The morning sun filtered through the glass walls of the conservatory, casting golden reflections over the frost-kissed garden. Everything looked calm. Peaceful. But inside, a storm brewed.
Caveen sat stiffly in a cushioned chair, fingers pressed to his temple as if warding off a migraine. Across from him, Lysandra reclined on a chaise, pale as snow, her fingers trembling slightly as they clutched a porcelain teacup. Though her face remained composed, her entire body hummed with tension.
The door creaked open.
Maika entered first—regal, poised, and cloaked in a deep sapphire gown that swept like midnight behind her. Carl followed, every step heavy, every movement purposeful, his sharp eyes flickering between the two younger ones.
"We need to talk," Maika said gently, though the weight in her voice turned the air to glass.
Lysandra sat up straighter, instinctively aware something was coming. Caveen leaned forward, muscles tensing, bracing for impact.
Carl didn't wait. "We've decided to announce your engagement."
The words dropped like thunder in a sacred hall.
Caveen blinked. Once. Twice. "I'm sorry—what?"
Lysandra stiffened beside him, her eyes snapping to Maika, wide with disbelief.
"It's not for love," Maika said quickly. "This isn't about feelings—it's a shield. A necessary one. To protect Lysandra and the child. The Council is getting closer every day. They're asking questions—too many. We need to give them answers before they draw conclusions."
Caveen shot up from his seat. "You want us to lie? To parade around in front of the world, pretending to be some happy couple while everything about us is fractured?"
Lysandra's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "I never asked for this." Her hands gripped the shawl tighter. "I didn't want a partner. I just wanted a child. I made a mistake, I know that—but this… this is forever."
Maika's gaze held firm, though her voice softened. "It doesn't have to be. Not truly. But the illusion must be convincing enough. The Council must believe it. You're both high-ranking bloodlines—if they suspect this child's true nature, they'll act before we can stop them."
Carl stepped forward, jaw tight. "We've spoken to the Moonwell Matriarch. She won't contest it. But this must happen now, before the Council makes a move."
Caveen looked down at Lysandra. Her hands were shaking now, the tea untouched. She looked so small. So scared.
His voice lowered. " If pretending gives her a chance to live, then I'll do it. We'll do it."
Lysandra looked up at him, eyes shining—not with anger this time, but with fear. And something else. Hope, maybe. Or the last fragile pieces of it.
"I'm scared, Caveen," she whispered.
"Then we'll be in it together," he said softly. "And whatever happens, we'll face it together."
Maika let out a quiet breath. Carl gave a single nod.
"Then it's settled," Maika murmured. "The announcement goes public within the week."
Outside, the winter wind howled like a warning. But inside that sunlit room of glass and frost, four souls made a pact sealed not by love—but by something more powerful.
Survival.
---
Far away, in the frozen heart of the Citadel of Elaris, the Grand Hall of the High Council stood quiet and ominous. The nine robed Elders sat in a perfect circle, unmoving, untouched by time.
At the center, the Orb pulsed. A glowing sphere of ancient magic, it flickered with whispers from every corner of the elite world.
"Caveen of Landon," murmured Elder Tharos, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin. "And Lysandra of Moonwell. Engaged."
Another councilor leaned forward. "Unexpected."
"Suspicious," said a third. "They were never even rumored to be close. Why now?"
The High Seeress pressed her wrinkled hands to the orb. "They're hiding something. I can feel it."
"Shall we intervene?" the youngest asked, eyes bright with eagerness.
"No." Tharos's voice cut through the room like cold steel. "We wait. We watch."
"But if Elira awakens…"
Tharos's expression darkened. "Then we strike. As we always have."
---
The news spread like blood in water.
In the lavish drawing rooms of Misty Town, noble vampires raised crystal goblets, lips curled in amusement and disbelief.
"Landon's prince? With a Moonwell mage?"
"Out of all the daughters, he picks her? Strange."
"More than strange," another scoffed. "It reeks of manipulation. Or something worse."
In the Lycan strongholds of the north, the elder packs growled around crackling fires.
"Lysandra? The one who turned down every suitor?"
"If that child is rumored to possessed low magic."
And in the Witches' Inner Sanctum, veiled girls in silk giggled behind fans and whispered behind wards.
"She said she didn't believe in marriage."
"She said she didn't need a man."
"Maybe it's true love…"
"Or maybe… she's hiding something far greater."
---
In every corner of the elite world, suspicion simmered beneath the surface. But Caveen and Lysandra? They stood at the center of it all—united not by affection, but by a secret that could burn the world to ash.
And the clock was ticking.