Chapter 19
1264 Words
We went to the royal archives shortly after sunrise.
Xavier insisted on bringing two guards, though I suspected he would have preferred to search the entire mansion himself. I had insisted on accompanying him, and after a brief argument, he had agreed.
The archivist was already waiting.
When he saw the black mark on my wrist, he dropped the scroll he was holding.
“Where did you get that?”
“I woke up with it,” I replied. “Apparently, my body has decided to start collecting mysterious symbols.”
He didn’t smile.
Instead, he hurried toward an old cabinet and unlocked a narrow drawer.
“I need to verify something.”
Xavier crossed his arms.
“You have thirty seconds before I lose my patience.”
The archivist ignored him and removed a thin manuscript wrapped in dark cloth.
Unlike the other books in the archives, its cover bore no title. A faded golden emblem had been pressed into the leather.
He placed it on the table and opened it carefully.
The pages contained lists of names, dates, and royal decrees.
After several moments, he stopped.
“Here.”
He turned the manuscript toward us.
A drawing of the black crescent appeared beside a short passage written in an older form of the language.
“I recognize the symbol,” he said. “It appears in the records of the first Lycan kings.”
“Meaning?” I asked.
“It was called the King’s Seal.”
Xavier’s expression sharpened.
“Explain.”
“The King’s Seal was not a symbol of royal authority. It was a mark placed upon an oath when the person making it agreed to surrender something in exchange for a greater power.”
I looked at the black crescent.
“What did the king surrender?”
“That depends on the oath.”
“Can you be more specific?”
The archivist scanned the passage.
“The text refers to a binding of the crown, the blood, and the keeper. Unfortunately, the next page has been removed.”
Xavier leaned over the table.
“Who removed it?”
“I cannot determine that.”
“Convenient.”
“Your Majesty, I assure you—”
“Find the missing page.”
The archivist bowed his head.
“Immediately.”
I stared at the manuscript.
“The woman in my mirror said the oath was never meant to bind the heir. It was meant to bind the king.”
The archivist went still.
Slowly, he looked at Xavier.
Then at me.
“That is not a phrase recorded in any of our surviving histories.”
“But you recognize the meaning?”
He hesitated.
“There is an old interpretation of the First Luna’s disappearance. It claims she did not simply vanish. She discovered that the original oath had been altered, and that the royal bloodline was bound to something it was never meant to control.”
“What was it bound to?” I asked.
The archivist closed the manuscript.
“We don’t know.”
Xavier’s eyes narrowed.
“Then why keep the record hidden?”
“Because the final kings who studied it believed the knowledge itself was dangerous.”
I let out a frustrated breath.
“Everyone in this kingdom seems to know half a story and guard it like a national treasure.”
“This is not a game, Freya,” Xavier said.
“I know that!”
My voice echoed through the chamber.
The silver symbol on my wrist flared.
A faint vibration passed through the table, rattling the ink bottles and sending a loose sheet of parchment drifting to the floor.
I stepped back.
“No. Not again.”
Xavier moved toward me but stopped when I raised my hand.
“Don’t touch me.”
He froze.
The hurt that crossed his face was brief, but unmistakable.
I hated that I had caused it.
I hated even more that I couldn’t explain why I needed him to stay away.
“I just need a moment,” I whispered.
He nodded.
“Take all the time you need.”
He didn’t approach again.
And somehow, that made it easier to breathe.
I concentrated on the floor, on the cool stone beneath my feet, and on the slow rhythm of my heartbeat.
The silver light gradually faded.
When I looked up, Xavier was still watching me, but he wasn’t looking at me like a weapon or a problem that needed to be solved.
He was waiting.
For me.
I had never realized how much difference that could make.
The archivist returned to the manuscript while Xavier spoke quietly with the guards.
I wandered toward a display cabinet at the far end of the room. Inside lay several objects recovered from the northern sanctuary: broken pieces of stone, a tarnished silver pendant, and a small metal plate engraved with ancient symbols.
One symbol caught my attention.
A silver crescent.
Beside it was a golden wolf.
And between them, a thin black line.
I leaned closer.
The moment I did, the black mark on my wrist began to burn.
“No,” I whispered.
The pain sharpened.
The glass cabinet trembled.
I reached for the edge of the table, trying to steady myself, but the room around me seemed to fade.
A woman’s voice filled my mind.
You have found the first lock.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“What does that mean?”
The oath is a door. The king is its key.
A flash of golden eyes.
A stone corridor.
A black blade buried beneath a throne.
Then the vision vanished.
I stumbled backward.
Xavier caught me before I hit the floor.
This time, when our hands met, the reaction was immediate.
Silver and gold light spiraled around our wrists, illuminating the archive walls. The black crescent between my marks split into two thin lines.
For one breathless moment, I saw a third symbol appear between them.
A crown.
Not on my wrist.
On Xavier’s.
He stared at it in disbelief.
Then the light disappeared.
The archivist hurried toward us.
“What happened?”
Xavier didn’t answer.
He was staring at his bare wrist, where the golden mark had returned.
But beneath it, a thin black line remained.
I looked at him.
“Xavier?”
His eyes met mine.
For the first time, I saw something in them that frightened me more than anger ever could.
Recognition.
Not of me.
Of something inside himself.
“My father told me the oath would protect the crown,” he whispered.
“What if he was wrong?”
Xavier looked toward the sealed manuscript.
Then he spoke the words that changed everything.
“What if the oath was never protecting the crown at all?”
Before I could answer, the bells of the northern sanctuary began to ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The archivist went pale.
“That cannot be.”
Xavier turned toward him.
“What is it?”
The old man looked at me with undisguised fear.
“The sanctuary has been sealed for more than a century.”
The bells rang a fourth time.
“And those bells only ring when someone crosses the inner threshold.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“But nobody has gone there.”
The archivist shook his head.
“No, Lady Freya.”
His gaze dropped to the black mark on my wrist.
“Someone has opened it from the inside.”
And somewhere far beneath the northern sanctuary, something ancient had begun to wake.
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