h4Chapter 347: Knowledge is Key/h4

strongVincent/Vaelthor~/strong

The fire cracked and hissed, each spark snapping loose and racing upward as if it carried a secret too heavy to keep. Shadows leapt across the walls, stretching tall and restless, while Nancy’s words settled over us like smoke—thick, cloying, haunting. Even the silence seemed to bend beneath their weight, groaning in the corners of the room.

I caught the faintest flicker—Winter’s fingers twitching against herp. To anyone else, it would’ve gone unnoticed. But I knew her too well. My sister, who wove nightmares with ease, who stared down the darkest creatures of the mind without flinching, sat here unsettled... by nothing more than whispers.

I clenched my jaw and pushed it aside. Fear was a luxury we couldn’t afford. What smoldered inside me wasn’t fear—it was fire. Hunger. Revenge. And revenge left no room for shaking hands.

Atst, Winter’s voice sliced through the heavy quiet, sharp and cold as the wind atop a barren peak. "Nancy... do you know of a Vampire Lord named Sebastian Lawrence? And his mate, Cassandra?"

The question hit the air like a stone dropped into still water, rippling out until even the fire seemed to pause. Nancy froze, her cup hovering midair. For the briefest moment her gaze sharpened—eyes calcting, weighing, dissecting. And then—sheughed.

It wasn’t a gentleugh, nor a kind one. It was bold, loud, unashamed. The kind that filled every inch of the room and rattled in your bones. It was wrong here, jarring, like a jester cracking jokes at a funeral. Yet it carried something infectious, like she dared us tough with her.

"Oh, Winter," she drawled, the words dripping with amusement, her grin curling wider with every syble. "First, ’business’ with the royals wasn’t enough? And now you set your sights on Sebastian the vampire lord and his fiery Cassandra?" She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her eyes catching the light so they glittered like shards of ss. "Now they are a tale worth telling. Quite the pair, those two. But tell me, darling—" her voice dropped, yful and dangerous in equal measure, "are you gathering allies... or nning a grand little guest list for some supernatural summit?"

Winter’s eyes narrowed, and for a heartbeat the firelight caught them like shards of ice. Her patience was slipping, sharp edges showing through the cracks. She leaned forward, shoulders taut, her voice cutting across the room with a chill that made even me straighten in my chair.

"I’m not joking, Nancy. Answer me properly. This isn’t a game."

Theughter in Nancy’s throat stuttered to a stop, but the gleam in her gaze remained, stubborn and dangerous. She set her cup down with a sharp clink that echoed too loudly in the quiet. A smear of wine glistened at the corner of her mouth until she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Her grin was crooked, like a child caught with her fingers in the jar but too shameless to care. "Alright, frost queen. Don’t get your snowkes in a knot. Yes, I know them."

Her tone shifted then—lighter, yet edged with gravity. "Sebastian. The Vampire Lord. Old as the graves hemands, clever as the shadows that follow him. Centuries of blood and intrigue in his veins, and trust me—he’s tangled up in more histories than you’ve ever read. He doesn’t just live through centuries, he owns them." She gave a low, throaty chuckle, shaking her head as though savoring a private memory. "And Cassandra? Don’t let the title of ’mate’ fool you. That woman doesn’t orbit him—she burns right beside him. Fire to his cold. Teeth to his smile. She’s not the power behind the throne; she is half the throne."

Something twisted inside me, a tight knot of awe and unease. I pushed it down, but the thought lingered. Power like that didn’t just exist—it ruled.

Nancy leaned in then, her voice softening into a conspirator’s whisper, drawing us closer without even trying. "Here’s the part you’ll love—Sebastian and King Zane? They’re tied together tighter than brothers. Wolves and vampires—blood and fang. They’ve kept each other alive so long, I wonder if either of them remembers how to breathe without the other."

A spark of intrigue cut through my doubt, and I arched a brow. "So, if we get to the royals..."

