The Emissary’s Demand
Valarian stepped into the dimly lit chamber, his boots echoing softly against the ancient stone floor. The air shimmered with magic, thick and humming, as if the very walls of the Unseelie court pulsed with their secret rhythm. He had been in the presence of many powerful beings before, but none quite like Lady Saphira.
Seated upon a throne of woven shadows and stardust, Lady Saphira regarded him with an expression of serene calculation. Her gown shimmered like a night sky, countless flecks of iridescent blue woven into the black fabric. Cascading waves of dark hair framed a face too perfect to be mortal, adorned with delicate swirling tattoos that pulsed faintly with ancient power. Her piercing, glowing blue eyes studied him like she could peel away his flesh and read the truths buried within his soul.
“Valarian,” she said smoothly, her voice laced with something soothing and unsettling. “I had hoped it would be Ronan himself to kneel before me.”
Valarian inclined his head but did not kneel. Instead, he allowed himself a slow, easy smile. “Ronan does not kneel. Nor does he break promises. The blood pact stands. The Unseelie court will have its protection.”
A slow smile curved her lips. “A blood pact is only as strong as the will behind it. I do not doubt Ronan’s capabilities, but I do doubt his devotion to our cause. Words are wind, and protection is fleeting. I require proof of loyalty.”
Valarian’s smile did not falter. “And what is it that you require?”
Lady Saphira leaned forward, the glow of the floating blue embers in the room casting ghostly light over her features. “A rogue Unseelie has disrupted the balance. He has betrayed our kind, consorting with the Thalrasi, selling secrets that were never his to give. His life is forfeit.”
Valarian’s brows lifted slightly, his expression as smooth as polished glass. “You want Ronan to eliminate one of your own?”
She gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Call it a test. If Ronan is truly our ally, he will remove this traitor from existence. His name is Kael. He hides within the city, growing bolder by the night. Deal with him, and the Unseelie court will honor our arrangement without question.”
Silence stretched between them, tense and thick. Valarian tilted his head slightly, studying her, before exhaling a chuckle.
“You mistake our position here, Lady Saphira,” he said, his velvet purr laced with amusement. “Ronan is not your executioner nor an Unseelie hound to be leashed. His interest is not in spilling Unseelie blood, but in preventing the Thalrasi from seizing control of everything—including your precious court.”
Her gaze sharpened, her fingers flexing against the armrest of her throne. “And you believe this rogue’s betrayal does not warrant such an action?”
Valarian stepped closer, his presence electric, confident, and entirely at ease in the lion’s den. “I believe there is something far more valuable than a dead traitor—a lesson. If Kael has been bold enough to sell secrets, then someone must have been buying. The true danger isn’t the seller—it’s the one gaining leverage over the Unseelie. If you want loyalty, expose the buyer, and you’ll control more than a single man’s fate. You’ll command the very flow of power.”
A flicker of intrigue passed through her glowing eyes.
“You would suggest an alternative?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Valarian offered a roguish smirk. “I would suggest a solution. Let Ronan uncover who benefits from Kael’s treachery. Once we know who seeks to manipulate the Unseelie, then you will not only have our loyalty, but a greater victory than blood alone can grant.”
Lady Saphira sat back, her expression unreadable, though the shadows around her throne pulsed with consideration. Then, after a beat, she inclined her head.
“Very well, Valarian. Let us see if your silver tongue is as sharp as your reputation claims. Find me the true traitor, and the Unseelie will uphold the pact.”
Valarian dipped into a slow, mocking bow. “A pleasure doing business with you, my lady.”
As he turned and strode from the chamber, he let a satisfied grin tug at his lips. He had walked into a demand for blood and left with an opportunity for control.
Ronan was going to love this.
The Silent Torture
Ronan sat in the shadows of the private lounge, whiskey untouched in his glass, his eyes fixed on one figure moving through the opulent space.
Elysia.
The dress clung to her like a second skin, sculpted to make it seem less like fabric and more like living fire. Every shimmering thread, every precise detail, had been designed by his hand, for her. And now, she was, gliding through the lounge as if she had never been gone, yet impossibly out of reach.
He had imagined this moment countless times, but nothing could have prepared him for the sharp ache it brought. She was close enough to touch, yet impossibly distant. How she carried herself and the low candlelight caught the shimmer of the gown’s embroidery—it was everything he had envisioned. And yet, it was torment.
She was speaking to a group of private casino guests, a practiced smile gracing her lips as she leaned slightly to pour another drink. If she felt his gaze on her, she didn’t show it. Perhaps she didn’t realize. Maybe she had already moved past whatever flickers of recognition haunted them both.
He hadn’t.
Every second of this was agony. His fingers flexed around the glass as he fought to cross the room, to say something—anything. But what could he say? She was wearing something he had crafted for her long before she had set foot in the Mirage? That he had designed it imagining a reunion far different than this? Every movement she made in that dress sent another crack through the walls he had so carefully built around himself?
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Dorian slid into the seat across from him, the smirk forming before he spoke. “You’re torturing yourself, you know.”
Ronan didn’t respond, but his grip on the glass tightened.
Dorian let out a low chuckle. “You could just speak to her. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to sit here brooding like some tragic specter.”
Ronan shot him a sharp glance. “And say what? That she shouldn’t be here? That seeing her like this is worse than any war I’ve ever fought?”
Dorian tilted his head, considering. “Well, that last part would be dramatic, but effective.”
Ronan exhaled through his nose, gaze returning to Elysia. “She’s safer if I keep my distance.”
Dorian hummed in amusement. “Right. Because staring at her like a man who’s already lost isn’t drawing any attention.”
Ronan said nothing. He didn’t need to. They both knew the truth.
He had lost her before.
And now, even with her standing before him, he was losing her again.
