V

  Except for my cloak billowing and fluttering in the wind, I was completely still. No one noticed me climbing over the palace garden wall and entering; thanks to the storm's roar, no one heard the sounds I made as I climbed the dome-style glass ceiling of the great hall. I pulled my black mask up over my nose. From this distance, I could only see the nobles seated in the front and the empty thrones where the Elven King's three children would sit.

  I pulled up my hood. Against the ceiling of the hall- filled with golden ornaments and marble columns- I must have looked like a black, ominous spider lurking in the corner.

  An uneasy anticipation stirred within me. I had never truly seen them before; I knew the Elven King’s children only through the gossip that drifted through Varrendale and the capital. Still, the knowledge that they were somewhere nearby, waiting for the auction to begin, made my stomach churn.

  I was impatient—but for what? To prove myself, or simply to slip past the threat of Calithra as quickly as possible? Perhaps… to discover that the Elven King’s sons were not as repulsive as I had imagined them to be.

  At least, that was my hope. Otherwise, I could not bear the unease inside me growing any stronger.

  A resigned smile I despised crept onto my lips before I could stop it. Who was I trying to fool? Even if they bore the faces of angels, they would always be a source of hatred in my eyes.

  Another flash of lightning struck. As its light flooded the hall, three figures appeared at the center of the podium. My breath caught in my throat, and all I could do was swallow my emotions and force myself to study them.

  The cursed sons and daughter of the Elven King...

  In the middle stood Prince Tharen, the King's firstborn son and heir to the throne, carrying the purest noble blood in his veins. His golden crown, which looked as if it had been forged from sunlight, blended perfectly with his chestnut hair cascading over his shoulders, dazzling the eyes. With his bronze skin, the red mantle draped over his shoulders, his sword engraved with a phoenix, and the immense composure radiating from his presence, he was exactly as rumored—no, even more breathtaking.

  To Prince Tharen's right stood Prince Vaelis, who was as different from his brother as night and day. Even from this distance, the sight of Prince Vaelis—with his icy blue crown, silvery long hair, moonlike luminous face, and navy blue cloak draped over his broad shoulders—sent a chill down my spine. My eyes were drawn to the sword attached to his silver-studded belt. It was silent, cold, and threatening, as if it were an extension of Vaelis himself.

  On the left was Princess Eirlys. She was petite, very delicate, and seemed vulnerable. Her long, wavy blonde hair was adorned with jeweled braids that framed her face, which looked as fresh as springtime. A small diamond tiara was perched atop her head, and her water-green dress featured the same diamond embroidery.

  I stopped when my vision began to blur beneath the weight of the emotions I was struggling to contain. The moment I did, everything that had been building inside me erupted like a volcano. My heart grew heavy, my hands trembled, and my fangs sharpened so rapidly that a throbbing ache spread through my skull.

  Ruthlessness—no matter how it was draped in silk, diamonds, and nobility—still looked hostile. Everyone here was Varrendale’s worst enemy.

  Still, I reminded myself that I had no choice but to remain calm.

  Prince Tharen raised his hand, and with a single flick of his wrist, the torches surrounding the hall burst into flame one by one.

  “Welcome, esteemed nobles,” the prince's voice was hoarse, but his words were easily understood. “We greet you all warmly.”

  And so the auction officially began.

  The first item presented at the auction was an enchanted lyre. Its body appeared to be carved from a dark, ancient tree, pale golden veins threading across its polished surface as though they had sprung not from sap, but from magic itself. The lyre’s two curved arms rose upward like graceful wings, and the small moonstone inlays at their tips glimmered faintly in the dim light. For a moment, I caught myself wondering what sound its strings might produce when touched—perhaps a gentle melody capable of stirring long-buried memories.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  I shook the thought away and pulled out my notebook. I had no intention of being captivated by the wares.

  The auction master had barely finished draping the item in his usual pompous praise when hands were already rising into the air. The bidding began at half a bottle of blood and quickly climbed, the lyre ultimately sold for two.

  Count Gloran.

  The moment I heard his name, the unease inside me sharpened into something colder. Damn it… This man was undoubtedly one of the most loathsome elves alive. A wandering aristocrat and the owner of a traveling circus, he was infamous for his morbid fascination with half-bloods. I remembered the empty stares in the eyes of the half-blood performers in that circus—how even their smiles seemed tugged into place by invisible strings.

