Selene did not move.

  She stood at the center of the fractured marble floor, staff grounded at her side, Vaylora still rolling off of her in slow, suffocating waves. The light from the Dragon Heart shard cast long, warped shadows across the ballroom, twisting the silhouettes of demons and pillars alike. The air vibrated with restrained violence, as if the room itself were holding its breath.

  Seconds passed.

  Then more.

  Azeal did not strike.

  Neither did Lilith, nor the two demon princes flanking the throne. They remained where they were, muscles taut, power flaring and ebbing in cautious pulses. Every instinct screamed at them to act—yet none did.

  Selene tilted her head.

  Her expression shifted, curiosity giving way to faint amusement. "You were so bold earlier," she said lightly, her voice carrying effortlessly through the charged air. "But now you're so timid."

  She took a single step forward. The cracks in the marble widened.

  "Please don't tell me," she continued, "that this little display sapped your courage."

  Azeal's lips peeled back, not in a smile this time, but something tighter. His eyes never left her.

  "How?" he demanded. The word came out rougher than intended. He straightened, forcing his presence outward, refusing to be dwarfed by hers. "You are not as powerful as Morgan was when she slew the three. But still..."

  His gaze sharpened. "How is it that you—a child—hold this much power?"

  Selene's smile widened.

  "Forgive my inadequacies," she said sweetly. "This is my first time properly drawing on the power of the coven."

  The way she said it—casual, almost flippant—sent a visible ripple of unease through the demons. Even Lilith's confidence faltered for half a breath.

  "You're not part of any coven," Lilith snapped, stepping forward despite herself. Her brow furrowed. "The Accords...all of this. Isn't it just some crude attempt to recreate the first coven?"

  Selene's eyes flicked to her, sharp and assessing. "I see. Information gathering is your role, then?"

  Her gaze shifted, landing squarely on Azeal. "Which means you can't leave this place. Not freely, anyway."

  All four demons reacted at once.

  Their eyes narrowed. Vaylora spiked.

  Selene chuckled softly, satisfied. "A witch," she continued calmly, "can be part of as many covens as she has a true connection with—and can survive."

  She lifted her staff slightly, the Dragon Heart pulsing brighter. "I am creating my own coven. But I am currently part of the LeFaye coven."

  Lilith stared at her in disbelief.

  "The LeFaye coven?" she shouted. Rage tore through her composure. "That's nonsense. I've never heard of such a thing. Ever."

  Her power flared violently.

  In the same breath, demonic wings tore free from her back in a burst of shadow and heat. Lilith lunged, closing the distance in a blur, claws arcing toward Selene in a vicious, killing strike.

  The staff met her.

  There was no clash—no ringing impact.

  The force behind Lilith's attack rebounded instantly, magnified and distorted, snapping back into her like a coiled spring released. She screamed as her body was hurled backward, slamming into Azeal's chest.

  He caught her reflexively, boots sliding across the floor as he absorbed the momentum. Lilith's body hit his arms limp and broken, the front of her torso crushed and torn, flesh reduced to ruin.

  Azeal set her down carefully.

  Before anyone could speak, Lilith's body began to knit itself back together. Muscle reformed, bone snapped into place, skin smoothed over mangled tissue. Within seconds, she was whole again—breathing steady, eyes blazing with fury.

  Selene giggled.

  It was a light, breathy sound—utterly wrong in the moment.

  Azeal cleared his throat, forcing his voice steady. "Explain."

  Before Selene could answer, Darius muttered sharply from behind her. "What is she doing? She needs to stop talking and finish this."

  Lucen didn't look away from Selene. "You don't get it," he said quietly. "That's a tremendous amount of power she's channeling."

  Cassian nodded, his jaw tight. "One wrong step, and she could tear herself apart."

  "The longer she speaks," Cassian continued, "the more time she gives herself to bring it under control. So stop talking—and let her work."

  Myrren hugged her arms to herself, staring at Selene with wide eyes. "She wouldn't need to do this if we weren't here," she said softly. "Especially me."

  Selene raised a finger, as if lecturing a classroom.

