The corridor leading to my chambers felt quieter than usual, the muffled sounds of the celebration fading behind us. My mother walked beside me, her sharp heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She hadn’t said much since I’d led her out of the hall, but her eyes told a different story. Calculating, curious, always one step ahead, that was Saffron Le Torneau in every way.

I opened the door to my chambers and gestured for her to enter. “Your silence is frightening, mother,” I said, closing the door behind us.

“You wanted to talk, so you do the talking.” She glanced around the room, her critical gaze sweeping over the furniture, the pale glow of enchanted sconces, and the view of the moonlit gardens outside the wide windows. “Not bad,” she said.

“Thank you for the ringing endorsement,” I replied dryly, moving toward the sitting area. My fingers trailed over the back of a chair before I lowered myself into it, watching her. “But I know you’ve got something on your mind. What is it, Mother? Aside from your obvious disapproval of my current living arrangements.”

She followed me, lowering herself gracefully into the chair across from me. Her movements were effortless, majestic, as if she were settling onto a throne rather than a seat in her daughter’s chambers. Folding her hands neatly in her lap, she studied me for a moment before speaking.

“You sound like you know what I’m thinking.” The way she said it sounded like she was testing me.

I stiffened, caught off guard by the comment. To be honest, I had tried, like really tried, to tune into her thoughts on the walk here. But her mind was a silent hum, blank where I usually heard something. The ability that had made my ears buzz in the ceremony hall had dissolved completely in her presence. I was frustrated and a little unnerved by this.

“I don’t,” I admitted softly, leaning back into the chair. “So? What is on your mind? And don’t say “everything.’”

A single brow arched, with that usual unimpressed but knowing expression. Classic. “How diplomatic of you,” she said before she let out a long exhale, a rare crack in her carefully controlled demeanour.

Then she leaned forward. “You must understand the position you’re in, Celeste. You’re in a pickle, as the common folk would call it.”

I blinked at her. A pickle? Really? That was putting it lightly.

“What’s the formal term, then?” I asked.

She quirked her lips, but it didn’t last. “A precarious confluence of power struggles,” she replied matter-of-factly. “You can’t truly command the power you’re meant to until your coronation. And the reigning sovereign, Lady Loreleia, will do everything in her power to ensure that day never comes.”

I huffed.

“She isn’t alone,” she said. “House D—Quan and Joyjre are already moving against you. The divide between the great houses is widening, and despite his strength, Lord Irving has been a target for centuries. His position and influence have drawn envy and resentment. And now, with you at his side, that target has grown.”

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as she continued.

“There are enemies even within the Irving family. Enemies who want to see Devon weakened, replaced as Alpha and General by someone they can control. Darric, for instance.”

The name sent an involuntary shiver up my spine. Devon’s son. The one my parents once thought would be my match, the “perfect” alliance to solidify my standing. Now he barely looked at me without disdain.

Mother didn’t stop. “Together, you and Devon are stronger. But also more vulnerable than you’ve ever been.”

The truth in her words really unsettled me. I swallowed hard as the pieces of Devon’s life fell into place. His seclusion here, the tightly controlled defences of the Irving estate, the layers of formality even among his own kin. It all made sense now. He couldn’t trust anyone fully.

“You’re saying we’re a target,” I said as I wished I didn’t have to deal with all these grown-up troubles. I was perfectly fine in my seclusion bubble.

“I’m saying you’re standing in a field of crosshairs,” she corrected. “And your enemies will come at you from every angle. From the council chambers to your own household staff.”

The mention of staff made my stomach turn. Mrs. Ellison’s defiance earlier was a reminder that my battles wouldn’t just be fought in council halls or political arenas. They’d be fought in whispers, in undermined authority, and in those closest to home too.

Mother leaned forward slightly. “Make no mistake, Celeste. Devon is powerful enough to protect you, yes. But his enemies, and yours, are patient. They’re clever. He needs your protection as much as you need his. Perhaps more so now that he’s tied to you.”

My fingers curled into the fabric of my gown as I stared toward the windows, the moonlight spilling across the floor in soft, silver ribbons. Devon had been holding the line for years, carrying a load that most would crumble under. And now, I was expected to stand beside him, protect him, and fight battles on every front.

No pressure, Celeste.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Mother said, breaking the silence.

I dragged my gaze back to her. “I’m not.” My voice was quiet. “I knew there would be enemies. That there would be challenges. I just didn’t realize” how many fronts I’d be fighting on.”

“Now you do,” she replied simply. “And it’s time to act like it. You’re no longer a Le Torneau daughter’”

“’I’m the Luna of the Irving house,” I finished for her. “I know.”

Her eyes narrowed, searching my face. But whatever she found must have satisfied her because she gave a single nod.