  They preferred that life to living in Varrendale.

  For a moment, I found myself imagining the count collapsing dead right here, in front of everyone.

  And I had to admit—the thought was far more satisfying than it should have been.

  I swallowed and jotted down everything I knew about the count. He was a courtier—and a distant nephew of the King.

  I watched Count Gloran claim the lyre. The way his shadow danced along the walls, the way his cape slipped from his outstretched arms, and the crooked smile I imagined spreading across his face…

  Something tightened within me, yet the auction pressed on without pause.

  I won't lie, I was amazed that all these items were so captivating that they didn't look out of place even in such a lavish hall. Crowns, moon-silk capes, enchanted spheres, and ceremonial staffs… As each item was presented, it sparked a competitive buzz among the nobles, and I listened intently, jotting down everything I knew about the items and their owners:

  Lady Briar, owner of the sapphire diadem. She is the owner of a mansion in the north.

  Seer Ilaron, made a persistent bid for the ancient parchments. He lives in a tower on the edge of Gloomwood.

  Princess Eirlys, though she seemed quite eager at the start of the auction, only bid on the moonlight flowers. Is this really worth stealing?

  My eyes drifted toward Prince Tharen and Prince Vaelis. They had been silent since the auction began. Yet if they wished, they could have owned everything here.

  The tightness in my chest deepened, a harbinger of the anger about to erupt. The seed of that rage had been planted by my grandmother, and it had grown within me ever since, branching wider each time I thought of the power flowing through their veins while hundreds of half-bloods were condemned to misery in Varrendale.

  “We're almost at the end, esteemed nobles,” the auctioneer raised his voice to capture the attention of the crowd, now sated with spectacle. When the item was brought into the hall under cover, Prince Vaelis sat up so straight that the entire room fell silent. Soaked to the bone from the rain, I leaned toward the window—was he going to make a bid?

  Before the auctioneer grasped the cloth, he locked eyes with Prince Vaelis for a brief moment. “The silver-serpent whip!”

  Like a heart attack, the shock hit me and I froze stiff. My eyes flew wide open.

  My whip.

  For a moment, the world around me dissolved into a dull, distant hum. My logic slipped away from me as if it had never belonged there in the first place. The whip was mine. It had been forged for me, tempered in fire and blood, shaped for the rhythm of my hand. Losing it had felt like losing a piece of myself.

  And now it was there.

  Before reason could catch up with me, my body had already moved.

  I leaped to break through the glass ceiling and get inside. I couldn't think clearly, acting purely on instinct. The wind roared in my ears, my whole body braced for impact, but an abrupt explosion inside shattered the glass into dust before I could even land on it. Suddenly, the heat from the flames raging beneath me licked my face. I screamed. As I crossed my arms over my face to shield myself from the shards of glass flying towards me, I began to fall headlong into the flames at full speed.

  It took less than a second for me to find myself amidst screams and flames. The force of the fall coursed through my body, as if my insides had emptied for a moment. For a few heartbeats, there was only the pain of broken bones and dizziness.

  I clenched my fists; I wouldn't stay on the ground. Damn it, I'd let my guard down.

  When I managed to stand up, the whole room was spinning around me. I thought I could make out the silhouettes of Calithra, Cain, and Droven, but something was wrong: no one was making any attempt to loot.

  I had no time to think; I had to get out of there as soon as possible.

  One of the royal guards, clad in hollow armor, lunged at me. I dodged to the left, evading him, and swiftly drew my dagger. Judging by the sudden roar that had died down, the nobles must have already been evacuated. I was sure of nothing; the only thing my eyes could see was the red of the flames. Another pile of armor attacking me was shattered into pieces with a single blow from my elbow. What I had to do now was maintain my composure and...

  With my whip lying there on the ground in front of me, this was impossible.

  I ran forward through the flames that grew fiercer with every passing moment and reached out to grab one of the silver serpents. But the flames in front of me suddenly intensified. I screamed at the unbearable heat hitting my face. Before surrendering to this scorching power and closing my eyes, I could see my whip melting in the flames.

  At first, I thought it was an illusion. This was impossible; no enchanted object could be destroyed by ordinary flames. Calithra... These flames must be her power.

  “No!” I screamed as my precious possession turned into a pile of black ash.

  I sensed a movement behind me, but I couldn't react quickly enough. Before I could even turn around, a hard blow to my temple plunged the entire world into darkness.