The day of the Blood Moon began long before the first streak of red light touched the mountains.
From her chamber in the east tower, Elinora could hear the Keep waking in slow, deliberate waves — the deep clang of the bell that marked the dawn watch, the low hum of voices in the training yards, the metallic clatter of weapons being prepared.
This was no ordinary morning.
The entire fortress moved with the careful, tense precision of an army preparing for battle — which, in its own way, it was.
She rose without calling for the servants, dressing herself in the garments laid out the night before: a tunic of black silk edged with silver thread, the Nightblood crest embroidered across the chest, a long cloak lined with white wolf fur. The choice was deliberate — a reminder to both courts t
