SONG VIBE: Black Swan - BTS

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  SAPHIRA

  The Grand Hall of the Ancients, Castle Renatus

  Lord Nocturne approached Saphira, his dark leather armour creaking with each step.

  The Great Hall fell silent as he stopped before her.

  The Ashen Knight. Slayer of seven Spawnlords. She fixed her gaze on the marble floor, focusing on nothing but his shadow. The man who will soon marry my younger sister, Celestine. Her whole body grew rigid with tension. But why is he approaching me?

  His gloved hand caught her chin and tilted it upward with deliberate pressure. He moved her face left, then right, inspecting her like a soldier might inspect a worthy blade.

  The crowd gasped; heat flooded her cheeks—she tried to move, to pull away, but he held her face steady.

  This is scandalous. Her gossamer veil pressed to her skin, blurring her vision. Her heart pounded against her ribs—the only sound in the dead silence.

  “Your name?” Nocturne’s voice came out low and commanding—and only for her.

  “Lady Saphira,” she replied softly. “My Lord.”

  He leaned in to her ear and whispered, "I can smell the magic on you." He paused, his warm breath against her skin. “Careful.”

  "You—"

  Without waiting for a reply, he stepped back, turning to face the assembled court of Renatus Castle.

  Holding her breath, Saphira folded her gloved hands, protecting the telltale blackened flesh staining the tip of her finger.

  How does he know? Does he mean to tell everyone?

  Duke Crassus shifted on his carved throne, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the head of his dragon’s claw cane.

  "You see now, Lord Nocturne. There is no trick,” Crassus declared, smiling through perfect white teeth. “The women seated up there are both my daughters.” His cold, steely gaze swept the hall. “The bards say Lady Celestine is the most beautiful woman on the continent. I trust she is to your satisfaction.”

  “She is,” Nocturne replied, his hand lowering to the hilt of his sword with slow precision. His voice carried through to every ear, calm and unyielding as the crowds pressed in closer. “As you declared, Your Grace, the man who slays the spawnlord Golgog will win your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  He paused—then glanced, almost imperceptibly, at Saphira. A sly smile twitched at his lips, and before she could respond, his expression iced over. He turned to the crowds and announced, “As you did not specify which daughter... I will have your eldest, Lady Saphira.”

  A sharp murmur rippled through the hall, and it took Saphira a heartbeat too long understand why the air felt colder.

  No. It was supposed to be Celestine, not me.

  Every face had turned to her; her veil was a thin and useless barrier against their stares.

  Beside her, Celestine’s expression shuttered as she turned away.

  This was no accident. He’s chosen me. She felt her hands sweat underneath her gloves. Was it because of the magic?

  Nocturne turned toward the doors. As he did, his lips quirked—just slightly—as his gaze collided with hers.

  I will not belong to him.

  ***

  SONG VIBE: ON - BTS

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  SAPHIRA

  The Inner Keep, Castle Renatus

  ONE HOUR BEFORE...

  Saphira rested her cheek against the stone windowsill of the tallest tower and let her arm fall into the morning air. Wind curled around her wrist, cool and restless. It bit at her skin, but beneath the chill, something else stirred—thin, living threads brushing her fingertips like spider silk. The magic hummed, a binding between the fabric of the world, patient and waiting for her.

  She tugged at it.

  Moisture gathered, droplets forming along her fingers. She concentrated, willing the water to harden into fragile icicles. The droplets shivered…then slid free, splashing against the wards etched into the tower’s walls.

  Not bad for a first try, Saphira laughed, checking her hands to make sure no corruption showed. All she saw were two uncalloused, pale hands—not a single shade of the unmistakable blackened flesh of mages. She smiled to herself. I'll be better next time—as long as I don't get caught.

  Below her, Renatus stirred awake—washerwomen squeezing linen, stable boys shouting, soldiers marching in tight formations. Life moved on without her, as it always did.

  Celestine is the jewel, she thought, watching the courtyard blur beneath her veil of loose lavender hair. I am the heir no one wants.