“Good,” she said, leaning back slightly. “You mentioned earlier that Garythorn’s magic was corrupted. How did you know?”

I hesitated as I considered how much to tell her. “I could see it,” I admitted finally. “The energy around the box, around him—it was dark, like tendrils of smoke curling in the air. It’s not something I’ve ever experienced before.’”

I deliberately left out the sigils. Knowing my mother, that little detail would only aggravate her more, and by extension, make her dislike Devon even further.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze sharpening. “That’s” interesting. And the voices?” she pressed. “Were you able to handle the scale of the ceremony?”

I blinked, startled. “How did you’”

“I have my ways,” she interrupted, her tone matter-of-fact, as if her insight was the most natural thing in the world. “It doesn’t take much to piece things together. Your abilities are growing, Celeste. Faster than even I expected.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You asked me earlier about a third affinity. What are you not telling me, Mother?”

She sighed then. “Nothing that isn’t already known within the witchsphere,” she said slowly. “But it is the reason the other great houses oppose the rise of witches as successors.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because of the stories,” she replied. “Especially within the oriental elemental houses. Witches marry within their own element to preserve power, but there’s an old tale that should all four elements ever converge in a single bloodline, their descendant could inherit them all. A Supreme Successor capable of wielding every affinity.”

I stared at her, my eyes widening, as my mind tried to comprehend the enormity of what she was saying. “All of them?”

She nodded once. “It’s rare, Celeste. Incredibly rare. So rare that, when it has happened, the other great houses have ensured those heirs never lived long enough for their abilities to fully manifest.” Her gaze darkened. “I have long suspected’” she trailed off.

“Suspected what?” I demanded as I leaned closer. “Mother, could you stop pausing in the middle of your sentences?”

“That Gaia may grant you all the gifts of your bloodline,” she said softly. “As a strategy to keep you ahead of all these foes. To remove Loreleia once and for all.”

All the gifts of your bloodline. I swallowed my gasp.

“I often wondered how you came to have an affinity for water,” she continued, her voice more thoughtful now, her gaze distant. “It was” unusual, given your lineage. My bloodline is dominated by fire—by destruction and rebirth. Your water affinity always felt like an outlier, something peculiar. But now’”

She trailed off again, watching me like I was a riddle she wanted to solve.

“Now what?” I snapped, frantic. “Mother, just tell me!”

Her lips twitched, almost like a smirk. “Now, I think it was intentional. Gaia rarely leaves anything to chance. Somewhere in our lineage, there must have been a water witch. That was her thread to you. If you’re beginning to hear thoughts, to see the threads of energy others cannot’”

She paused again, studying my reaction carefully. “It must mean you’ve inherited your grandfather’s mind-bending abilities.”

I was starting to like what I was hearing. “You think I can bend minds? Not just read them?”

Mother gave a small, firm nod. “If my analogy is correct.”

I tried to remember my grandfather but there weren’t any memories to pull from. I never met him. I’d heard stories, of course and the thought of inheriting abilities like his? That was so thrilling.

“If that’s true’” I began. “Then it’s not just Lycan minds, is it? I can’”

“’bend the minds of anyone,” she finished. Her eyes flashed with what looked almost like pride before she schooled her features. “Celeste, this is a weapon you must hone.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling around Devon’s necklace.

She leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees. “If this is what Gaia has chosen for you, then you must rise to meet it. Do you understand me?”

I nodded slowly.

Then she added, “And if I’m right, you’ll awaken your fire affinity soon.”

I looked up sharply and almost screamed, finally, out loud. “Fire?”

“Yes,” she said. “What I wouldn’t give to finally teach you as I taught Camille. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to see you embrace your true power, Celeste. Your fire has always been there, buried deep, waiting.”

I blinked at her, my breath catching. Camille. My mother never said her name. Not since she’d passed. And now, just like that, she dropped it into the conversation like it was any other word. Casual. Offhanded. As if it wouldn’t rip through me like a blade.

“You never talk about her,” I said finally.

Mother’s smile wobbloed, her gaze flickering to the floor for a heartbeat before snapping back to me. “Because it serves no purpose.”

I clenched my fists in my lap, the fabric of my gown crumpling under my fingers. “It serves a purpose to me. She was my sister, in case you forgot.”

And just like always, her expression hardened. “And my daughter, just in case you forgot. But dwelling on what’s gone and cannot be undone weakens you. And we cannot afford that.”

There it was. That cold, calculated reasoning she always leaned on when emotions got too close to the surface.

“Right,” I said. “Weakness. Can’t have that. Grieve too long, and I might become useless.”

Her jaw tightened, the only sign my words landed. “Grief is useless. Camille’” She paused, and for a second, her voice cracked. “Camille lived her life, however brief. And now you have yours.”

“So her death was just a lesson for me?”

