In ancient times, the Urekai reigned as the most formidable beings to walk the earth. The old tongues named them terrors of the night because: Like wolves, they could shift into monstrous forms. Like blood-drinkers, they fed on crimson life. Yet they moved unseen among humans, their true nature hidden beneath civilized masks. Ageless and serene, they sought no war, though fear and suspicion followed them like shadows. They never retaliated. Their lands beyond the great mountains stood open to all who sought refuge. But five hundred years ago, on the one night the Urekai were vulnerable, they were betrayed. By humans. In the chaos of battle, Grand King Drakon lost himself to the beast within. The protector became the threat. Somehow, his people managed to cage their feral king, sealing him away where he could never break free. Yet the damage was done. Consumed by hatred, the Urekai embraced the darkness humans had always accused them of. They became the monsters they were feared to be. And they wore their cruelty with pride. HUMANS After the invasion, a plague unlike any other swept through the human lands. No one knew its origin, but whispers claimed it was divine punishment for their treachery. Men survived, though weakened. Women did not. Those who lived found themselves rare treasures—prized, hunted, sold. Daughters became currency. Some were traded to breeding houses, forced to bear children for powerful lords. Others were locked in pleasure dens, existing only for men’s amusement. Even noblewomen weren’t safe. The sight of a female—whether a babe, a maiden, or a crone—drew predators like vultures to carrion. No woman was safe in this world. Not anymore. PROLOGUE HUMAN LAND: THE KINGDOM OF NAVIA "It's a g-girl, Your Highness." Prince Theodore went utterly still. His hands, resting on his exhausted wife’s shoulders, trembled. They had planned this in secret—hidden deep in the palace’s underground chambers, where his beloved Vivienne could give birth away from prying eyes. "What did you say?" His voice was barely a whisper. Please let it be a mistake. But the palace healer’s pitying gaze told him everything. The man turned the swaddled infant slightly. "A girl." Vivienne’s face drained of color. She struggled to sit up, desperate to see for herself. "No. No, no, no—" Her voice broke as fresh tears spilled. The healer’s own eyes glistened. "I’m so sorry." Vivienne collapsed against Theodore, sobs tearing from her throat. He held her, numb. Their first daughter, Seraphina, wasn’t even four yet—and already, King Magnus was negotiating to sell her to the highest bidder. "Navia needs funds," his brother had said coldly. Now another daughter? Theodore’s throat tightened as he stared at the squirming bundle in the healer’s arms. This world would devour them both. "We’ll raise her as a boy," Vivienne declared suddenly. The healer blanched. "You can’t possibly—" "We can. And we will." Her voice was steel. "No one will ever know the truth." "The king will have us executed if he finds out!" "Then we die with the secret." Vivienne’s gaze burned with defiance. "I failed Seraphina. I won’t fail her sister." It was madness. But Theodore agreed. This was their only chance. "From this moment on," Vivienne said, stroking the baby’s cheek, "this child is a son. His name is Elara. Elara Giselle Evenstone." Elara. A name that meant "protected by the heavens." Fitting. She would need every blessing the gods could spare. "Swear it," Theodore commanded the healer and the midwife. They did. That night, Theodore and Vivienne stood over their newborn’s cradle, watching her sleep. Across the room, three-year-old Seraphina curled beneath a blanket, her breaths soft and even. "In all my years," Vivienne whispered, "I’ve never heard of a woman bearing two daughters." Her fingers brushed Elara’s tiny fist. "What does this mean for them?" Theodore squeezed her shoulder. "Perhaps they’re destined for greatness." "Or tragedy." Vivienne’s gaze flickered to Seraphina. "I’m so afraid for them." "Maybe the gods chose you for a reason." "If they did," she murmured, pressing a kiss to Elara’s brow, "then let those gods watch over my children. Because we won’t always be here to." Theodore pulled her close, hiding his own fear. Because she was right. Two daughters? In this world? It was impossible. As he watched them sleep, a prayer formed in his heart. Whoever you are—whatever god listens—protect them. Please.