The cold iron restraints against Aria Vale's wrists bit into her skin, but she did not flinch. The scentless Omega stood barefoot on the weathered stone altar in the center of the High Court, her eyes lifted to the crimson moon suspended above them like an unblinking judge. Her matted silver hair, spotted with ash and soot, cascaded down her back like a shroud to a burial.
The courtyard was quiet. Nobles, fighters, and shifters of every rank filled the stands to witness, their murmurs dying off the moment the Alpha Prince himself stepped forth.
Prince Kael Thorne. Heir to the Shadowfang Dominion. The one she had believed to be her fated mate.
He wore formal black armor, from head to toe black like obsidian in the moonlight. His golden eyes unreadable, but his lip line was hard—cold.
"I, Prince Kael Thorne, deny the mate bond with Aria Vale," he declared, his voice thundering through the court. "On charges of treason, deceit, and blood magic."
A joint gasp went through the crowd. Aria's chest tightened.
Treason. Deceit. Blood magic.
Lies.
Aria's voice had been taken from her the moment they tightened the magical muzzle around her head. Her words meant nothing anymore. No one heard her. Not even Kael.
Especially not Kael.
He had kissed her just two nights ago, spoken of feeling the bond—that the fact that she was scentless meant nothing. She had believed him. Opened up her heart. And now, here she was, accused of seducing him with forbidden magic.
She was not even given the chance to speak on her own behalf.
The High Priestess strode forward, scarlet robes flowing like blood on the wind. "The accused is found guilty of violation of the sanctity of the Alpha Bond. The sentence for blood magic and attempted deceit of Luna is death by fire."
Torchlight flared about the altar.
Aria's eyes closed. Deep in her breast, something stirred. Not fear. Not grief.
Something ancient. Feral. Waiting.
Two guards grasped her arms and shoved her to her knees. Chains wrapped around her ankles, then bolted to the rock.
The High Priestess lifted her staff. "Let the fire of the Moon be the judge of her."
The torchbearer stepped forward. He hesitated—for a moment, his gaze met hers. Then he dropped the torch to the pile of holy pyrewood beneath her.
Blaze flared.
The crowd stood in quiet wonder as the flame licked upward, devouring the altar.
But Aria did not cry out.
...
The flame should have burned her flesh. Should have blinded, shattered her.
But it was.familiar.
The fire wrapped around her like a shroud, gold and blue, whispering words she'd never heard but suddenly understood.
Child of flame. Daughter of the Moon. Lost, but never forgotten.
Aria took a deep breath. Her eyes flew open.
The flames were not consuming her.
It was waking her.
Chains melted into liquid fire. The muzzle shattered and struck the ground. Her flesh glowed with a strange light as if pulsing radiance was hidden just beneath the surface.
Above, the blood moon pulsed once—then again—turbulating the waves of magic in the air.
Gasps echoed from the crowd. Some screamed. Others fell to their knees.
Kael stumbled forward. "What—?"
Aria slowly stood, unharmed, the flames burning in her silver hair and nipping at her fingertips like obedient slaves.
Her voice returned, powerful and couched in authority.
"You made a mistake," she declared, her voice resonating below her feet.
Kael's eyes grew wide. "Aria—"
She gave him a glance, no longerpliant, no longer begging. Her voice was holy, ancient.
"I was never your Omega. I am the heir of the Moon."
The High Priestess shrieked, "Take her!"
Guards rushed—but the flames blazed between them and her, barring them back.
Aria raised her hand. The pyre burst heavenward, a column of light and fire shooting toward the sky. The blood moon splintered with a thunderous crash, its surface cleaved by a shattered crack.
A voice thundered from the heavens:
She is come. The Oracle arises.
Panic erupted in the courtyard. Wolves turned back and took flight. Elders shielded their eyes.
Kael stared at her in wonder.
But Aria did not look back.
She wheeled about—and vanished in the flames.
...
Hours earlier, while being held in chains, Aria's thoughts had seethed beneath the imposed silence. Her heart had wept—not for mercy, but for truth. Why did he lie to me? Why now, when I at last dared to believe in fate?
She remembered the warmth of Kael's lips on her forehead, the calloused hand that once held hers so gently. The longing in his eyes when he said he wished he could scent her, feel her. The bond had been real. She knew it. So why had he abandoned her?
Because I'm different, she thought. Because they fear what they cannot control.
But as the fire stirred the power that lay deep within her bones, something more lucid emerged with it: They will never control me again.
...
Deep in the Ashen Wastes, far beyond the capital, Aria awoke in the remains of a long-abandoned temple.
Her arms trembled, but her heart remained unbroken. Power thrummed under her skin, a second pulse. She looked about at broken stone pillars and moon signs that glowed from within the earth.
A hooded figure knelt beside her, silver-glowing eyes beneath her veil.
"Welcome back, Moonborn," the woman said. "You have much to learn—and little time."
Aria painfully sat up, flames curling off her fingers.
She wasn't dead.
She was reborn.
And the world would get ignited for what it did to her.