A Glimpse Through Time
As the night wore on, the VIPs trickled out, and soon, even Dorian excused himself, leaving his empty glass behind. The lounge quieted, leaving only a few lingering figures and the hum of distant music beyond the doors.
Elysia walked over to Ronan’s table to clear the glass Dorian had left behind. She kept her movements measured, steady, but she felt the weight of his gaze on her as she reached for it. The moment she turned, her arm brushed against his.
A jolt.
A sudden, electric pull sent her staggering, the glass slipping from her fingers. Ronan caught it effortlessly before hitting the ground, but Elysia barely noticed.
The world around her had shattered.
She wasn’t in the Mirage anymore.
The battlefield stretched before her, fire and shadows intertwining in a brutal dance. She saw herself—not as she was now, but as something more. The wind carried the scent of blood and burning wood, and the sky overhead was painted in streaks of moonlight and ash. Her hands were raised, and power crackled at her fingertips, an extension of something ancient, something primal.
And beside her—
Ronan.
Not in his tailored suits, not the composed, unreadable figure she had come to know in the Mirage. This Ronan was a predator in his element, his black hair wild and matted, his amber eyes glowing with a feral intensity. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling in time with the battle raging around them. Clawed hands flexed at his sides, the faint outline of his transformation barely restrained. Blood streaked his skin, not all of it his own.
He turned toward her, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “Stay with me.”
The words struck her deep, echoing through the fractures in her mind.
And then the vision collapsed, yanking her back into the present.
She gasped, her fingers trembling as she stood in the Mirage again, Ronan still gripping her wrist from where he had caught the glass. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—
They had darkened, not with anger, but with knowing.
“Elysia,” he said, his voice dangerously soft.
Her heart pounded. Her skin still burned where he had touched her.
She took a breath, trying to steady herself, trying to understand.
“I—I’m sorry, I—”
She couldn’t finish. She could only stare at him, the ghost of another life whispering between them.
And Ronan knew precisely what she had seen.
The Truth Begins
Elysia’s breath came in uneven gasps as she stared at Ronan, her mind still reeling from the vision that had overtaken her. The battlefield, the fire, the way his amber eyes had burned through the chaos—it was all too real, too visceral to be a dream.
And then there was how he looked at her now, as if he already knew what she had seen.
She swallowed hard, her fingers flexing at her sides before finally asking, “Have we met before?”
Ronan’s entire body went rigid. His expression, always so carefully composed, faltered for just a fraction of a second. His jaw tightened, his amber eyes darkening as if he were trying to suppress something—an emotion too dangerous to reveal.
But he didn’t answer.
Elysia’s pulse quickened. The silence stretched between them, suffocating in its weight. A dozen different emotions warred inside her—fear, curiosity, frustration. She took a shaky breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was steadier, firmer. “How did I know your name when I first saw you?”
Still, Ronan said nothing.
Elysia clenched her fists. “I deserve to know.”
Ronan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. He knew, then, that there was no backing out. She had seen too much, felt too much. The memories were coming back to her whether he wanted them to or not.
“Sit down,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.
Elysia hesitated but obeyed, lowering herself onto the plush seat across from him. Her heart pounded as he poured himself another drink, though he didn’t take a sip. Instead, he turned the glass in his hands, staring at the amber liquid as if it held the answers he had avoided for too long.
“What I’m about to tell you,” he said slowly, “is going to sound impossible. But you need to listen. And you need to believe me.”
Elysia nodded, barely breathing.
Ronan lifted his gaze to hers, his expression unreadable. “I am the Eclipsed One. A being bound to the cycle of life and death, reborn over and over again. Each time, I return with echoes of what came before, but the past never stays whole. It fades, slips through my fingers like sand. Some things remain—fragments, instincts, the feeling that I have done all of this before.”
Elysia frowned. “You’re… reincarnated?”
He gave a short nod. “Yes.”
Her breath hitched. “And you remember your past lives?”
“Pieces of them,” he admitted. “Some stronger than others. But the details blur over time. Sometimes, it takes something—or someone—to bring them back.”
Elysia’s pulse pounded in her ears. “Is that what’s happening to me?”
Ronan exhaled sharply but didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know.”
She could tell he was lying. But before she could press further, he continued, shifting the conversation.
“My existence as the Eclipsed One grants me more than just rebirth. My strength is tied to the moon. I heal faster than most creatures, my senses stretch farther than any mortal’s. During an eclipse, I am more powerful than even my kind can comprehend.” He leaned back, eyes assessing. “It also means I can sense things others cannot—events before they unfold, the presence of those bound to fate.”
Elysia swallowed. “Bound to fate? What does that mean?”
Ronan studied her carefully, his expression unreadable. “It means the past has a way of repeating itself.”
Elysia clenched her jaw. “And you don’t think that includes me?”
Something crossed his face for a moment—something that looked dangerously close to regret. But he didn’t confirm or deny it. Instead, he picked up his glass, swirling the liquid idly.
“You wanted answers,” he said smoothly, evading her question. “Now you have them.”
Elysia stared at him, frustration burning through her veins. He had given her just enough to keep her from pressing, but insufficient to satisfy the growing storm inside her.
“This doesn’t explain why I know you,” she whispered.
Ronan’s grip on his glass tightened, his amber eyes flickering. “Not everything has an explanation, Elysia. Some things just are.”
A tense silence stretched between them. She knew he was holding something back—something important. But he had closed that door for now, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to pry it open.
Finally, she stood. “Thank you… for telling me this.”
Ronan nodded, his gaze following her as she turned to leave. But as she reached the door, she paused, glancing over her shoulder.
“I may not remember everything,” she said softly, “but something tells me you do.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She didn’t need one.
Because deep down, she already knew the truth. Ronan wasn’t just keeping secrets.
He was protecting them.
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