CHAPTER 345: SUMMONED

SAGE

The curfew made the pack feel like a caged beast.

Every night, as the bell tolled at five, the streets emptied like blood draining from a vein. Doors locked. Windows shuttered. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. And though no one said it aloud, fear had become the kingdom’s heartbeat.

It reminded me too much of my last days in the witches’ community—when I had been Dora. When the queen had released the beasts to patrol the borders, their glowing eyes slicing through fog and darkness, promising safety through terror. Back then, the people had believed those creatures could keep the monsters away.

Here, there were no magic beasts. No guardian spells etched into the walls. Just mortal werewolves, pretending their patrols would be enough against things that fed on souls.

And, as the whispers in the pack kept proving, they weren’t. Not their fault really. The vampires were terribly cunning.

There had been stories of attacks—not open ones, but quiet, clever infiltrations. "Break-ins," they called them. But vampires didn’t need to break doors. They only needed to be invited in. And they were good at earning invitations.

Worse, they could take the faces of loved ones.

The pack was learning, though. No one opened doors at night anymore. Not even for family.

I sat on the long sofa in my living room, one leg draped lazily over the other, a book open on my lap. I wasn’t reading. The words blurred and reformed into thoughts I couldn’t quite chase away.

The contest had been suspended for over a week now. A week of silence, of waiting, of pretending to live normal lives while the world outside the barriers burned.

I hated waiting, even though I had learnt the art from Freda.

My fingers drummed against the armrest, restless. I’d trained every morning, sparred with illusions in the afternoons, but the stillness between each day felt heavier, more suffocating. I wanted movement, progress, purpose. Something. Anything.

I took a sip from the cup of juice on the table—pomegranate and citrus, tart and sweet at once—and placed it back carefully. The glass clinked against the wood, echoing faintly in the quiet room.

Maybe I should tell the vampires to stop the attacks for a while. That the contest was suspended, that the kings were scared. Maybe if they did, the royals would be forced to resume it, and I could finally end this farce.

I shook my head, exhaling slowly. No. I should wait. Patience had always been my strongest weapon. Some traps only worked when time had rotted their bait.

Still, it was hard not to imagine the chaos I could unleash with a single message.

I tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling. The room smelled faintly of lavender from the incense I’d lit earlier. Outside, I could hear the muffled voices of patrolling guards, their boots scraping against cobblestones, their orders whispered in nervous tones. The scent of rain hung heavy in the air.

I almost called out for Isla, out of habit. She was good at breaking the monotony, even if half her chatter was useless. I wanted her to bring me something—maybe wine, maybe gossip. Anything that would keep my mind from sinking into the weight of my thoughts.

But then I remembered she wasn’t here.

I scoffed softly. Isla had gone on a date.

The thought amused me and annoyed me in equal measure. A date, in the middle of chaos. Typical. But I trusted her. She knew what she was doing. She wasn’t just some naive girl looking for affection—she was a spy, same as I was. We both played roles, and she played hers beautifully.

Still, I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at my lips. The triplets might have thought they were clever, arranging the whole thing to squeeze information out of her. They probably believed Isla was the weaker one.

They weren’t entirely wrong. Isla’s magic was limited, and her innocence was easy to mistake for stupidity. But she wasn’t weak. Her sweetness was an act, her clumsy laughter a disguise. I’d seen her slice through throats with a smile before, when it mattered.

I let out a quiet laugh, imagining her batting her lashes at the noble who had taken her out for the date, while secretly counting his pulse. The image was absurd enough to make me chuckle aloud.

The sound died instantly when a knock came at the door.

It wasn’t Isla’s knock. Hers was quick, light, impatient. This one was heavy—deliberate.

I frowned. "Who’s there?"

No answer. Another knock, louder this time.

Annoyance prickled under my skin. With a wave of my hand, I sent a thread of magic rippling through the door, checking for ill intent. Nothing dangerous. Just... nervous.

I opened the door halfway.

Two palace guards stood there, both looking as though they’d rather be anywhere else. Their silver armor caught the dim hallway light, reflecting faintly across my walls.

"What do you want?" I asked, crossing my arms.

One of them cleared his throat. "Lady Sage," he began, voice stiff, "you are summoned by the kings. They wish to see you immediately."

I arched a brow. "Do they, now?"

"Yes, my lady."

"I’m busy."

Both men blinked, unsure if they’d heard me right. "My lady?"

I leaned against the doorframe, letting a small smirk curve my lips. "You heard me. Tell them I’ll see them another time. Perhaps when I’m in the mood."

The shorter of the two shifted uncomfortably. "I... I don’t think that’s—"

"An option?" I cut in smoothly. "Then make it one."

They looked at each other helplessly. One scratched the back of his neck; the other stared determinedly at the floor. It would’ve been endearing if it wasn’t so pathetic.

"Tell them I’m occupied," I said, straightening. "And that next time, they should learn to knock like gentlemen, not debt collectors."

I closed the door before they could respond, the latch clicking with satisfying finality.

For a moment, I stood there, listening. The shuffling of boots, the uncertain whispering—and then retreating steps. They were gone.

"Spineless," I muttered under my breath, turning back toward the sofa. "New recruits, probably."

Or cowards. Most guards were, when faced with things beyond their understanding.

Still, I knew they’d be back. Orders from royals weren’t things easily disobeyed, even by me. This little visit meant the next phase of the plan was about to unfold. The thought sent a slow spark of anticipation through me. Finally.

I moved toward the wardrobe, pulling out a pair of jeans and a fitted black polo. Comfortable, casual, forgettable. I’d learned long ago that sometimes the simplest disguises worked best. I slipped into the clothes, the fabric soft against my skin.

Then I went to the mirror.

From the drawer, I took out my wig—long, chestnut brown—and adjusted it carefully over my hair. Then came the lenses, a shade of mossy green that brightened my face, hiding the faint traces of the woman I truly was.

I studied my reflection. "Perfect," I murmured, hoping that the guards hadn’t noticed the real color of my eyes earlier.