02/11/2026
Chapter One – The Black Diamond Moon
The gentle clink of knitting needles echoed in the quiet chamber; each sound swallowed almost instantly by the heavy velvet drapes lining the walls. Naomi sat curled in the corner of her sewing room, the high-backed chair embracing her like a trusted friend. Around her, skeins of yarn lay in neat baskets. Wool in deep forest greens, silvery blues, and soft cream, all smelling faintly of cedarwood and lavender sachets tucked in the corners to keep moths at bay.
In her lap rested a half-finished pair of booties. The yarn was dyed the color of moonlight on water, a gift from the weavers of her homeland before she left to marry the king. She had been saving it for something important, and now, with only a few neat stitches left to go, she felt a strange sense of finality.
“There,” she murmured to herself, slipping the final loop through and pulling the knot snug. “Finished at last.”
She set the booties carefully on the polished table beside her, as though they might shatter if handled too roughly. Her other hand came to rest instinctively on the gentle swell of her belly. Her child kicked in response, and Naomi smiled, stroking the spot.
The evening air was cool. A small breeze teased the sheer curtain beside her, carrying with it the scent of rosemary from the castle gardens far below. Naomi reached to part the curtain, stepping onto the narrow balcony.
From here, she could see the sea, the dark, churning expanse of water that surrounded Wolfden Island. Farther out, the waves glinted with fractured silver light, thrown down from the great black diamond moon overhead.
She tilted her head back to take it in fully. Tonight the moon’s surface glimmered with violet fire, as though some great forge within it was heating to the point of bursting. Each time she blinked, the glow seemed stronger.
The eclipse was coming.
It was an event that happened only once every thousand years, the moment when the black diamond moon slid perfectly between Wolfden’s sun and the great void, cloaking the island in a ring of violet and gold light. In the legends, this was a sacred alignment—the moment when time itself stood on the edge of a blade.
Naomi knew the stories. Every child born during the Black Diamond Eclipse was said to inherit the Three Gifts: the dominion over life, the dominion over death, and the forbidden ability to step through the river of time. Few such children survived to adulthood; kings feared them, priests tried to control them, and enemies sought to kill them.
Her hand rested protectively on her stomach. “I wonder if you’ll make your arrival during the eclipse,” she whispered, more to herself than to the child.
The baby shifted beneath her palm, almost as though in answer.
From somewhere beyond the double oak doors of her sewing room, voices murmured. Naomi turned toward the sound, smiling faintly.
“That must be your father, little one,” she said softly, pushing herself to her feet.
She reached for the latch, then paused.
The tone of the voices had changed. They weren’t the warm, casual tones of a husband speaking with his wife. They were low, urgent, almost conspiratorial.
Naomi stilled, her ear tilting toward the seam in the door.
“Are you sure the queen doesn’t know what’s going on?” asked a voice she recognized as Lord Halvar, the king’s adviser.
“The queen has no idea,” came the king’s voice, deep, calm, and utterly certain. “I’ve kept her occupied since the wedding. She will not suspect until it’s far too late. Tonight, the child will be taken the moment it is born. As for the queen… she will be of no further use to me. The healer will see to that.”
Naomi’s breath caught.
The king’s voice continued, almost bored. “Once we have the child, we go to the ritual site before the eclipse ends. The spell must be completed. The people will believe they both died during childbirth, it happens often enough. Here, take this.”
There was a pause. A faint rustle.
“A lock of her hair,” the king said. “Begin the induction ritual. The child must be born at the exact start of the eclipse. We have two hours. Go.”
Naomi stepped back from the door, her hands shaking.
The conversation ended with the sharp click of boots on stone as the adviser hurried away.
Her lungs burned; she realized she’d been holding her breath. For a heartbeat she stood frozen, her mind spinning, then instinct roared to life. She had to get out. Now.
Her thoughts flew to Lady Marian, her maid and companion since childhood, one of the few she trusted without question. Marian had followed her into this cold, foreign court a year ago when Naomi was married off in the name of alliance. If anyone could help her escape, it was her.
