Ren was preparing to visit the Historian Tower while Agara busied himself concocting poison from shifters’ blood. They had agreed it would be best to deliver the toxins through Alpha Xander and Axe, using them to intimidate Luther. A trap was being set, one baited with rumors that the Princess of Alvonia would soon visit her uncle. The hope was to lure Luther into revealing himself. A creature like him wouldn’t resist the urge to flaunt his strength. If he thought he could dominate the eting, he’d strike.
"Why are you going to that tower? I’ve already told you so much," Kai said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"You didn’t give any real details, the overall story wouldn’t help much," Ren replied. "I’m still reeling from the fact that everything began in a land I never even knew existed. And those won, Lillieth and Nimoieth, were powerful. They wrote their story, and yet it’s been buried, forgotten beneath layers of dust."
She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Don’t worry. I’ll be back by tomorrow morning so we can get ready for the journey."
Kai’s brows drew together, his expression tightening. "I don’t like this. Offering you up as bait for my brother doesn’t sit right with ." He brushed the back of his knuckle gently along her cheek.
"I know," she said softly. "But trust . Living as my mother in the Dreamland had its own... advantages. I still don’t trust Azrael, but he’s clever. Too clever. He shared that part of my mother’s past for a reason when she was still being molded, and tested. Now he’s doing the sa to , watching to see if I’ll rise like Nimoieth once did or if I am different."
"He’s a fool if he thinks you’re anyone but yourself," Kai muttered, pulling her into the safety of his arms.
"You’ve got work waiting for you in the forge," she reminded him gently. "I already fed Ogain, and Org’s coming with . Everything’s taken care of, so please, don’t worry."
But Kai didn’t let go just yet. Instead, he caught her mouth in a deep, lingering kiss, as though committing her taste to mory. His lips moved over hers with a hunger that said he didn’t want to be apart, not even for a day.
"You could’ve waited a little longer before stealing my breath," he growled, pulling back with reluctance.
She smirked, brushing his chest. "Well, you’ll be hamring tal while I’m fending off old historians. Seems unfair."
Kai sighed, clearly torn. The thought of her facing those crotchety tower-dwellers alone didn’t feel well with him.
"If they dare avoid your access to the restricted section, link with . I’ll be there in seconds."
Ren nodded with quiet determination. Nothing, and no one, was going to keep her from uncovering the truth today.
~*~
The carriage lurched into motion, its wheels crunching softly over the gravel road. Librarian Biken sat across from Ren, flanked by her guards. A subtle smile curved his beak-like mouth, but it was the glint in his eyes that caught Ren’s attention.
"Are you pleased we’re visiting the tower, Librarian Biken?" she asked, watching him with interest.
He dipped his head respectfully. "Yes, my Queen. I’ve docunted every event in detail, just as Your Highness instructed, and sent them to the Tower. Thanks to your command, they now treat with a asure of respect. I owe that entirely to your favor."
Arkilla chuckled from the side. "Soone’s finally getting the recognition they deserve."
Ren smiled and nodded. "She’s right. I don’t choose anyone out of pity. Before I asked for you, I told Rail to give a full report, your grades, your work ethic, and how involved you were at the Clan Academy. I knew exactly who I was bringing into my circle."
The owl-faced librarian flushed with emotion. Joy and gratitude blood in his features, warming his otherwise stoic deanor. His Queen wasn’t like the others. She noticed what was most overlooked, what many never cared to see.
"Still, I deeply appreciate your favor, my Queen."
"Don’t ntion it," Ren replied gently.
They crossed the plains under a scorching sun. It was hard to believe that just days ago the breeze had been cool, the skies kind. Now, the heat shimred on the horizon, relentless and suffocating. Seasons in this land seed to shift on a whim as if the world itself had moods.
During their ti in the lab, Agara had continued refining her magic. He had watched in awe as she grew stronger, no longer fumbling, but weaving threads of spells with precision. She could now separate shade threads with a re flick of her fingers, unraveling their secrets like an expert tailor. What stunned him most was that Azrael had allowed her to train so freely in the Dreamland.