  "Circles," she said, voice steady despite the strain visible in the tightness of her posture, "or covens, are bound by concepts."

  She shifted her grip on the staff, hiding the faint tremor in her hand. "Those concepts are infinite in scope. But three stand above the rest."

  Her eyes gleamed. "The first is purpose. Duty."

  The Vaylora around her surged, then steadied.

  "The second," she continued, "is the rarest—and most powerful bond of all."

  She paused, letting the weight of the word settle.

  "Destiny."

  Azeal stiffened.

  "An elevated form of purpose," Selene went on. "A group bound not just by choice, but by fate itself."

  She drew in a slow breath.

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  "And the last," she said, her gaze locking onto Lilith and the demon princes, "and the one most relevant to our situation…"

  Her smile returned—sharp and knowing.

  "Blood. Family."

  Azeal scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive.

  "Family?" he said, spreading his hands. "There are only three LeFayes. One is not present, one stands before me, and the last is a corpse."

  His smile turned cruel. "How do you form a circle with two witches and a dead man?"

  The venom in his words was deliberate, honed to cut deep—to provoke, to unbalance.

  Selene's smile only widened.

  "Who says there are only three of us?"

  The room seemed to freeze.

  Everyone present felt the same jolt of disbelief ripple through them. None of them had ever heard a whisper of another LeFaye. The name itself carried weight—Morgan, Selene, and Iwein LeFaye. That was the entirety of the legendary clan.

  Selene chuckled softly.

  "My grandmother has lived for thousands of years," she said. "And she has had dozens of lovers."

  Her eyes glinted. "And twice as many children."

  The color drained from more than one face.

  "My father," Selene continued, unbothered by the shock she'd unleashed, "was simply the most powerful of them."

  Silence followed—heavy, oppressive.

  It made sense. Too much sense.

  Morgan LeFaye's reputation as a seductress was not a myth but an understatement. Stories whispered of her entanglements across empires and eras, of men and women who burned brightly beside her and vanished just as suddenly.

  "Most of them died of old age," Selene said, her tone almost fond. "They had no desire to draw on their abilities. No wish to be hunted. So they lived and died as humans."

  She took a step forward. "Others embraced their gifts. They were hunted and killed."

  Her gaze hardened. "A few live freely still—hidden in corners of the world that have yet to be touched."

  Selene lifted her chin. "My grandmother chose six of her most powerful offspring… and forged the LeFaye coven."

  "Six?" Lilith frowned. "What kind of coven has seven witches?"

  "Only the kind that works properly," Selene replied, scoffing.

  She raised her staff slightly, using it not as a weapon but as a guide, as if diagramming an invisible structure in the air.

  "First is the Sky Point," she said. "The leader. The one who oversees, watches, and shields—they cover us all."

  The violent flare of Vaylora that had filled the room moments before began to compress, folding inward like a storm drawing itself into a single, distant horizon. The oppressive pressure eased—subtly, but unmistakably.

  Azeal's shoulders loosened by a fraction; what he feared most in this situation seemed to have passed.

  "Next is the Earth Point," Selene continued. "The cradle. The anchor. They nourish and protect the coven."

  Her voice remained steady now, controlled. The strain that had once been evident in her stance softened, replaced by something colder—something deliberate.

  "The Fire Point," she said, "is our passion. Our love. Our guiding light."

  She shifted her weight, eyes never leaving the demons before her.

  "The Water Point is our moral compass. Our judge and jury."

  The air settled further, no longer screaming with excess power. Instead, it thrummed—quiet, deep, contained. The kind of magic that did not announce itself, but demanded respect from those who could sense it.

  "Then there is the Center Point," Selene said. "Twins. One male, one female."

  She lowered her voice slightly.

  "They give us balance. They steady our power."

  Her gaze flicked briefly to the Dragon Heart shard at the crown of her staff.

  "And when possible," she added, "a coven is bound with an ancient artifact. Something capable of channeling and holding our collective strength."

  Her eyes hardened.

  "For us… that artifact is the three Demon Lord Hearts."

  Disgust rippled through the four Demons. Their expressions twisted. They had always assumed the hearts existed solely to empower the Hallows—to fuel the structure that bound this place together.