Naomi crossed the chamber in long, urgent strides, flinging open her wardrobe. She snatched a cloak, a few shifts, and a leather satchel, shoving them inside without care for order. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry, not now. She had thought this marriage might turn into something survivable. She had been wrong.
“I will protect you, my child,” she whispered to her belly. “Even if it kills me.”
Bag in hand, she burst into Marian’s chamber. “Pack a bag. We’re leaving now.”
Marian, seated with a steaming cup of tea, stood so quickly the chair tipped over. “My queen, what...”
“There is no time,” Naomi snapped, already pulling open drawers. “Clothes, money, anything of value. Move.”
Marian’s eyes sharpened. She said nothing more, only obeyed, sweeping garments into a leather bag and adding a pouch of coins and a scattering of jewels.
“We use the tunnels,” Naomi said. “Behind the painting in your closet. The one we found when we first arrived.”
A sudden spear of pain tore through her abdomen. She doubled over, gasping.
“My queen!” Marian cried.
Naomi gritted her teeth. “The contractions. They’ve started. We go, now.”
They hurried through Marian’s chamber. The painting was shoved aside to reveal a dark opening. A wave of cool, stale air greeted them.
Marian lifted a hand; a globe of pale light bloomed above her palm, floating forward to illuminate the rough stone walls.
The tunnel was wide enough for two, the damp air thick with the scent of earth and old secrets. Their footsteps echoed as they moved quickly, Naomi’s breath growing ragged with each contraction.
After several turns, Naomi stopped, clutching Marian’s arm. “I can’t… I have to stop here.”
Marian guided her to a flat stretch of stone, shedding her cloak and spreading it on the ground. “Lie down, breathe. I’m with you.”
Naomi lowered herself, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of her gown. She prayed silently to the Maker for the strength to survive this, for her child to be safe.
“I see the head,” Marian said, voice steady despite the urgency in her eyes. “One more push.”
Naomi gathered the last of her strength, bore down, and the child’s first cry rang through the tunnel, sharp and perfect.
Tears blurred Naomi’s vision as Marian cleaned the baby with the edge of her cloak and quickly wrapped her in a strip of linen.
“Can you walk?” Marian asked.
Naomi nodded faintly, her legs trembling as Marian helped her to her feet. She cradled the child close, marveling at the tiny, perfect face.
They hurried onward. Ahead, an amber glow marked the tunnel’s exit.
But as they emerged into the cool night, shouts rang out.
Guards.
Their armor glinted under the half-shadowed moon as they closed in from the cliff path.
Naomi’s heart lurched. She turned to Marian. “It’s time to reveal your powers.”
Marian stepped forward, her magic gathering in her hands
But before she could act, the baby cried again. The sound was different this time, clearer, resonant, almost like a note struck on crystal.
A faint glow began in the baby’s chest, gold shot through with violet. It spread outward in a halo, curling around Naomi, Marian, and the child.
The guards froze, their faces caught between confusion and fear. The wind stilled.
The light intensified, wrapping tighter around them. The world beyond it rippled like water, and then, with a sound like silk tearing, the cliffside vanished.
They were falling, weightless, surrounded by a whirl of colors and shadows. Fragments of places flashed past: a desert city beneath twin suns, a forest of glass trees, a storm swallowing a stone citadel.
Marian’s voice was faint. “She’s moving us through time.”
A final pulse of light surged outward.
Naomi’s feet struck solid ground.
The air was warmer now, tinged with a metallic scent. Above, the moon was pale silver, and the stars were strange.
They stood in the middle of a broad street paved with smooth black stone. Strange lamps cast a cold white glow. Towering buildings of glass and steel loomed around them.
The baby’s eyes were open, violet-gold and shifting like liquid.
Marian’s voice trembled. “My queen… we are far from Wolfden. Far from… our time.”
Somewhere in the distance, a low hum rose, mechanical and alien.
Naomi held her child close. “Then we start here. Whatever this place is… we survive. For her.”
Far above, the unfamiliar moon drifted silently across the night, and somewhere beyond time, the eclipse still burned.
By Lauren Taylor Alvis
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© 2026 Lauren Alvis. All rights reserved.
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