PROLOGUE

CENTURIES ago, the Nocturne coven committed an unforgivable sin— they helped the Original abomination. When Mikael hunted his bastard son, they shielded Klaus, and hid him from his father's wrath. For that great betrayal, Nature punished them. Their veins were emptied of power, their spells silenced, and their fire torn away. Their magic never returned.

Generation after generation was born hollow, yet the Nocturnes endured. Refusing to die, they turned to prophecy. A seer among them spoke of what was to come— when Klaus broke his curse, the Mikaelsons' blood would be strong enough to awaken what had been lost. If Nocturne blood mingled with theirs, a child would be born— a child who would reignite the Nocturne blood. This time, it would be mixed with the power of the Mikaelson's.

Indestructible.

So they went to Klaus and offered themselves, or rather, a girl.

Thus was forged the Blood Pact.

The Nocturnes pledged their loyalty forever. When his chains broke, their line would rise again, and bound to him as his coven. In return, a bride would be prepared and given to one of his brothers. Through her womb the covenant would be sealed and through her blood their magic reborn.

Before their last sparks guttered out, the coven cast one final spell— a binding upon Kol Mikaelson. Elijah, with his endless honor, would not uphold an oath born of cruelty. Klaus, with his paranoia, would never risk a child. But Kol— feral, reckless, untamed— was perfect. The spell ensured that only with him could their vessel conceive, and only through him could the prophecy live.

Vampires could not procreate, but the Nocturne coven never did follow the rules.

Adeline was that oath made flesh.

She was not raised as a daughter, but as an offering. Taught to kneel before she could walk. Taught silence before she could speak. Taught that her purpose was not to live, but to bear. Her every smile was rehearsed, every gesture polished, every breath shaped into the words whispered into her bones until they became her creed—

Be perfect. Be still. Bear well.

And when the dagger was pulled from Kol Mikaelson's chest, destiny demanded their union.

But Kol Mikaelson was centuries steeped in fury and wild enough to bite at the hand of prophecy itself. He wanted no part of a doll bride forged in chains. He raged against her fragility, against the vessel they had carved her into, but in the cracks of porcelain, he began to see something else— not silence, but spark. Not obedience, but fire.

The coven called it perfection.

Her mother called it obedience.

The Mikaelsons would come to call it family.
But prophecy has teeth, and oaths are written in blood.

Adeline was created to be the vessel.

Yet, vessels crack, and when they shatter, they spill fire.

And fire does not obey.