“Don’t twist my words,” she almost growled. “I mentioned her because you have a chance to succeed where she didn’t. You can’t let every fickle emotions cloud your path.”

I stared at her, my chest tightening with anger and sadness. “She was your daughter. Do you even care how she’”

“Enough!” she barked. “We’re not discussing this.”

“Of course not,” I muttered, standing abruptly. The chair scraped against the floor. “We never discuss anything remotely close to Camille, do we?”

Her silence was deafening, her eyes narrowing as if daring me to push further. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. With a sigh, I turned away but I didn’t get very far. I froze mid-step, the searing heat of her fury was impossible to ignore, and despite every instinct screaming at me to walk away, I turned back to face her.

She was already standing, her beautiful green eyes narrowing as she took a step closer. “You’ve always been too impulsive for your own good,” she scolded. “If you would set these irrelevant emotions aside and approach things with logic, you’d see the opportunities right in front of you. But no! You charge in, spitting fire and swinging wildly.”

She was pacing now, like every step punctuated her words. “Exchanging barbs with Loreleia? Challenging Ethan Garythorn without full understanding of what’s at play? Celeste, do you even comprehend how dangerous that was? You’re playing with enemies who’ve been in this game for centuries. Centuries! And instead of outmanoeuvring them, you let your emotions do the talking.”

“I was handling them just fine,” I argued.

She scoffed her disbelief. “Handling them? You think barking insults at Loreleia or refusing Ethan’s so-called gift is handling them? No, child, that was you flailing. You could have taken their power and crushed it without lifting a finger, if you’d take a beat to think things through. But emotions cloud your judgment, as they always have and that is a weakness I may not be able to fix.”

Her eyes narrowed into thin slits, so sharp they could have cut through steel. “Ten seasons in Obsidian,” she hissed, her voice like frost on fire. “Ten cursed seasons, and it undid everything your father and I taught you. Tact. Stoicism. The strength to let no one know what you’re feeling or anticipate what you can do until it’s too late!”

My jaw clenched, a wave of heat rising to my face. My fists tightened at my sides, nails digging into my palms. “Of course,” I snapped. “Everything wrong with me comes back to those “ten measly seasons,” doesn’t it? Not the fact that you and Father shipped me off like I didn’t matter.”

Her nostrils flared ever so slightly, and for a brief moment, I thought she might actually lose her temper. But no. Saffron Le Torneau didn’t lose her composure. She didn’t break. Not ever.

“We sent you to Obsidian,” she said, her tone colder than before, “because it is the best water academy in Wridel. To prepare you. To teach you discipline. But instead of learning, you wasted your time there, falling into petty dramas and letting your emotions rule you.”

I laughed bitterly. “No, what you did was exile me to a strange sector. Alone. You didn’t prepare me; you abandoned me.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her silence louder than any words she could have spoken.

“And you know what, Mother?” I pressed, my voice rising like a tide. “Maybe I am impulsive. Maybe I do let my emotions rule me. But at least I’m not afraid to feel. At least I haven’t forgotten I have feelings.”

Her composure cracked, just slightly, her nostrils flaring as her voice turned to ice. “You think this is about me being afraid to feel?” she hissed. “You think this has anything to do with me? Do you believe Loreleia cares about our feelings? Or Ethan Garythorn? Or the Fae Lords? No, Celeste. They care about power. And if you don’t learn to wield it properly, they will destroy you. All the righteous indignation in the world can’t save a reckless fool.”

“And maybe,” I snapped, taking a step closer, “if you hadn’t spent my entire life treating power like the only thing that matters, I wouldn’t have to constantly prove I can handle it now.”

Her glare met mine, sharp enough to cut, but I didn’t look away. The suffocating silence lingered between us until she finally spoke.

“You understand risk, Celeste,” she said, and it felt like the words pained her, “but not cost. There’s a difference. You’ve never had to pay the kind of price this path demands.”

I swallowed hard. “Then teach me,” I said, stepping closer still. “Stop throwing these warnings at me. Teach me how to survive it and stop making me feel like no matter what I do, it’ll never be enough.”

Her gaze softened. Not much, but enough to unnerve me. “Because it won’t. You could master every spell, every strategy, every ounce of power in the world, and they’d still find a reason to undermine you. That’s why I push you. Because if you can’t withstand me, how will you withstand them?”

I shook my head “So that’s it? Tough love and constant critique until I either rise to your impossible standard or crumble under it?”

“It’s okay. You will learn,” she said in a low and deadly voice. “Whether you like it or not. Resisting is futile. I handed Camille her death sentence when I named her successor but wasn’t ruthless enough to protect her. I will not make the same mistake with you. So the sooner you understand how truly dangerous this path is, the better.”

Her words sucked the air from my lungs.