I pressed the dagger against his throat. "Move and I'll kill you."
"Are you threatening me?" He winked. "Just my type."
-
Seren Novastra was nine years old when she agreed to become a weapon undercover amongst her own kind for the Rebels, all to sav...
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It was her.
Despite the difference in her hair and her attire, the magic in my veins called her name. Some innate, visceral part of me told me that this was the girl who had been plaguing my dreams every night. This was the girl who had accompanied my every thought, the girl I'd spent hours roaming Haran's streets for in hopes of another glance. The time spent bent over color charts and flipping through types of blades... and there she was, standing right in front of me, looking more ethereal than the divine Night herself.
Yet, so... passive. Emotionless. If she was as shocked as I was, she didn't show it. Instead, she glanced to Darian speaking at my side. It allowed me the chance to scan her, noting the blade sheathed at her thigh.
And suddenly, everything clicked in my mind.
The black outfit. The blade. The day.
This was the Seren Novastra, Princess of the Star Clime.
Murderer of our Ambassador.
My gaze hardened.
"...my brothers, Killian and Orion, and our sister, Caelia."
My siblings fell into a half-bow next to me, and I followed suit, gritting my teeth. When I straightened, I kept my gaze trained on Helion, not daring another look in her direction in fear of what might come out of my mouth.
"We'll show you to your rooms then," the Sun Clime's princess said, turning and leading us further down the hall. The four of us gave a quick nod to the heirs of the Star and Dusk Climes before moving to follow Astera and Helion.
As I passed Seren, I felt my magic rise to my fingertips, as if summoned. I quickly pushed it back down with a furrow of my brow, frustrated and confused.
And yet, I couldn't help but notice the clench of Seren's fist. Almost as if...
I exhaled a long, shaky breath. This would be a long few months.
✩ ✭ ✩
When the sun fell to a certain point within the sky, the guards escorted every Ascendant to the Sun Clime's Gilded Hall for dinner.
The large, elegant room upheld its name — despite not everything being forged from gold itself, the way that the sun illuminated the hall created such a realistic illusion that I may have believed everything was gilded if I were told.
Darian had insisted that we arrive as on-time as possible to prevent any cause for dramatics, and as a show of respect. Obliging, we left only minutes after the guards requested us, each one of us clad in a fiery orange.
The four of us took our seats at the feasting table. It wasn't too large — surely designed for the heirs to have easy conversations and not shout over one another — yet still opulent in nature.
