That did it.
That forbidden title wasn't spoken lightly. Or often. In fact, it was practically a death sentence to let it slip past one's tongue.
Her ruby eyes didn't widen in shock—they didn't need to. There was just the faintest flicker in her gaze, a subtle, sharp pause in the rise and fall of her chest.
That tiny reaction alone betrayed how deep the ancient name cut.
Bloodmoon Lineage.
The oldest of the Thirteen.
She herself belonged to one of those founding bloodlines. So, she understood the terrifying gravity of it far better than anyone else ever could.
They were the very foundation of their kind. A lineage so ancient and fiercely potent that the mere mention of it could choke the air out of a room.
And that woman—the one whose true name was now reduced to frightened whispers and cowardly half-lies—had once worn that terrifying lineage with an unshakable, regal pride.
