The forest faded slowly — like a dream slipping through my fingers. The throne, the water, the eyes I couldn’t quite name.
Then: pain. Real and immediate. A heaviness in my limbs. My skin burned cold, my throat dry as ash.
I blinked.
Flickering candlelight danced across the stone walls. My sheets were damp with sweat. The world was still, heavy, too quiet.
And someone was holding my hand — not gently, not lightly, but with a grip that felt like he was anchoring both of us.
“Cassian?” I rasped.
His head jerked up. And when I saw his face — really saw it — I forgot how to breathe.
His eyes were rimmed with red. His hair was a mess, his jacket rumpled, hastily thrown over a tunic stained at the collar.
He stared at me like I was a ghost come back wrong.
“You’re awake,” he said, and his voice cracked halfway through.
I tried to sit up. He didn’t stop me, but his hand never left mine.
“Kai—?”
“Alive,” he answered quickly. “Still unconscious. They’re watching him. But he’s breathing. You both are.”
I let out a breath, but it didn’t feel like relief. “What happened?”
“You nearly died, Kira.”
He said it so quietly I almost missed it.
“I watched you collapse beside him,” he went on, his voice gone hoarse. “Your hands shaking, your eyes—gods, you were just gone. I didn’t know what to do. I can fight armies, silence court whispers, hold back foreign dignitaries with three words and a blade—but that?”
His voice broke again. “That I couldn’t stop.”
“You’re not supposed to stop everything,” I whispered. “You’ve always tried to.”
“I’m the oldest,” he said bitterly. “It’s supposed to mean something.”
“You were there, Cassian,” I said. “You didn’t run. That’s what matters.”
He dropped his forehead against our joined hands. His shoulders trembled with the effort to hold it all in. “When we were little… I used to sneak into the nursery after dark. You two would be all tangled up in the blankets, sleeping like puppies.”
I blinked at him, surprised by the memory.
“I’d just sit there,” he said. “For hours. Watching. Because no one ever looked at me the way you two did. Not the court. Not the servants. Not even my own mother. But you—you both looked at me like I belonged.”
“You do,” I said fiercely. “You always have.”
Cassian nodded, and his thumb brushed over my knuckles. “Then let me stay. Just for a while.”
So I let him.
We sat like that in the silence after the storm, the mask of the court falling away. Just a brother and sister, tired and trying.
Eventually, when the shadows had shortened and the candle burned low, I whispered, “I want to see him.”
Cassian didn’t argue. He helped me to my feet, gently wrapping my old temple cloak around my shoulders like it was armor.
The walk was quiet. Each step down the corridor felt reverent, like the palace itself was holding its breath.
When we reached the royal wing, Cassian paused.
“She’s in there,” he murmured.
“Mother?”
He nodded. “She hasn’t left his side.”
The door creaked open.
Bonnie stepped out first. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and she gave a small bow, relief softening her face. But she didn’t speak. Just a hand on my shoulder, a squeeze—and she slipped away.
Inside, the air was warm and dim, the hearth crackling low. The smell of ash and vanilla filled the space.
Kai lay in the center of the bed, pale and still, wrapped in sheets of deep red and silver.
And beside him, our mother.
Queen Lyssara hadn’t changed out of her banquet gown. The pearl embroidery shimmered faintly in the firelight. She didn’t turn when I entered, just kept brushing her fingers through Kai’s hair with the gentleness of someone afraid to let go.
“I thought the gods would take both of you,” she said.
Her voice was even, calm—but tears slid down her cheeks, unchecked.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She shook her head once. “You tried to save him. You gave everything.”
“And it wasn’t enough.”
This time, she looked at me. Her sea blue eyes—my eyes—shimmered with something brittle. “It was more than enough. It’s his magic now that’s fighting for him. The same way you did.”
I crossed the room slowly, kneeling at his other side. Kai’s skin was warm, faintly glowing beneath the surface—like embers beneath ash.
“Do you think he can hear us?” I asked.
“I think,” she said softly, “he’s trying.”
I reached for his hand and laced my fingers through his.
“Then he better wake up.”
The heavy curtains in Kai’s chamber stayed drawn most days, dimming the light to a soft gloom. I had hardly left his side since that night. His breathing, shallow but steady, was the only rhythm I trusted. Watching him like this—silent, unmoving—felt like waiting for the world to end.
