Chapter 8 Shadows of the Past
Sleep eluded Aria that night. The moon hung high, pale and cold, casting silver light through the tall windows of her chamber, but even its glow could not soothe the fire burning beneath her skin. The bond with Kael pulsed, insistent and demanding, like molten rivers beneath fragile glass. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him: golden eyes glowing in the dark, the weight of his presence pressing against her chest, his hand lingering on her waist, setting her pulse aflame.
Yet the King was not the only shadow haunting her. The other ghosts, names from her past life, prowled the edges of her mind. Lysandra. Darius. The sound of their voices, the memory of their betrayal, pulsed like poison through her veins. She could not rest until she had confirmed the truth, until she knew the full measure of the danger they represented in this world.
So, under the cloak of midnight, Aria slipped from her chambers. Her legs trembled, but her resolve was steel. The wolf inside stirred uneasily, sensing danger, yet it said nothing as she moved silently through the dim corridors, each step light, each breath measured. Shadows clung to her like a second skin, and she welcomed them.
---
The guest wing was silent except for the soft flicker of sconces along the stone walls, their flames dancing and casting long, sinuous shadows. Aria pressed herself into the recesses of a pillar, careful to let the darkness swallow her form. From somewhere ahead, faint voices drifted on the air.
“…Did you see the way he looked at her?”
A woman’s voice, sharp, tinged with scorn. Aria froze. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She knew that tone, that cadence. Lysandra.
Her chest tightened. The voice was the same one that had once hummed drunken songs in her old world, the same that whispered false comfort when betrayal had shattered her. But now… colder, sharper, deadlier.
“She’s weak,” a man replied smoothly, carefully measured. Darius. Her former fiancé. The sound of his voice twisted in her gut like a knife. “Even if the King’s eyes linger, it won’t last. She’s fragile. Soon enough, she’ll crumble. Our path will clear.”
Aria’s nails dug into the palm of her hand. Crush her? Clear for what? Every instinct screamed danger, every fiber of her being sharpened into alertness.
---
Lysandra laughed, a cruel, musical sound that cut like glass. “The Moon Goddess must be laughing. That sickly thing, the King’s chosen? Pathetic. She’ll never survive the bond. She’s already fading. I’ve made sure of it.”
Aria’s breath hitched, barely stifled. She stumbled back slightly, knees weak. Her pulse raced as her mind calculated, connected, remembered.
She’s the one. She’s been poisoning me.
Rage coursed through her like wildfire, but she steadied her spine. Every movement, every sound had to be calculated. Not yet. Not until she had the upper hand.
“You’ve been careful?” Darius asked, voice smooth, almost indulgent. “No traces?”
“Of course,” Lysandra scoffed. “The herbs mask as medicine. No one questions it. Not even her parents. By the time suspicion stirs, she’ll be nothing but a memory.”
Aria’s vision blurred red with fury. Every fiber of her being screamed to storm the library, to tear into them, to make them pay with their lives. But then…
Darius’s voice, softer now, edged with hunger, cut through her thoughts; “And when she’s gone, the throne weakens. Alliances shift. That’s when we step in.”
Lysandra hummed, pleased. “Together.”
Together. Always together. Her ex-fiancé and her former best friend. Aligned. Against her.
Her wolf growled low, insistent, teeth bared in approval. Revenge. Sweet. Patient. Strategic. Not yet. Wait. Watch.
---
A careless step betrayed her. Her shoulder brushed against a stone pillar. The sound, though small, seemed thunderous in the stillness of the corridor.
“…Did you hear that?” Lysandra hissed, instantly alert.
Aria froze.
Footsteps creaked closer, deliberate, measured. The library door swung open slowly. Shadows stretched along the floor as Darius’s silhouette appeared in the doorway.
Aria pressed herself flat against the wall, letting the darkness consume her, her body trembling, her heartbeat pounding in her throat. The wolf inside snarled, demanding attack, but she held herself in check. Not yet. If they do not see you… the advantage is ours.
Darius’s sharp gaze swept the corridor, narrowing like a predator sizing up its prey. For a terrifying heartbeat, Aria thought he had seen her. Her stomach clenched. But then he muttered softly, almost to himself, “Just a rat.”
The door closed. Voices resumed, muffled, plotting, conspiratorial.
Aria exhaled shakily, her muscles relaxing fractionally, though the fire in her chest continued to burn.
---
She stumbled back toward her chambers, mind whirling. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as the pieces fell together.
Lysandra was poisoning her.
Darius was plotting to seize power.
And neither of them recognized her.
Good. Let them underestimate her. Let them believe she is fading, fragile, weak. Let them continue their scheming in ignorance. Every misstep they make, every whispered plan, would only tighten the noose around their ambitions.
Her wolf purred softly in her mind, approving. Revenge. Slowly. Sweetly.
Aria pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling the lingering burn of the mate bond there. Every pulse of it reminded her of Kael, of the fire that had ignited between them, of the tether she could not sever. Her chest ached with the dual weight of desire and duty, temptation and strategy.
She hadn’t asked for this second chance, hadn’t asked for Kael, hadn’t asked for her past life’s ghosts to follow her here. But perhaps the Moon Goddess had not made a mistake. Perhaps she had been given teeth not to smile, but to bite.
And bite she would.
---
She paused at her chamber door, pressing a hand to the carved wood, the cool surface grounding her as she considered her next move. Strategy had to come first. Patience. Precision. She would not rush. She had survived betrayal once; she would survive it again, stronger, wiser, faster. Every poison-laced herb, every whispered conspiracy, every careless move of her enemies would be cataloged, remembered, and used against them.
Her wolf whispered encouragement, a soft, dangerous melody in her mind: They will regret the day they thought you weak. They will learn the meaning of fear when you step out of shadow and claim it.
Aria allowed herself a smile. Not the fragile, defeated smile of the sickly princess she was supposed to be. A smile sharp, clever, and unyielding.
Kael. Lysandra. Darius. The threads of fate had intertwined, tangled, and pulled taut.
And she would be at the center of the storm, unbroken, brilliant, unstoppable.
---
Outside, the moon climbed higher, illuminating the estate in silvery clarity. The gardens stretched like a labyrinth of secrets, of shadows waiting to be turned against her enemies. Every leaf, every whispering wind, seemed to pulse with potential.
Aria’s fingers brushed the edge of her pocket, where a vial of antidote rested, a reminder of the power she already possessed. Not all of her genius had been revealed, not all of her strength had been seen. Soon, very soon, her enemies would learn the price of underestimating her.
The night was quiet, deceptively calm, but Aria’s mind roared with plotting and calculation. She would use every whisper, every secret, every betrayal as a weapon. She would strike strategically, surgically, like the healer she once was, like the genius she had always been, like the wolf she had become.
And when the time came… the kingdom would bleed.
