Page 217 of The Moonborn's Curse

She tilted her head, all mock affection.

"...for however long you've got left."

Lilja turned to move towards the door, Steine following her.

Seren's desperate voice followed her.

"Why did you kill Highclaw Draken? You loved him."

For a moment, Lilja didn't turn. Then she slowly pivoted on her heel, that gliding, unnatural grace returning as she faced Seren full-on.

"Oh, Seren," she said, voice syrup-thick. "It was never about love."

She took a step closer, the flame from the single lamp casting shadows across her glowing skin and sharp, white smile.

"Draken... was a pawn. A beloved heir. To what was owed to me. Through my father." Her voice lowered, curling around the words like smoke. "But like all pawns, he had an expiry date. I told him, he would rue the day he betrayed me with that Astrid creature."

Seren whispered "You ambushed him. Like a coward."

"Tactics," Lilja corrected, not bothered about being called out. "You can't tip a kingdom with brute force. You tip it by breaking what holds it up. His daughter was very very useful."

She moved closer still until only the low table stood between them.

"I needed him to fall. Brutally. I needed the tribe to reel. To question. To look inward instead of outward. Chaos is fertile soil, witchling. And we're ready to harvest."

Steine's presence loomed behind her, silent and wrong.

Seren stared into the flame-lit face of the breathtaking woman who'd murdered Draken and marked her tribe like livestock.

Whatever Lilja saw in Seren's expression must have pleased her—there was a subtle shift in her posture, a cruel softness in her smile.

"Well," she said lightly, brushing her pale fingers down the edge of the cell door, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to share, now that it's all over."

Seren tried to hold an impassive expression. But her hands were shaking.

Lilja tilted her head. "As we speak, my army marches toward Vargrheim. Quiet and relentless. The wards don't extend as deep as the caves. We have had lots of fun going back and forth, watching your tribe feel safe behind the wards. We just... didn't want to risk you dying before we'd extracted what we need."

She smiled, but her eyes were endless pools promising unspeakable pain. "Don't worry. You'll still be useful. For a little while longer."

She wandered to the flickering lamp and lit another, her face now clearer in the orange glow.

"Even as a child, I knew," she said, idly inspecting her nails. "I was meant to rule. Draken? He was a soft target. Twelve years old and coming of age. One flash of my lashes, a little tilt of the head, pale skin in the moonlight—and he thought himself in love."

Her eyes glittered with amusement. "My mother dragged me away before I could finish what I started. She thought it was to protect me. How sweet."

She paced slowly, eyes never leaving Seren. "But I had my fun in her tribe. And when I came back? The handfasting was over. Astrid." She spat the name like a poison. "I hate that name."

Lilja's smile thinned into something far more vicious. "So I came here. To Starnheim. The Highclaw fell harder than Draken ever did. Pity he loved his little Lunara so much."

Then her voice dropped, low and dangerous.

"You see, Seren. My mother never knew what I was."

She raised her chin.

"I am a portal—a gateway between realms. And this," she gestured to the man beside her, "is Cadomir. Son of Mammon. A cambion."

Cadomir stepped forward, shadows clinging to him like an old blood stain. He was already tall, but now, with a soft hiss, he began to shift—no, to shed. Like peeling off skin.

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