I left Devon’s study just after he was called away for bureau business. Something about one of his inspectors. The door clicked shut behind me, and the afternoon light poured in through the arched windows lining the corridor. I squinted, raising a hand to shield my eyes. Why did he keep his study so dark anyway? It was like the man thrived in gloom. If I wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of the cult, it might’ve been a question worth asking.

The manor was beautiful and well maintained, but it felt a little too pristine. As I walked, I rubbed my hands together absent-mindedly, trying to shake off the agitation from our conversation.

As I neared my quarters, a group of women in matching floral peach garments approached. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, and their hair was swept into the same neat buns.

“Your Grace,” they chorused, dipping into identical bows.

I sighed, already a bit irritated. I hated the title. The formalities. All of it. But it seemed most of Wridel already knew I was the Supreme Successor. Mother had made sure Cullen and Gwen spread the word far and wide. It was expected. Necessary, even. Still, it didn’t make the bows and titles any less grating.

Loreleia had planned to delay the announcement for an entire season, which was another thing that didn’t sit right with me. It wasn’t the Sovereignty’s way. There had to be more to it, and I had the distinct feeling my mother would have answers. As a kingmaker, she’d been at every selection, witnessing Gaia’s will first-hand. I was starting to suspect I wasn’t the first successor Gaia had appointed in the last hundred seasons.

“Lady Celeste?” Julia’s voice cut through my thoughts.

I blinked, refocusing on her, and that was when I noticed my attendees among the band of women. “Right. Sorry.” My gaze shifted to the group standing behind her. “Who are they?”

Julia exchanged a glance with Luciana, and I noticed the faint crease in her brow. “Lord Irving has reassigned all the attendees and housekeepers to serve you while on the island,” Luciana explained. “And bodyguards for whenever you have to go out.”

My eyes narrowed as I studied the group more closely. Just as I’d suspected when I first arrived, they were mundane. All of them. Devon’s entire female staff seemed to be. It struck me as strange, especially since all the male staff I’d seen—the guards, the groundskeepers—were Lycans. Why only mundane women?

“Bodyguards?” I asked. My mind flickered back to my father. He’d done the same thing, surrounding me guards, while mother surrounded me with attendees when I was younger. And immediately I got back from the way of water academy. I didn’t like it.

Luciana hesitated, her gaze dipping briefly before meeting mine again. “Yes, Your Grace. Since you’re now the hostess of Irving Island.”

Hostess? My brows pulled together as I darted a glance between Julia and Luciana, then back at the new group of attendees. Word must’ve already spread about Devon claiming me as his mate. Of course, it had. The council members had likely whispered it the second they left Wridel Island. That meant his sons probably knew by now too. Great.

I almost hissed under my breath, irritation prickling under my skin. Being a hostess meant more than just occupying a space. It meant managing the household, overseeing events, tending to the staff, and handling whatever chaos came with being tied to Alpha Devon. Was this what he’d meant when he said it was all mine? Did being his mate mean running his estate too?

The thought was annoying. This wasn’t what I’d signed up for.

“Who’s the current housekeeper?” I asked finally.

Luciana blinked, caught off guard by the question. “That would be Mrs. Ellison, Your Grace.”

“Good,” I said, turning away from my quarters without another word. If this hostess nonsense was expected of me, I needed to know what I was stepping into. “Well, come along. I need to meet her.”

The ladies fell into step behind me. Julia and Luciana flanked me on either side, their presence both comforting and slightly unnerving. Mother had hand-picked them for me, which meant they were trustworthy. It also meant they might be reporting back to her, which wasn’t entirely a bad thing. But if I let her, she’d keep trying to control my life from across the Sovereignty.

I slowed to a stop, a frustrated huff escaping me. As much as I wanted to deal with this housekeeping situation, my mind wouldn’t quiet. There was too much—this cult, my role as Supreme Successor, and my mate. Being a hostess? Running Devon’s island in some ceremonial capacity? No. That wasn’t happening.

If this role required anything beyond basic oversight, I’d delegate. Supervising the housekeepers was one thing; transforming myself into some kind of event-managing figurehead was out of the question.

“Your Grace?” Julia asked curiously.

I turned to her, then glanced at Luciana. “I need to head back to the study to handle a few things. Gather the housekeeper and anyone else managing the island. I’ll meet with them in my quarters an hour before sundown. Make it happen.”

They nodded immediately, both dipping their heads in acknowledgment. I hesitated for a beat, eyeing the matching peach uniforms they wore.

“Why,” I asked, gesturing toward their outfits, “are you wearing these” uniforms?”

Luciana’s brows lifted slightly, but Julia answered first. “Lord Irving’s staff provided them, Your Grace. They insisted all attendees match the standard set for the estate.”

Of course, they did. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose . “You are my personal attendees,” I said. “You wear the uniforms my mother commissioned and prepared for you.”

