The Locked Wing of Shadows and Silk

Alexandra waited until dark.

She informed the maids that she had a headache. Cassian had been summoned away to check patrol rotations on the northern ridge. The estate was quiet, shrouded in darkness and wind.

She padded down the corridors with a lantern clutched in one hand and her other palm tucked protectively over the slight curve of her belly. A baby bump wasn't the best for sneaking, but she'd had lots of experience moving quietly from years of not wanting to be seen.

The central library was huge, domed, and nearly arrogantly large—emerald and gold spines and dragon leather towering above her like wise judges of old. A blazing fireplace crackled close to the reading nook. Alexandra didn't finish there.

Rather, she proceeded to the rear.

Beyond the ledgers. Beyond the histories. Beyond the geography section Cassian used to "enjoy"—a cover, she now suspected, for napping.

There, behind a tapestry of ivy and the duchy's crest, was a hallway that no map on the estate showed.

She'd discovered it by chance two weeks before, when a gust of air from the stones uncovered a seam in the back of the wall. Her fingers had pushed it. It clicked.

Now, she descended along that narrow passage. The walls were closer here. No torches. No traffic.

Just the faint smell of old wax and the excitement of having done something everyone would frown on.

At the far end of the hall was a heavy wooden door adorned with twisting carvings—roses, thorns, and what she now recognized as runes.

Burned into the door frame was a single word in smudged ink:

"Silvath."

A name? A location?

Or. a warning.

Alexandra laid her hand against the door. Nothing. She grasped the handle. Locked, naturally.

She gazed at the carved rose at the center. Then did something very, very foolish.

She whispered, "I seek the truth."

The rose glowed.

The door creaked and clicked.

It opened.

Within, moonlight flooded through stained glass. Velvet drapes dropped limp with dust. And everywhere, books—hundreds and hundreds of them—spilled across shelves, tables, even the floor.

The air was different here. Older. A little… watched.

She walked in.

Her fingers wandered over a shelf that read "Divinations and Bloodlines." Another was "Moon-Born Prophecies."

She located a leather-bound book with no title, only an embossed eye on the front. When she opened it, the pages flipped by themselves to a chapter that read:

"Twilight-Blessed Children and the Seer's Curse."

Her heart fell.

The page was filled in by hand. Notes were scribbled in the margins of some pages. And one part was repeatedly underlined, as if someone had returned to it repeatedly.

"One born under the veil of dusk may tip the balance of destiny.

They bear both curse and crown.

Often read as doom, they are actually: the hinge of terminations.

They are not created haphazardly, but summoned."

Alexandra's fingers clenched.

"In each generation, one.

If a Seer draws back, it is because they see both ends simultaneously.

Neither death nor fate can be refused—

but they can be elected."

Alexandra almost dropped the book.