Page 90 of Blood Marked

They weren’t here to fight.

They were here tojoin.

Calder Grimhart was first.

True to his bear lineage, the heir of House Grimhart was built like a boulder: broad shoulders, arms thick with muscle, his fur-lined armor barely hiding the brute strength beneath. His eyes—clever and cold as steel—watched her with calculated curiosity.

Selene smiled. “Glad you came.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he muttered, then shook Kael’s hand like the world hadn’t just tried to end.

Next came Seraphine Drakar.

The dragon-born heir from the Scorchlands moved like fire in silk. Her copper-scaled armor shimmered beneath a long, ivory cloak that did little to conceal her presence. She was beautiful in a way that made the air around her feel thinner—golden skin kissed by the sun, ember black hair braided with tiny emberstones, and eyes that glittered like molten gold.

“Selene Morwen,” Seraphine said, bowing her head with a grace that still managed to feel sharp. “I feared we’d meet again with you in chains. Or worse.”

“Almost did,” Selene replied.

“But not quite,” Kael added, his hand still wrapped around hers.

Seraphine smirked. “Then it’s true what they say. You’ve burned the prophecy.”

Selene met her gaze. “I’m writing a new one.”

Seraphine laughed softly. “Then write in fire.”

Last came Lucien Umbraclaw.

He said nothing at first.

Just melted out of the shadows near the courtyard gate like a wraith, black leathers and dark-burnished armor cloaking his slender frame. His ink black hair was unbound, falling like moonlight across his face, and his eyes—pure silver with a faint violet ring—took in everything with unreadable calm.

Selene studied him carefully.

He watched her like a puzzle he hadn’t decided whether to solve… or destroy.

“I didn’t expect you to come,” she said softly.

“I didn’t expect to be invited,” Lucien murmured.

Kael tensed beside her, but Selene placed a hand over his.

“I didn’t send invitations,” she said to Lucien. “Only a warning.”

Lucien’s mouth twitched. “And a challenge.”

She nodded.

He gave a single, low bow. “I accept.”

And then wings.

Not literal ones. But the sweeping swirl of violet fabric that moved like flight.

The last to arrive stepped into the courtyard with an elegance that wasn’t rehearsed—it was instinctual. Light-footed, sharp-eyed, though they appeared clouded and blind, and utterly unreadable, the heir of House Sabelwing crossed the flagstones like she was gliding.

Nyssa Sabelwing.

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