The morning sun hadn’t yet reached the highest tips of the Valeblood walls when Lucien’s mother arrived, her cloak flowing behind her like a shadow stitched from moonlight. Her expression was stern, but there was exhaustion behind her eyes—she had traveled swiftly, summoned by a storm she had hoped would never come.

Lucien was waiting at the entrance, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Damon stood beside him, arms bandaged from battle but standing tall, a quiet storm in his gaze.

They barely spoke as she entered. She knew where they needed to go.

The three of them made their way to Lucien’s study, the heavy oak door shutting behind them with...