The hall was frozen.
Not by magic.
Not by fear.
But by the presence of Lorenzo Rossi, standing at the center of the ancient chamber like he'd been born from fire and smoke itself.
His coat hung from his shoulders like armor, his boots cracked the Court's sacred marble with each step.
The Unblooded recoiled.
Veritas gritted his teeth. "You have no right to be here."
Lorenzo met his eyes with a calm so lethal it made the very walls tighten.
"I am right," he said, voice low. "You summoned my queen. You made it my war."
Orasha took a graceful step forward. "You forget your place, Don Rossi."
Lorenzo's lips curved into something sharp.
"You forget mine is carved in blood."
Mariluna could barely breathe.
She stood, shackled in ceremonial gold, her wrists aching from the Court's spell-binds.
But the moment Lorenzo arrived, the magic weakened. Bent.
The guards beside her shifted uncomfortably.
One stepped back.
The other trembled.
Lorenzo's eyes flicked toward her.
A nod—so slight no one else would notice.
But she did.
And with it, she remembered the dagger pressed between her ribs.
In a smooth motion, she pulled it free, sliced the golden binds—
The spell shattered like glass.
Gasps echoed through the Court.
The Queen had freed herself.
Veritas raised a hand, summoning the shadows behind the pillars.
Creatures crawled forth. Some with horns. Some faceless. Some are still dripping with the Veil.
"This is treason," he growled.
Mariluna turned to him, holding her blade out.
"No," she said. "This is refusal."
The blade in her hand shimmered brighter now.
Reacting.
Awakening.
Feeding.
As if it remembered its purpose.
As if it knew her.
Lorenzo moved first.
Like lightning wrapped in human skin.
He reached the nearest pillar, ripped it from its foundation, and hurled it into the advancing creatures.
The room exploded into chaos.
Screams echoed.
Magic collided.
Fire bloomed.
David stormed in from the back doors, guns enchanted with runes flaring in both hands.
"Luna—go!" Lorenzo shouted.
But Mariluna didn't run.
She stepped forward—toward the throne.
Toward the Empty Crown.
Veritas tried to block her path, throwing chains of darklight.
But the blade in her hand split them like paper.
With every strike, the crown pulsed—beating like a heart.
It was calling to her.
She reached for it.
Then stopped.
Her eyes narrowed.
"No," she whispered.
And turned away.
The hall gasped.
Lady Orasha screamed. "You defy your blood!"
But Mariluna's voice rang out, steady and sharp:
"I am not your heir. I am not your pawn."
"I am Mariluna Virell Rossi."
She turned to Lorenzo.
He was bleeding from his mouth. Smoke coiled around his fists. But he stood tall.
She walked to him, lifted the edge of his coat, and wrapped his arm over her shoulders.
"Let's finish this together," she said.
He nodded, eyes burning.
Back at the Court gates
The Unblooded were regrouping. But the creatures that crawled from the shadows still hissed and clawed, pulled by the scent of her blood.
Veritas limped forward, face carved by rage.
"You'll regret this, Luna," he snarled. "The Veil will not forgive this defiance. And neither will I."
Mariluna stared at him down, and for the first time, her voice carried not fear, but command.
"Then send your armies. Send your beasts. Send the night itself."
"I will be waiting."
That night, back at the estate, as Lorenzo's wounds were tended, Mariluna stood alone in the old library.
She lit a candle and opened a leather-bound volume she found hidden in the floorboards.
The pages were handwritten.
A diary.
Her mother's.
The last entry read:
They know about her. The crown, the bloodline. They won't stop. Not even if they have to kill me.
If you're reading this, Mariluna, then remember one thing—
Your father was not the man you think.
And Lorenzo… he is not who he says he is either.
The candle flickered.
Behind her, a floorboard creaked.
The floorboard creaked again.
Mariluna turned, heart clenching.
But it was just Lorenzo.
He stood in the doorway, blood still crusting at the corner of his mouth, his shirt half unbuttoned and torn from the earlier battle.
"What are you reading?" he asked, voice hoarse.
She didn't hide it.
"Her diary," she replied, holding it up. "It was hidden beneath the floor."
Lorenzo's expression darkened as he stepped into the room.
"I thought they destroyed everything of hers."
"They missed this," Mariluna said quietly, flipping to the last page. "Or someone wanted me to find it."
She read the words aloud again.
"Your father was not the man you think."
"And Lorenzo… he is not who he says he is either."
When she finished, the silence between them thickened.
Lorenzo didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Mariluna rose from the chair, her voice low and cold now.
"Who are you really, Lorenzo?"
He said nothing for a long time.
Then, finally:
"I was her protector."
He stepped closer.
"Your mother's, I mean. Before I was anything else."
Mariluna's throat tightened. "You said you barely knew her."
"I lied."
Of course he had.
Everything about him had been a mask—a beautiful, deadly, consuming mask.
"She was the only person who ever saw me for what I was. What I am."
"And what's that?" Mariluna asked.
He met her gaze.
"A monster they made… and she tried to save them."
Years Ago
He told her the truth, or at least some of it.
That he had been bound to the Court as a child—taken, shaped, fed their poison.
That the power he wielded wasn't magic—it was cursed blood, crafted in the Veil's deepest halls.
"They called me the King's Blade," he said. "Because I never missed. Never disobeyed."
He stared at the diary in her hands.
"Until I met her. Your mother."
She had been a noblewoman, promised to a prince of the Court. But she had seen the horror behind the throne, and tried to flee.
"They sent me to kill her," he whispered. "Instead, I helped her disappear."
Mariluna's voice shook. "So… you knew all along who I was."
"Yes."
"And you let me grow up in that hell."
His jaw tightened. "It was the only way to protect you."
She turned away from him.
He didn't stop her.
That Night
Mariluna sat by the fire in her chamber, the diary open on her lap.
More entries, carefully written in ink:
"They say the Don is heartless. But I have seen him weep. He carries shame like a second skin."
"He promised to protect our daughter. Even if it means she must never know."
Mariluna slammed the book shut.
Everything was twisted.
Nothing was whole.
She didn't know if she was more furious with him… or with herself for feeling anything other than rage.
Midnight
A knock echoed on her door.
She didn't answer.
It opened anyway.
Lorenzo stepped in, now clean and dressed in fresh black, the sharp line of his collar barely hiding the bruises along his neck.
He didn't speak.
Just stood, watching her.
"I should hate you," Mariluna said.
"I'll take it," he replied.
"And yet…" she stood, walking toward him, heart pounding.
"…you came for me."
He stepped forward, until barely a breath separated them.
"I will always come for you."
"Even if I hate you?"
"Especially then."
Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the glass window beside them shattered inward, sending a wave of dark feathers and ash through the room.
A figure landed on the stone floor, cloaked in black, face hidden by a bone mask.
Mariluna stumbled back.
Lorenzo shoved her behind him, hand already glowing with power.
The intruder's voice hissed through the mask.
"The Court has chosen a new heir."
"And she's coming for the girl."