I crossed my arms, glancing between Julia and Luciana, their perfectly neutral expressions not quite hiding the unease in their eyes. There was obviously a hierarchy here, I had noticed the difference in uniforms and styles since we arrived. Relegating my personal attendees to the bottom of that food chain? That was a bold move!

Julia shifted, her lips parting as if she were about to say something, but I held up a hand. “Change back into your proper uniforms. And let Mrs. Ellison know this is the last time she decides what my private attendees will wear or do, for that matter.”

Luciana nodded as she murmured, “Yes, Your Grace.”

Julia followed with a soft, “Understood, Lady Celeste.”

I exhaled, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “Good. Now go, all of you, and make sure everything is ready for that meeting.”

They both curtsied before turning to leave, and the rest of the group followed them. I stood there for a moment, the burden of another task added to my ever-growing list. This Mrs. Ellison had a lot to answer for, and I was just beginning to understand the subtle politics of this household.

I returned to the study and it was so dark. The low fire still crackling in the hearth cast flickering shadows across the dark wood shelves, but it didn’t do much to push back the heavy darkness. I groaned under my breath, stepping inside. If there were answers about the cult and their magic, this was the place to find them.

I let my fingers trail along the rows of books, their spines cracked and titles half-faded. On the Nature of Wards and Sigils. The History of Elemental Dominion. An Annotated Guide to Lycan Rites. Nothing jumped out as immediately helpful, but I grabbed one anyway, letting it fall open on the desk.

The pages were yellowed, the text dense and dry. My eyes skimmed over the words, looking for anything useful, but it all blurred together. My thoughts were louder than the crackle of the fire.

Camille’s face rose in my mind, pale and worn in those last days before she left with the Dyaks. Her vibrant energy was sucked away by the mark that spread like poison across her face. My fists clenched at the memory and it was still as bitter as ever. This wasn’t about politics any more. This was personal.

And yet, Devon had the nerve to tell me to rest.

I shoved the book away, leaning back in the chair and staring up at the ceiling. Its carved beams were a mockery of order in a world that felt like it was unravelling.

“Not brooding, I hope.”

Devon’s voice startled me, and I sat up quickly, the chair scraping against the floor. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, his grey eyes watching me like he already knew the answer.

“Not at all,” I said flatly, gesturing to the discarded book. “I’m just” expanding my horizons.”

“By glaring at the ceiling?” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “Interesting method.”

“I’ll add it to my list of underappreciated skills,” I muttered. “Right next to tolerating infuriating Lycans.”

His smirk was faint but infuriatingly present. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Let what go?” I asked, feigning innocence. “The fact that there’s a murderous cult spreading chaos across Wridel? Or that I’m somehow more involved in it than anyone realized? Or maybe that you thought dropping me into this mess without all the facts was a good idea?”

He tilted his head. “You’ve learned more in a day than most do in seasons, Celeste. But knowledge is dangerous without patience.”

I scoffed, standing to face him fully. “And inaction is even worse. If you think I’m going to sit back and wait for the cult to come knocking at our door’”

“They already have.” His words cut through mine like a blade.

I froze, my heart stuttering. “What?”

His smirk was gone, replaced by a very serious expression. “We found another sigil this morning. Near one of our outer settlements.”

“Then why are we still here?” I stepped closer, my voice rising. “If they’re escalating, we need to’”

“We need to be smart,” he interrupted. “Charging in blind is exactly what they want. It’s how they gain the upper hand. One of our inspectors found a sigil that hasn’t been activated yet. That gives us time to act carefully.”

“Which settlement?” I pressed, stepping closer. “If it hasn’t been activated, there’s still a chance to stop it. If there’s more sigils, then we’re looking at a pattern. A triangle or a pentagon, right? We know about the one in the market and now this. With the right angle, we could find the others.”

Devon’s gaze held mine for a long moment. “It’s near the borderlands,” he said finally. “And yes, we’ve deduced that the sigils are often arranged in the shape of a pentagon covering the area they attack. But I’ve got to admit’” He hesitated, and something flickered across his face, almost like approval. “For an inexperienced investigator, and someone outside the league of inspectors, you’re quite” brilliant.”

I blinked at him, taken off guard. Then I arched a brow. “Were you expecting me to be a naive fool?” My arms crossed tightly over my chest, and I tilted my head, holding his gaze. “Or did you, like Loreleia and the rest of them, decide on a neat little box to shove me into?”

His mouth twitched, but the almost-smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re hard to put in a box,” he admitted. “But assumptions are easier than admitting what we don’t know. You’ve proven more than a few of mine wrong.”

I searched his face for any sign of mockery, but he seemed genuine. Still, I couldn’t let him off that easily. “Glad to know I’ve exceeded such high expectations,” I said dryly, rolling my eyes.

