Chapter 18 The Crimson Sanctuary

• The forest grew colder as we moved north, the air sharp and biting against my skin. Snow began to fall, first in scattered, delicate flakes that dusted our shoulders, then heavier, thickening into a curtain that swallowed our tracks in silence. Each crunch of ice beneath our boots sounded deafening, every snap of a twig echoing like a warning through the stillness.
• Lucien walked ahead of me, broad shoulders tense beneath his torn jacket, his every movement alert, as if expecting ambush from the shadows themselves. I followed silently, trying to steady my racing thoughts, trying to ignore the echo of my mother’s words that clung to me like smoke: “The Bloodline was born to rule.”
• Rule what? I asked myself for the hundredth time. Rule who? And why did her voice carry more warning than comfort? There was no pride, no warmth, only a weight that pressed down on my chest.