  The sharp clunk of a key in the lock shattered the quiet. The chill of magic still lingered beneath her skin, leaving her fingers numb, hollow—as though something had been pulled away too quickly.

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  Above: Saphira plays around with magic

  "Get away from the window, girl!" Matron Helena's voice cut through the quiet morning. She strode over and slammed the frame shut. “One day, a nightspawn will snatch you by your silk hem.”

  “I can only hope. At least they’d be interesting.” Saphira pouted. "If you don't let me out, I'll simply kill myself."

  "Be sure to try before I put a lock on it," Helena retorted. She moved briskly through the room, shelving Saphira's scattered books and straightening her blankets. “You’ll be happy to know His Grace is ending your punishment early.”

  Ah, yes, my punishment. Three weeks locked in my tower for a tincture. Saphira sat up, purple eyes narrowing. Father decided it was magic. Reasonable, as always. If only he knew what I really get up to...

  “Early parole for good behaviour?" Saphira said dryly.

  "I don't have time to be pulled into an argument." She plucked up Saphira’s needlework with a disappointed tsk. “A full court is being held. You’ll attend. And no talk of magic, understand?"

  “What joy.” Saphira flopped onto the bed. "Why is he holding court?"

  "That's not your concern. Focus on presenting yourself well. There are already whispers that you're...strange," Helena murmured, her thumb tracing over the crooked stitches. "Don't let them become rumours. No man will want a bride corrupted by magic, chased by nightspawn."

  "Father won't marry me off. Not while I'm his heir." Her lungs deflated. "Not unless he has a son."

  "He will marry you to the man he wants to rule Renatus after he dies." Helena set the needlework down gently, her wrinkled hand shaking. "Let's hope His Grace never asks to see your stitches. Ginny! Where is that dress? Almighty, girl, where are you—?"

  The matron bustled downstairs.

  Soon, Ginny entered, flushed with excitement, clutching a gown with wide eyes. "Oh, my Lady, it's the most exquisite thing! Gold lacing, real pearls, the way the silk catches the light—"

  Saphira fixed her eyes on the window and lay back in her bed. "Why does it matter? I could have two noses and three eyes, and no one would notice under the veil." Saphira yawned. "I'm so bored, I'd rather nightspawn pull me limb from limb."

  "You bring it upon yourself, my Lady," Ginny giggled, bringing Saphira over to the mirror. "Keep pushing the rules, and you'll be locked in here until you're eighty. And I'll be far too old to be climbing up and down your tower stairs to fetch you sweetrolls!"

  Saphira laughed, "I don't even like sweetrolls."

  "You eat them by the dozen on your moonblood! Butter pudding, strawberry shortbread—"

  "Oh, stop," Saphira laughed. Ginny removed the moonstone comb from Saphira's hair. Lavender locks cascaded down. "Tell me, what's the news?"

  "Celestine, she's..."

  "Back home?"

  "Getting married!" The words tumbled from Ginny's mouth before she could stop them. She let out a little gasp and sealed her lips tight.

  My younger sister. Married. Before me. Saphira flinched, clenching her hands. At least one of us will be free from Father's control.

  She forced a smile. From the mirror, her eyes stared back; a true purple flecked with gold—thoughtful, expressive, impossible to hide her thoughts. She composed herself, saying, "Who's the groom?"

  Ginny's hands stilled. "I really can't say..."

  Saphira's gaze drifted to the courtyard. From the highest watchtower, the watchmen signalled below. She narrowed her eyes, reading their hand movements—the language of warriors, a language not for women. Seven men approached. Her eyebrows furrowed. This is too tense for a wedding celebration. What is going on?

  “The seven men,” she murmured. “Tell me who they are.”

  “All seven Mountain Knights,” Ginny whispered. “And the Ashen Knight himself.”

  "Lord Nocturne of Firestone?" Saphira's heart lurched. "Is that who Celestine is marrying?"