Her magic had beco sothing to behold. Like phantom chains, her threads could slither through the air, coil around the necks of wild beasts, and bring them to their knees. She was preparing to test it on predators, just as she had tad Ogain and Viva. If she could bend even a creature as monstrous as the giant vampire lord to her will, then that undead army had already signed its death sentence.
The carriage rolled to a stop before the gleaming white tower of the Historians. Tall and pristine, it rose like a dagger piercing the sky. At its base, Serpent and Bird shifters stood guard, silent, alert, and unmistakably elite. These were not re watchers. They were chosen from among the finest elites.
Ren’s stomach tightened. The stories whispered about this place were rarely kind. Those who lived here never left. And those who entered were rarely welcod. It didn’t matter she was a queen, this place was neutral with no political view.
Ren’s gaze drifted toward the garden along the side of the tower. It was lovely, lush, and well-kept, but it still paled in comparison to the Seraphina Garden, now carefully maintained by the royal gardeners. Even the fad Garden of the Vine and Rose, known for its magic-touched blooms, stretched near this place, just a mile east of the tower’s wing.
The carriage door swung open, and Orgeve stepped down first. His eyes imdiately found Arkilla’s, his breath catching in his throat. It had been a long ti since she’d confessed her feelings, and ever since, he’d been a ss, tripping over his own feet, unsure how to act around her. She’d been a friend, once. Now, she felt like sothing more... and far more dangerous to his composure. Was it love?
Two tower guards approached, their gazes sharp, their movents precise. One of them glanced at their gear and spoke with practiced authority. "The Historian Tower is a neutral, peaceful domain. We’re afraid weapons are not permitted inside."
Org scowled, the corner of his mouth twitching with irritation. "Should’ve brought Rail," he muttered, half to himself, half in challenge.
Arkilla scoffed at the guards. "We’re escorting the Queen. Why on earth would we leave our weapons behind?"
"I doubt you need blades to protect her," the serpent shifter replied coolly. "You’re wolves. They’re birds."
The exchange grated on Ren’s nerves. Ti was slipping away, and the sun had already begun its descent beyond the distant hills. She didn’t have the luxury of pointless squabbling.
"Enough," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the tension. "This is a trivial matter. Just hand over your weapons." She tilted her head toward Arkilla, who stood with her arms crossed, clearly unimpressed.
Reluctantly, the guards obeyed their Luna Queen’s command. One by one, they began removing their weapons, though none with more reluctance than Arkilla, who, as always, was ard to the teeth.
As she revealed dagger after dagger hidden beneath her leather brown vest, the guards looked on in astonishnt. A serpent shifter let out a sharp laugh and narrowed his eyes. "And what about the one in there?" he asked, nodding toward her chest.
Arkilla arched a brow, deadpan. "Are you ogling my breasts?"
The guards flushed red, sputtering. Orgeve’s expression darkened.
"What the fuck did you just say?" he growled, stepping forward, ready to lunge.
"Stop it," Ren snapped, exasperated. "Arkilla, hand over the blades. All of them."
Org froze mid-step, staring at Arkilla in disbelief. Four more small, razor-sharp blades slipped from her vest and clattered to the ground. Each one could slice clean through bone. She stood tall, unapologetic, fangs flashing in defiance as she t the serpent guard’s gaze.
"Happy now?" she barked. "Let us pass."
The guards exchanged glances, then stepped aside as the heavy gate creaked open. From the shadows beyond, an old man erged, robed in white that shimred faintly under the lowering sun. His features were sharp, almost avian, and his pale grey eyes held the wisdom, and weariness, of centuries. Ren imdiately guessed what he was: an owl shifter. A white one.
Her gaze flicked to Librarian Biken, who stepped forward with a low bow. "Master Doko," he said. "He is the principal of the first floor. But we must head below... to the basent bureau. The one underground," he whispered, lowering his voice with reverence.
Ren moved ahead, ascending the steps. "Principal Doko. It’s an honor to see you."
"Welco, Queen Reneira," the old man answered, his voice as dry and cracked as the parched earth beneath the sumr sun.
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