“You arenotmy?—”
“But I am.” His smile widened. “You see, your Devin has failed to complete the bonding. Technically, you are still unclaimed. And according to Spire law?—”
“Don’t youdarequote law to me.”
“There is a contract,” he said smoothly, ignoring my tone. “A betrothal contract. Signed by the Matron of your orphanage, your mother.”
I blinked. “She’s not my mother.”
“Your legal guardian. We traveled together, Cleo. Alone. So unfortunate Devin attacked us without warning and stole you from me.”
My stomach turned. “You know that’s a lie. You were the one who kidnapped me.”
“I filed my claim with King Polaris,” Jarrik said, stepping closer. “The Knight Eternal will hear it this evening. You’ll be present, of course. I wouldn’t want to be accused of trying toforceanything.” He was close now. Too close.
I held up the book between us like a shield. “Void take you, Jarrik.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured. “The Rift is cracked. The creatures beyond the Void are coming to us.” He brushed past me, the chill of his magic brushing against my skin like frostbite. “Wear something formal,” he said over his shoulder. “This is, after all, a royal judgment, and, most likely, our wedding ceremony. You can hate me if you wish, but we need your Starborn magic to heal the fracture in the Rift. I won’t sacrifice all of Lunaterra for your childish desires.”
And then he vanished down the hall, leaving me rooted in place.
Shaking.
I stared down at the ancient book in my hands, writings so old they had supposedly traveled through the Void from Earth. The ancient title shimmered in golden ink:
The Starborn Legacy: Flame, Fire, and the Veil.
For a long moment, I just stood there. Angry. Confused. Hurt. But beneath it all—something else.Resolve. I wasn’t a child. I wasn’t a servant. I wasn’t a pawn. I wasStarborn.
My fingers tightened on the book’s cover.
If they thought I was going to show up in some stupid gown and politely sit through their rituals and judgments while two Death Mages argued over who got to own me like a prize, they werewrong.I wasn’t a prize. I was a damninferno.And they were going to learn that the hard way.
I turned on my heel and marched toward my room, the book heavy in my hands and my magic already simmering beneath my skin. Let Jarrick and Devin argue with one another. Plead with their king. Let them summon their entire royal court. Every Death Mage. Every Necromancer. Every vampire. Let themtryanddecidemy fate.
Void take them all. I wasn’t a frightened child. I was a woman. A Starborn mage. This time, I was going to choose it for myself.
13
~Cleo ~
The throne roominside the tower was a chamber carved from obsidian and oath-stone, its ceiling vaulted like the inside of a cathedral built to house gods. Dark flames flickered in wall sconces—blue-black and whispering with barely restrained power. The air smelled of dust, iron, and ancient magic. I stood on a rune-carved floor that pulsed faintly under my boots like a heartbeat.
At the far end of the chamber, seated atop a jagged throne of black stone veined with crystal, loomed the Knight Eternal.
He was terrifying.
Tall as a statue, cloaked in layered mage-robes darker than midnight, he radiated magic so ancient it made the walls hum. His hair was silver—not with age, but with power—and his skin was the pale ash of someone who had lived too long in the embrace of the Veil. One hand rested on the arm of the throne like a blade laid to rest; the other gripped a staff topped with a shard of the original Riftstone, the crystal used by Earth’sancient mages to open the original Void. To save what humans they could from the ravenous entities that inhabited the Void.
Eyes like dying stars locked onto me where I stood in a gown of dark blue that matched Devin’s hair. Fur lined boots did little to protect me from the pulses of icy death magic surging under my feet.
I felt the truth of this eternal being in my bones—this was no man, no king, no courtier. This was a weapon crafted by time and torment, a being who had watched empires rise and fall and stood unmoved. The only thing that still tethered him to this realm was duty—and now, judgment.
I should have been afraid. I was too angry.
Jarrik stepped forward, his black robes pristine, his voice smooth as satin stretched over knives. “My lord, I stand before you today to assert my legal and magical claim. I have here”—he held up a parchment, thick and sealed in mage-wax—“a signed and binding betrothal contract. Witnessed, sealed, and archived. The girl, Cleo Rathmore, was promised to me by her Matron mother. I claimed her and escorted her out of the capital city. She is mine.”
I curled my fingers into fists.The girl.Not a person. Not a woman. Property.