  I shouldn't, Saphira thought, as she reached out—not physically, but with the invisible threads of energy that connected everything in the world. She had felt the threads between her and Ginny before, whisper-thin, growing stronger with each conversation. No one will know. It won't cost me anything.

  Carefully, she pulled on the threads of magic, letting her voice smooth into silk. “Tell me.”

  "Lord Nocturne." Ginny's hands froze. "—he was most charmed by your sister. And... her wedding dress is prepared."

  Celestine will escape this cage. Relief loosened the tension in her shoulders. And yet... Saphira dabbed pink dye across her lips, thoughts turning. A mere Count is beneath a Duke’s daughter. Yet the King raised Lord Nocturne, gave him crown lands. Are politics twisting rank into something dangerous?

  I need more information.

  "Unions like this take years, not days." She pulled on the threads of magic again, her voice velvety. "Tell me, what's the reason for all this?"

  The invisible strands between them tightened. Ginny’s hands faltered in Saphira’s hair. For a heartbeat, she looked almost confused—like someone waking too quickly from sleep.

  "I—well—" her fingers trembled.

  Saphira pulled a little harder. She felt the skin on her fingertips tighten as they blackened. The air around her prickled, thin and cold, but she held the thread steady, pouring more of herself into the connection to get what she needed.

  Ginny’s resistance crumpled. "The largest spawnlord has risen," she babbled. "It's taken Renatii land—whole villages—and the nightspawn are roaming further south every week. His Grace—he—" she swallowed. "Lady Celestine's hand is the price for his services."

  The thread snapped loose.

  "Oh, sorry, I lost my spot." Ginny's hands faltered on the intricate braid, muttering, "Now, where was I?"

  I went too far. Saphira exhaled slowly, forcing her expression smooth as she slipped on silk gloves, hiding the blackened skin on her fingertips. Helena’s warnings echoed unpleasantly in her mind. That... didn't feel right.

  "My veil," Saphira reminded, swallowing the guilt. "It's a shame it'll cover your beautiful handiwork."

  Father could've offered my hand. I'm twenty years old. I should be married by now. Stiffly, Saphira dabbed oil from the rowanberry along her neck and wrists. It's not like he ever intends a woman to inherit his place…

  Ginny pinned Saphira's hair up beneath the sheer gossamer veil. Saphira stripped to her underlinens, bending and twisting to fit into the beaded dress without tearing it. The samite hung heavy with crystal beads sewn into the pale lavender fabric.

  Far too hot for this heat, Saphira thought. Though, father wouldn't care about my comfort.

  Ginny drew the veil over her head, obscuring her face and lavender hair. She placed rings of crystalith set in white gold on Saphira's hand, and bracelets cut from a single crystalith stone on her wrist. As Saphira stepped over the threshold, the fog clouding her mind began to clear.

  Through the corridors, two knights walked ahead of Saphira, while Ginny held her train.

  "Lovely day today, isn't it?" Saphira chirped to the ever-silent guards. "Oh, stop it, you're all spoiling me with your conversation."

  Behind her, Ginny suppressed a giggle.

  They passed portraits of ancestors, enormous dreadspawn horns, vilefly wings, even a dragon's tooth. Tapestries and stained-glass windows cast Renatii purple and gold across the stone floor. As they walked, servants and visiting nobility drew back and bowed.

  At the entrance to the Grand Hall of the Ancients, Saphira swept through the small door, leaving her entourage behind.

  Inside, she found the map of the continent laid out on her father's war table. Alone, she hurried to study the pieces. She spotted Renatus, ringed in grey—the Ashen Blades. Black markers swarmed in from the shadowlands.

  Too many. Too close.

  Then Celestine entered the chamber. Even before Saphira looked up, she felt the shift—the subtle hush that followed her sister wherever she went. A veil of fine lace slipped from Celestine’s plum-coloured hair as she adjusted it with a delicate hand, her lilac gown shimmering with every effortless step.

  “Did you hear my secret?" Celestine’s pale violet eyes, striking and sharp, settled on Saphira with a small, knowing smile. "I’m to be Lord Nocturne’s bride!"