Her smile curved wider, sly and sharp, a fox scenting the henhouse. "Exactly. Win Zane and Natalie’s trust, and the path to Sebastian will open like a vein. A single handshake, a single smile, and suddenly, you’re standing at their table instead of outside the gates."

Her fingers drummed the tabletop, three slow knocks that carried more menace than thunder.

"But tread carefully. Vampires taste lies before you’ve even swallowed them. And deceiving a king—" she tilted her head, lips curling into a knife’s edge of amusement, "let alone a goddess—that’s not a gamble you get to lose twice. It’s one ending only, and it won’t be the one you like."

Winter exhaled, long and slow, and for a moment I swore the air itself shivered around her. She turned her gaze on me, and in that cold blue stare I saw the battle raging inside her—the fire of vengeance wing at the walls of her heart, and behind it, the thin flicker of fear she didn’t let herself speak aloud.

And I knew then—we were already too deep to turn back.

"But how do we even reach them?" I asked, my voice low, vibrating with that uneasy mix of ambition and frustration. "They’re not like ordinary royals. They are celestial beings. Their pce walls are probably thicker than mountains, guarded by men who can smell deceit before you’ve even opened your mouth."

Nancy leaned back, a smile tugging at her lips—sharp, knowing, the kind of smile that made you feel like she was already ten steps ahead while the rest of us were still crawling. Her fingers drummed against the armrest, each tap precise, almost taunting, like a clock ticking down to a trap she’d already set.

"Sympathy, darlings," she purred, her eyes glinting. "That’s the thread you pull. Crowned wolves or not, celestial beings or not—everyone has scars. Everyone bleeds when the right string is pulled."

She leaned forward now, her tone lowering, sweet and poisonous all at once. "All you need to do is pretend you’re broken. Wolfless. Pride stripped away. Outcasts from your pack clinging to scraps. Just like Natalie once was. You think a queen forgets the sting of exile?" Her smile widened, more dangerous this time. "No. She carries it in her marrow. Tug at that memory, remind her of her own pain—and she’ll see herself in you. That’s when the gates start to open."

Her words hit like a spark in dry grass. I could almost see it—Winter and I cloaked in rags, shadows painted across our faces, stepping into the pce with a story woven out of half-truths and tragedy. Natalie leaning forward, her heart betraying her crown. Zane watching, measuring, then nodding once. The gates to their hearts opening. The drawbridge lowering.

I leaned back, excitement thrumming under my skin. Illusions, shadows, deception—those were my weapons, and Nancy was practically handing me the battlefield. Still, Winter’s nce cut across my fire. A silent warning. Her eyes, sharp as ice, whispered what her lips did not: fantasy and reality don’t mix. You’ll risk everything.

"And then?" Winter asked finally, her voice steady, butced with a quiet intensity that carried more weight than a shout.

Nancy rose, the chair creaking in her wake. Her dress swished around her ankles like restless whispers as she moved to the window. She pulled the curtain back just enough to reveal the night—an ocean of ck pierced with stubborn stars. She stood there for a moment, silhouetted, the firelight behind her drawing her shadow long and stretched.

"Then," she said slowly, her voice smoothing into something almost reverent, "it’s time for action. I’ve given you the tools—the disguises, the tales, the masks. But a mask means nothing without a stage. And that stage, my dears, is the Golden City. The heart of the Lycan Kingdom. A ce that breathes with power, with secrets hidden in every alley, every smile. You’ll slip through the veins of that city like poison through blood, unseen until you stand at their very doorstep of the pce."

The fire popped behind us, sending sparks into the silence. My pulse beat hard, tangled between fear and exhration. The thought of it—the risk, the proximity, the revenge—it was a storm in my chest. And in the middle of that storm, my mother’s face appeared unbidden, her features flickering across my mind like a ghost. Revenge’s reminder... or perhaps something dangerously more.

Winter’s eyes found mine. She didn’t need to speak. I knew that look, the way it mirrored my own turmoil: hunger for justice colliding with the shadow of doubt. Gods, vampires, Lycans—it didn’t matter. We were born of darkness. And darkness always finds a way.