The years passed gently in the kingdom of Devon.Queen Death ruled with quiet strength, her heart scarred but steadfast. King Theron loved his wife and daughter fiercely, refusing to speak of the shadows that had once haunted their halls. The people said the curse was gone; they said the goddess of sorrow had turned her eyes elsewhere.But Irinrode knew better.From her earliest memories, she felt it, a whisper beneath the wind, a pulse in the roots of trees, a strange warmth in her veins when she cried. The servants called her “the golden child,” for flowers bloomed wherever her feet touched the soil. Yet sometimes, when she laughed, the candles would flicker and the lilies would weep violet tears.Her mother never let her see fear.“You are the hope of our line,” Queen Death told her, brushing back her dark curls. “The road that will lead us away from sorrow. Remember that, my Irinrode. You are light.”But Irinrode, even at five, could hear the truth trembling behind her mother’s wo

No one had ever spoken to Irinrode the way Dren did.He did not bow in terror when she entered a room.He did not flatter her beauty or tremble at her power.He laughed.Sometimes, at her sharpness.Sometimes, at her silence.And once, boldly, at her rage.“You are either courageous,” Irinrode told him coolly, “or very foolish.”Dren grinned, lounging on the palace steps with a lazy grace. “I’ve been told I’m a little of both. My father was Dendra’s son, after all. Mischief runs in my blood.”“Then you should know mischief can get you killed.”“Ah,” he said, eyes glinting gold in the sunlight, “but it can also make the coldest queen smile.”Her lips twitched before she caught herself. “You mistake me for my mother.”“No,” Dren replied softly. “I mistake you for someone who still wants to feel.”His words stung like a blade drawn too close to truth. Irinrode turned away, unwilling to let him see the sudden tremor in her hands.Days turned into weeks. Dren became a storm she could not s

The days that followed were too still.The wind refused to move through Devon’s hills, and the palace fires burned low, as though no servant touched them. The priests muttered that the gods had turned their faces away.Irinrode knew the truth: the goddess was already here.She felt it in her sleep, soft footsteps through her dreams, the scent of lilies curling around her throat. Every time Dren touched her hand, warmth flooded her chest, followed by an ache so deep it made her dizzy.One night, as the moon hid behind clouds, the ache became a voice.“Bring him to me.”She woke with a gasp, the taste of rain in her mouth. Dren sat beside her bed, eyes bright with concern.“You heard it too, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.She nodded. “She’s coming.”He rose, sliding his sword belt across his shoulder. “Then we meet her.”“No,” Irinrode said, grabbing his wrist. “You don’t understand. She isn’t a foe you can fight. She is… everything.”He smiled faintly. “Then let her see everything she’

Ten winters had come and gone since the night the lilies turned white and gold. Devon thrived, and the child called Moon grew in grace and wonder.She could summon light with her laughter and calm tempests with a whisper. The people adored her, calling her the living truce, proof that love could quiet even the oldest curse.She was much different from the other Liroids. She was calm, serene, and full of love and grace.Evilside saw a side to her own kin that she never thought she would see. She saw the girl she once was in Moon and feared that her innocence would one day be her undoing. It would be left to Moon to decide her fate.But the gods remember every promise.On Moon’s tenth spring, a stillness fell over the land. The rivers slowed, the flowers refused to open, and the stars dimmed one by one.Irinrode knew the sign. The law had only been delayed.That night, she walked with Dren into the garden where they had first met. The air shimmered with silver dust, neither night nor da

The secret could not stay silent forever.It began with whispers in the corridors: servants who claimed they saw a figure of light walking the gardens after midnight, guards who found strange footprints scorched into the frost.Queen Irinrode said nothing at first, though her heart knew. She had once hidden a forbidden love, too.Moon, unaware of how quickly secrets travel, went on meeting Ciron in the tower beyond the walls. There, the two spoke of impossible things, of redemption, of the space between earth and heaven.“You were born of both,” Ciron told her one night. “The world below and the line above. Maybe that’s why I was drawn here. Maybe we were meant to close what was broken.”“Or reopen it,” Moon said quietly.He laughed, soft and sad. “Sometimes healing and breaking are the same door.”The next morning, Irinrode summoned her daughter to the high hall.“The stars are restless,” the queen said. “The priests speak of wings seen over the mountains. Tell me the truth, Moon: wh