  To learn, they also sustained a hidden coven of witches…

  It was intolerable.

  "You missed a point," Azeal said slowly, frowning. Despite himself, he needed to learn everything he could about witches and their covens. If only to pass this knowledge to those who would come after.

  Selene smiled.

  "Ah. Yes."

  She lifted her head, eyes alight.

  "The Lightning Point."

  Azeal's attention sharpened.

  "It is our rage," Selene said. "Our vengeance."

  Her smile turned razor-thin. "If the Water Point is the judge and jury…"

  She tapped the base of her staff against the floor once. The sound echoed unnaturally.

  "Then the Lightning Point is the executioner."

  She met Azeal's gaze directly. "And unfortunately for you… I've never even met my aunt. So it will fall on me to act as your judge, jury, and executioner this evening."

  Azeal's eyes narrowed.

  Selene laughed.

  Not wildly this time—but softly. Completely in control.

  The last remnants of her overflowing Vaylora vanished from sight, sinking beneath her skin like a blade sliding back into its sheath. The pressure did not disappear.

  It condensed.

  Those who truly understood magic felt it immediately—and recoiled in horror.

  "Allow me," Selene said calmly, "to properly introduce myself."

  She straightened, power coiled tight and ready.

  "Crown Princess Selene Altheyron LeFaye," she declared.

  "Lightning Point of the LeFaye Coven."

  The air trembled.

  Azeal drew a slow, measured breath.

  "So," he said, "you're finally ready."

  His gaze shifted briefly—to Lilith.

  "Very well."

  He stepped forward, eyes locked on Selene.

  "Leave her to me," he commanded.

  "You three…"

  His smile returned, sharp and merciless.

  "Kill the others."

  Lilith moved first. She did not hesitate, did not posture. One moment, she stood beside Azeal's throne, the next she was a streak of violent motion cutting across the ballroom, wings snapping open as she drove straight toward Darius.

  She had chosen her target well.

  Of everyone in the room, he was the one Selene was most aware of. The one whose presence anchored her temper. Lilith understood bonds. She understood leverage.

  If Darius died, Selene would fracture, and the group would crumble.

  Her claws swept forward in a killing arc, but met steel.

  Cassian stepped into her path, Serenity flashing into existence between them. The blade caught her strike cleanly, the impact sending a shock through the air but driving Cassian back no farther than a single sliding step.

  "I'll be your opponent," Cassian said calmly, his lips curving into an easy smile. "Lady demoness."

  Lilith's eyes widened.

  She pressed forward, pouring power into her strike, expecting the human prince to buckle. He didn't. Serenity hummed, its pale light steady, unyielding. Cassian held her in place, posture relaxed, wrist firm.

  For the first time since the fight began, Lilith frowned.

  "You look softer than your siblings," she said, voice sharp with irritation, "but I suppose you're not the Crown Prince for nothing."

  Cassian's smile didn't fade.

  Lilith's gaze flicked past him, toward the others. "But are you sure you can leave those three alone?" she added. "Those two may not be as powerful as me, but—"

  "No need to worry about them," Cassian interrupted smoothly. "If they couldn't handle themselves…"

  His eyes never left hers.

  "Selene would've told them to stay back."

  Thunder cracked through the chamber. Lilith's head snapped to the side.

  Lucen hovered in the air, suspended by arcs of golden lightning that wrapped around his body like living armor. One of the demon brothers stood below him, clutching his arm as electricity crawled across his fingers, forcing the demon to one knee with a snarl of pain and fury.

  Metal rang out nearby.

  The second brother was locked in a brutal melee with Darius. Blades flashed. Power collided. Where panic should have been etched into the human's face, there was only calm, measured, lethal focus. He moved with precision, every strike deliberate, every parry exact.

  Lilith stared.

  "How…" she hissed. "He's not even dragon-born."

  Cassian watched Darius for a moment too long, jaw tightening.

  "No," he said at last. "But there's a dragon in there somewhere."

  His smile was sharp, almost resentful.

  "Unfortunately for everyone," he muttered, "he's starting to realize it."