Inside the strategy tent, Dany was rolling up old scrolls and shifting through maps when Valen entered, his posture smooth and relaxed as always. Too relaxed, Dany thought, for a man who seemed to carry so many secrets behind his sharp smile.
“You’re back,” Dany said casually, not bothering to look up.
Valen gave a soft chuckle. “Is it a crime now to walk in the woods and get lost?”
“I’m just curious where you really went.” Dany’s voice was flat but pointed.
Valen leaned closer, fingers tracing the edge of the table. “I was clearing my head. I have nothing to do with those vampires.
Dany looked up now, brows furrowed. “And the impending war? The prophecy? You have nothing to do about those too? ”
There was a pause. A long, uneasy one. Then Valen’s lips twitched, like he meant to answer and stopped himself too late.
“Prophecies have always followed my bloodline,” he murmured. “Ever since my mother—”
He cut off abruptly. His face didn’t change, but Dany saw it. The slip. The way his fingers froze mid-motion.
“Since your mother…?” Dany asked, slowly.
Valen straightened, smile returning like a mask. “I misspoke. I meant, since the prophecy began. Nothing more.”
But Dany wasn’t buying it. He nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch. Valen turned to leave with a graceful nod, but Dany’s eyes stayed on the back of his head until he was gone.
***
“Did he say her mother’s name?” Tiana repeated, pacing in front of the fire pit as Dany sat with his arms crossed.
Dany nodded. “He caught himself right after. But it was instinct, not performance. He meant to say something else. Something he wasn’t supposed to.”
Tiana frowned. Her mind spun through the memories, the stories passed down from their elders, from her mother, from Eva’s notes. The old legends. The hidden names.
“Sylvester,” she whispered. “Like Danielle’s son. The one she had after Lucien abandoned her. The one raised by Vladymyr.”
Dany’s head snapped up. “You think Valen—?”
“I think we’ve been calling him the wrong name all along,” she said darkly. “And Eva is sleeping next to the son of the vampire who started this war.”
***
The Silverstone library was dim and musty, packed with ancient scrolls and boxes sealed with wax. Eva sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through records from before the last vampire war. She was supposed to be resting, but the question Tiana had planted in her head refused to be ignored.
Who was Valen?
Who was she trusting with her heart?
Her fingers brushed against the corner of a weathered photograph tucked between two pages of war records. Curious, she pulled it out and wiped the dust away.
It was a black-and-white picture, blurry from age, but unmistakable in its haunting clarity. Danielle stood at the center, draped in ceremonial vampire robes—ones worn only by noble bloodlines. Her eyes were dark with grief, her posture proud and defiant. Beside her stood Vladymyr, tall and unreadable. And between them—barely a teenager—was a boy.
He had Valen’s eyes. Valen’s smirk. And around his neck was the same silver pendant Eva had found in his room.
Her stomach twisted.
“No…” she whispered, holding the photo closer, hoping her eyes were wrong. “This can’t be…”
But there was no denying it. The same jawline. The same eyes. The same aura of danger cloaked in charm. The boy wasn’t a mystery anymore. He was a ghost from a history Eva never wanted to believe.
Valen wasn’t just a stranger.
He wasn’t even Valen.
He was the son of Danielle. The child of Vladymyr’s house. The one whispered about in vampire tales.
Eva stumbled back from the photo, heart pounding. Her hands trembled as she pressed the image to her chest, her mind screaming.
She ran through the halls, pushing past warriors and servants who called after her. She didn’t stop until she reached Tiana, who was sharpening her dagger on the back porch.
“Tiana,” Eva gasped, breath catching in her throat. “I found something.”
Tiana looked up quickly. “What is it?”
Eva held up the photo, forcing her sister to see what she saw. “It’s her. Danielle. And him. That boy. The pendant. It’s all there.”
Tiana stared, her hand tightening around the hilt of her blade. “He lied to you.”
“No,” Eva breathed, voice cracking. “He lied to all of us.”
The weight of it hit her like a falling tree. Every conversation. Every look. Every kiss.
She remembered the way he hesitated when asked about his past. The way he danced around questions. The mark behind his ear. The pendant. The way he always knew just enough about Vladymyr’s tactics to be useful, but not enough to be suspicious—until now.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the photo, knuckles white.
“He’s not Valen,” Eva said, each word heavy with disbelief and betrayal.
“He’s Danielle’s son.”
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