Devon’s lips twitched like he was holding back a smile. “It’s not’” He reached out, but I stepped back before his hand could land.

“So, what are we doing, then?” I demanded, crossing my arms. “I’m sure you know I’m not a fan of sitting around, waiting for them to act first. That’s basically hoping they leave breadcrumbs just big enough for us to stumble onto their next move.”

Of course, he didn’t take the hint to stay put. Devon stepped closer, his presence was overpowering as always, the faint scent of pine wrapping around me like a cloak. I held my ground this time, refusing to back up further.

“We’re being methodical,” he said. “Every move they make, every sigil they plant—it’s bait. They expect me to send in my best inspectors and sentinels. Once they destabilize the bureau and Wridel’s protectors’”

“Everything else would fall easy,” I finished for him, my voice barely above a whisper. His hand brushed my cheek, and I froze under the gentleness of it.

He nodded. “Exactly. That’s why we can’t rush this. One wrong move could cost us more than we can afford.”

I swallowed. “Then what’s your plan?” I asked very quietly, unsure if I wanted to hear the answer.

Devon’s lips curved into a faint, almost teasing smile. “Odd. I’ve never had to share my plans or thoughts on territorial affairs before.”

“Well,” I said, my chin lifting even as my heart raced, “now you have a mate.”

His smile grew, the kind that made it impossible to tell whether he was amused or impressed. “As stubborn as a Lycan, too, if I may be so bold.”

I swallowed, unsure if I should glare at him or laugh.

“In the last five seasons, I’ve learned something I’m sure they have too.” He walked to the desk slowly. “They can steal magic from witches and repurpose it. If the witch is powerful enough, she might survive, but without her magic. For Fangs and Lycans, it’s different. For elves and Faes’” He hesitated. “They die. Magic is their core.”

I watched him pull out a handful of scrolls and a leather journal from the drawers of his desk. “How is it different for Fangs and Lycans?” I asked.

“Lycans lose the ability to shift. Their connection to me, to their packs—it’s severed.” He handed me a scroll, then spread a map of Wridel across the desk. “But they keep their strength and agility. The Fangs retain their speed and physical power, but they lose their compulsion and mind-reading abilities.”

I opened the scroll, and the lines of text blurred for a moment before coming into focus. It was a report, one of his most recent on the cult. My eyes skimmed the details until a number jumped out. Fourteen sentinels lost in two seasons.

My throat tightened. That many lives. No wonder he was cautious, reluctant to send more of his people into this mess without a clear plan.

“The sigils,” I said, forcing my attention to the copied designs in the report. “This isn’t Wridel script.”

“It’s one of our dead languages,” Devon said, tracing a finger over a marked point on the map. “They’ve evolved into the polished e—l we use now. But these are ancient.”

“So, they mean something,” I murmured, studying the different designs carefully. “Each sigil is different. They’re not random.”

“No,” he agreed. “Every sigil has a purpose. And so far, we haven’t been able to figure out all of them.”

I ran my fingers over the paper, tracing the lines of one sigil like I could coax its secrets out of hiding.

“This dead language,” I said, glancing up at him. “Can it be translated?”

“It’s possible,” he said.’But it would take time to find someone with an adequate understanding of our history to translate this one. The cult clearly knows it better than we do.”

I let out a sharp breath, the scope of what we were facing seemed to grow with every new detail. My eyes dropped to the map spread across his desk, its edges curling slightly from wear.

“Why do you have that out?” I asked, nodding toward it.

He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on me. “Let’s get to work, love.”

The word startled me enough to look up, catching the gleam of amusement in his stormy eyes. Before I could snap at him, he gestured to the map. “I’ve marked where my inspectors found the second sigil. Now, mark where you found yours in the market.”

I hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. He tilted his head, waiting, and handed me the pen when I reached him. His fingers brushed mine briefly, warm and calloused, before he let go.

Leaning over the map, I found Ostonia’s market square easily. My hand hovered above it for a beat, my thoughts racing. “Here,” I said, finally drawing a small X over the spot.

Devon leaned in beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he studied the map. His closeness was grounding, though I wasn’t sure if it annoyed me or steadied me. Maybe both.

“Since they’re following a pentagon pattern,” I said slowly, “then the next sigils could be here, here, or here.” I pointed to three locations that formed part of an uneven pentagon with the existing marks.

“Or here,” Devon added, tracing a path with his finger to another spot just outside the pattern.

I frowned, leaning closer to see where he meant. “Why there?”

“It’s close enough to the borderlands to allow for movement between territories but far enough to avoid heavy patrols,” he explained. “If they’re trying to spread their veil quietly, it’s the perfect spot.”

I nodded, the logic clicking into place. “Then we check them all.”

Devon straightened, the corners of his lips quirking up in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Methodical and determined,” he said. “I like it. I’ll set off now.”

I blinked, my brows knitting. “I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not,” he shot back almost immediately.