next time someone enters a room you in without permission… I’ll do more than erase eyes.”

I stared at him, breath caught in my throat.

“That’s not how boundaries work, Valen.”

“You want boundaries?” he asked, head tilting.

I nodded, determined not to let him steamroll me this time.

He leaned in slowly, voice like ice and fire brushing my ear.

“Then knock next time you barge into my heart.”

My brain stuttered. My mouth opened—and nothing came out.

“Wait—what? That’s—what does that even mean?”

He smirked—actually smirked—and walked off down the hall, cape swirling dramatically behind him.

I stood there, jaw dropped, hand still raised in mid-argument.

“…What just happened.”

The hallway was quiet—too quiet.

I’d been exploring again. Avoiding work. Avoiding people. Avoiding thoughts I didn’t want to admit were nesting inside my heart.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, and golden candlelight flickered along the stone walls, throwing dancing shadows over the ornate frames and ancient portraits that lined Valen’s mansion. But something was different here.

A breeze. From behind the fireplace.

Frowning, I ran my fingers along the smooth stone—until one gave way with a click.

A soft groan echoed, and the fireplace itself shifted—rotating inward like a hidden door. I hesitated only a second before slipping inside.

What I found stopped my breath cold.

It was a circular room, windowless. Stone walls lined with mirrors, tall and strange—none the same size or shape. Some were clouded, some broken at the edges, and some shimmered faintly with magic I could feel on my skin. And in the center, on a carved pedestal of black marble, was a glass box. Inside it rested—

A single black feather.

No… not a feather. A claw. Thick and curved and beautiful and monstrous. It pulsed faintly with the same red glow I’d seen in Valen’s Urwolf form.

This was his secret place.

His memory chamber.

A piece of his soul.

I walked slowly, turning to each mirror. One showed him in battle—his face bloodied, his hands claws. Another flickered, revealing a woman with my eyes—my mother—smiling at him across a garden lit by blue moonlight. And another showed me… asleep in Valen’s bed, his fingers brushing my cheek in the dark.

I spun away, heart pounding.

This wasn’t just a collection.

It was a shrine.

My hand hovered over the glass box. The claw was warm, vibrating softly like a living thing. I didn’t touch it. 

The claw pulsed again, and I swear—for just a moment—I heard a heartbeat.

Not mine.
Not human.
Slow. Ancient. Wild.

I backed away from the glass box, breath catching in my throat. My skin prickled as the mirrors seemed to lean in around me, no longer still reflections but watchers. Observers of truths not yet known, memories not mine—yet tied to me all the same.

I turned to the next mirror.

This one was clearer than the others. The frame was golden, etched with ancient runes I couldn’t read. Light shimmered across it like water.

And then it moved.

The scene was quiet, a clearing under starlight. A man stood there—my father. His face younger than I remembered from childhood pictures. Confused, angry. Bleeding.

Opposite him stood a vampire—but not Valen.

This one had blond hair, pale and sharp like polished ivory. Cold green eyes. A crown of twisted silver thorns on his brow.

The King?

And then the scene shifted—my father fell. Blood sprayed the snow. The blond vampire turned away with disinterest.

I gasped.

It wasn’t Valen.
Valen didn’t kill my father.

A storm of emotion rose in my throat—relief, grief, confusion, guilt. My hand reached instinctively toward the glass, as if I could rewrite the past just by willing it.

Another flicker—another mirror caught my attention.

I turned.

And froze.

This one showed me. But not now—not here. Older. Stronger. Dressed in black and red, lined in silver threads. A crown of shadow on my brow. Eyes no longer soft and human, but glowing faintly like embers.

I stood tall at the center of a great hall. Vampires—dozens, maybe hundreds—knelt at my feet.

Some bowed in reverence. Others in fear.

The vision felt real. Too real.

I stumbled back, shaking my head. “No. That’s not—I’m not—”

The claw pulsed again, harder this time. The room seemed to breathe with it.

I didn’t hear the door move.
Didn’t hear the footsteps this time.
But I felt him.