the rejected mate: special awakening

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The feast was over. The guests had either retired to their rooms or were still lounging in the velvet-draped lounges with goblets of enchanted wine and gossip-laced giggles.

Felice? Felice was doing that thing where she stared at the ceiling and tried not to spiral into full panic mode.

"Moonveil," she muttered. "Seriously. I sound like a fairy tale character with a tragic backstory and a cursed crystal."

"You do have a tragic backstory," Liora piped up from her bed, currently wrapped in five different fluffy blankets like a sparkly burrito.

Felice tossed a pillow at her. "Thanks, that helps."

She turned to her own bed—only to stop cold.

There, resting right on her silk pillow, was a folded note. No seal. No signature. Just simple parchment and ominous vibes.

Felice unfolded it with careful fingers.

> "They lied to you. Moonveil doesn't exist. And someone in this castle already knows who you really are."

She stared at the words. Her blood went cold.

Then—

Knock. Knock.

Felice yelped and spun around, stuffing the note under her pillow as Liora jumped off her bed in surprise, nearly tripping on her own blanket cocoon.

"Relax," said a deep, bored voice.

Lysander stood in the doorway, looking like he hadn't bothered to sleep in a year and couldn't care less about it.

"Can't a guy check on his sister and her very suspicious best friend after a fireball incident?"

Felice gave him a look. "Do you always sneak into girls' rooms at night or is this a hobby?"

"Only when one of them almost sets the palace on fire," he deadpanned. "And when the other thinks she can lie better than she actually can."

Liora scowled. "She's getting better!"

Felice narrowed her eyes. "Did you leave this?" She casually leaned against her pillow like it didn't have a threatening note under it.

Lysander frowned. "Leave what?"

"Nothing."

He stepped closer, all slow and observant. "You look nervous."

"I'm always nervous. It's called personality."

Liora flopped back onto the bed. "If this turns into a romantic brooding moment, I'm going to fake-snore so loud."

Felice rolled her eyes. "Good night, Lysander."

He raised his hands in mock surrender and backed out. "Fine. Sleep tight, don't get assassinated."

Once the door clicked shut, Felice yanked the note out again.

Someone knew.

Someone was watching.

And she needed to find out who—before they found her first.

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