Chapter 16
1190 Words
The king’s private study was located at the end of a corridor I hadn’t visited before.
It was smaller than I expected, with dark wooden shelves, a massive desk, and windows overlooking the forest. A fire burned in the stone fireplace, casting moving shadows across the walls.
Xavier placed the letter inside a glass container and summoned the royal archivist.
The elderly man arrived within minutes, carrying a leather case.
When he saw the envelope, his expression changed.
“Where did you find this?”
“In my bedroom,” I answered.
He looked at Xavier.
“That is impossible.”
“I am beginning to dislike that word,” I muttered.
Neither man smiled.
The archivist opened his case and removed a small silver instrument shaped like a compass. He held it above the envelope.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the needle spun violently.
A thin black line appeared across its silver surface.
The archivist immediately pulled the instrument away.
“Your Majesty, this paper has been marked with shadow magic.”
Xavier’s expression hardened.
“Explain.”
“Shadow magic can conceal the identity of the person who created an object or spell. It can also leave a false magical signature to mislead anyone attempting to trace it.”
I looked at the letter.
“So we can’t find out who sent it?”
“Not through ordinary means.”
“Can you determine whether the threat is real?”
The archivist studied the writing.
“The threat itself may be genuine. The sender’s identity is what has been concealed.”
My stomach tightened.
“So someone really wants me dead.”
“It is possible,” he replied carefully. “But there is another possibility. The sender may want you to believe that you are in immediate danger, forcing you to act before you understand your abilities.”
“Why would anyone want that?”
“Because frightened people make mistakes.”
I thought of the silver light erupting from my body in the reception hall.
Of the wolves falling to their knees.
Of how easily my fear had taken control of my magic.
He was right.
Someone could use my own power against me.
Xavier turned toward the archivist.
“Can the shadow magic be traced to a territory?”
“Not yet. But I recognize the technique.”
The room went still.
“From where?” Xavier asked.
The archivist hesitated.
“From the records of the Obsidian Order.”
Xavier’s expression changed so abruptly that I noticed it even before he spoke.
“Are you certain?”
“I have seen the same mark in two surviving documents. The Order was believed to have disappeared more than a century ago.”
“What was it?” I asked.
The archivist looked at me.
“An organization that believed supernatural power should belong only to those strong enough to control it. They opposed the First Luna’s teachings because she believed power created responsibility, not ownership.”
“And they wanted her gone?”
“According to some accounts, yes. But the records contradict one another. We do not know whether they caused her disappearance or merely took advantage of it.”
Xavier’s hands tightened against the edge of his desk.
“If the Order still exists, they have been hiding for generations.”
“Or someone has inherited their methods,” the archivist said. “We should not assume the organization itself survived.”
I stared at the letter.
The black crescent split by a blade suddenly seemed less like a random symbol and more like a warning from a forgotten war.
“Why would they come after me now?”
“Because your power has awakened,” Xavier answered. “And someone noticed.”
“Dorian?”
“Possibly. But I doubt he is the only person who could have recognized your bloodline.”
My chest tightened at the mention of his name.
Dorian had known something.
Perhaps not everything, but enough to make his rejection feel different in hindsight.
Had he rejected me because he believed I was weak?
Or because someone had convinced him that choosing me would threaten his position?
I shook my head.
No.
I wouldn’t turn his cruelty into an excuse simply because I now knew I was powerful.
He had made his choice.
And I had made mine.
“Can the archives beneath the northern sanctuary tell us more?” I asked.
The archivist nodded slowly.
“If the surviving records are authentic, they may contain the original account of the oath between the First Luna and the Lycan guardians.”
I glanced at Xavier.
“Your family.”
“My ancestors,” he corrected. “Whatever they swore, I have not yet discovered the terms.”
“Then we should go there.”
“Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because someone has entered your room without being detected, delivered a magically concealed threat, and may be watching to see how we respond. Walking into a sealed sanctuary in the middle of the night would be reckless.”
I folded my arms.
“You really enjoy telling me what I can’t do.”
“And you seem determined to do everything I advise against.”
“Perhaps you should give better advice.”
The archivist suddenly became very interested in packing his instruments away.
Xavier stared at me.
Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth lifted.
It was brief, almost imperceptible.
But it was real.
And it made my heart do something profoundly inconvenient.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We investigate the sanctuary tomorrow.”
I nodded.
“Tomorrow.”
The archivist bowed and left the study, taking the instrument with him. Xavier remained by the desk, looking down at the letter.
I watched him for a moment.
“Are you afraid?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
“Of the Obsidian Order?”
“Of whatever happens when we discover the truth.”
He was silent for so long that I thought he wouldn’t answer.
Finally, he looked at me.
“I am afraid of what people will do to you when they realize what you can become.”
Something in my chest tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I have seen what powerful people do when they believe someone else’s existence threatens their control.”
He looked toward the dark forest beyond the window.
“And because the last time an ancient oath was broken, entire territories burned.”
I had no answer to that.
For the first time, I understood that Xavier’s coldness might not come from arrogance alone. Perhaps it came from years of carrying a kingdom that could fall apart if he made the wrong decision.
Still, I didn’t want him deciding everything for me.
“Then don’t make decisions about my future without asking me,” I said.
He turned back.
“I won’t.”
“You promise?”
“I give you my word.”
The words should have been simple.
Instead, they seemed to settle between us with a weight neither of us fully understood.
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