The Whisper Before the Blade
The halls of House Virel burned with candlelight and deceit. Elira moved through the stone corridors in silence, her silk gown trailing behind like a shadow. Her father’s war council had just ended—tension hung in the air like smoke, thick and choking. Only Kael remained behind, watching her with those familiar storm-gray eyes. The same eyes that had once promised her safety beneath the blood oath tree.
“You’re shaking,” he said, stepping closer.
“No,” she replied. “I’m waking up.”
That night, she awoke to screams. Steel against flesh. Footsteps in the corridor. Her mother’s perfume smothered by smoke. And in the chaos, she saw him—Kael—standing beside the assassin king, blade drawn, eyes unreadable.
She didn’t scream. She ran.
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