I barely noticed when Soren entered the room. His usually steady gaze was softer, worry etched into the lines around his eyes. He hadn’t said much since the banquet—hadn’t needed to. But today, something in him shifted.
“Kira,” he said quietly, “you need air. This—” He gestured toward the bed, toward Kai—“this isn’t the place for you to heal.”
I looked at him, chest tight. “I can’t leave him.”
He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I know. But even you can’t carry all this alone. Not like this.”
For a long moment, I said nothing. Then the weight of my own silence broke.
“Fine,” I said, voice brittle. “Five minutes. Not a second longer.”
Soren nodded, relief flickering across his face. He helped me to my feet and led me through the quiet halls, past the whispers of courtiers and the soft clatter of distant footsteps.
Outside, the garden was waking to spring’s first breath—crisp air and the faint scent of jasmine. The sky stretched wide and pale above, uncaring for the shadows tangled inside me.
I took a deep breath, but it did little to calm the fire burning inside.
“They think this is a game,” I said, voice low, teeth clenched. “Poisoning my brother. Trying to take everything.”
Soren watched me, silent. When I didn’t continue, he finally said, “Your father will find who did this. The council will handle it. You have to trust that.”
“Trust?” I laughed, sharp and bitter. “Do you think I can just sit and wait while they decide if it’s worth fighting for? I want to rip the truth out of their throats myself.”
Soren’s eyes darkened, but he remained calm. “And you will. But not if you burn yourself out chasing shadows. You need strength. Focus.”
I looked away, the garden’s soft greens blurring. “Strength is useless if I don’t understand what’s happening inside him. The magic—his blood—it’s alive now. Changing him. I can’t just pray it won’t break him.”
Soren stepped closer, voice gentle but firm. “Then learn what you can. Study it. But let the court deal with the politics. You take care of your brother. And yourself.”
The words were a balm and a challenge. I nodded slowly, resolve hardening like steel beneath the ache.
“Tomorrow, I’ll start,” I whispered. “I have to know.”
Soren gave a small, approving smile. “Good. And Kira?”
I looked up.
He hesitated, then said, “You’re not alone.”
For the first time in days, the weight inside me eased just enough to breathe.
The next morning came cold and silver, clouds moving sluggishly across the sky. I left Kai’s bedside for the first time with purpose rather than grief, my hands clenched at my sides and my thoughts already steeped in questions I didn’t know how to voice.
The High Mage’s study was hidden behind one of the oldest stairwells in the palace, and when I knocked, Ariston himself answered, a stack of scrolls balanced precariously in one hand.
“Your Highness,” he said, blinking. “I’d heard you hadn’t left the prince’s side.”
“I still haven’t,” I said softly. “Not really.”
He tilted his head. “Come in.”
The room smelled of ink, dust, and something sharp—old magic, I thought. His desk was covered in tomes, many written in languages I didn’t recognize.
“I want to know everything,” I told him. “About blood magic. How it works. What it does.”
Ariston’s expression was unreadable. “There is not much to know,” he said. “It predates our records. Most of it was erased or locked away—dangerous knowledge often is.”
“But it’s real. It’s in Kai now.”
“Yes. And that’s why it must be understood. Carefully.” He paused, then reached into the locked drawer behind him and pulled out a small iron-bound journal. “This may help you begin. But be cautious, Princess. Blood magic always demands something in return.”
I took it with reverence. The cover was old leather, worn smooth with age. I thanked him and slipped it into the crook of my arm, my fingers still tingling from the brief brush of raw power that radiated off it.
The archive was nearly empty by the time I found a quiet corner on the third floor, tucked beneath a stained glass dome that scattered light across the stone floor in pale rainbow hues. I opened the book, heart already racing.
The script was old Valari—sharp lines and curling flourishes. I squinted, sounding out each phrase.
"Blood answers blood. Magic born in suffering is shaped by will. Bound to soul and sacrifice."
Chilling. And yet, something in it called to me.
I lost track of time. The sun dipped, the windows darkened, candles flickered low. I had just started to read a passage on transference through pain when a low voice broke the silence.
“I thought I’d find you here, Book Princess.”
Sylas.
I glanced up to find him leaning against the nearest bookshelf, his usual ridiculous cloak trailing slightly behind him, hair wind-tousled as always, eyes catching the candlelight.
I didn’t answer, just lowered my eyes to the page.
He walked forward, studying me more than the books. “You look like you’ve aged a hundred years in three days.”
“I feel like it,” I murmured, not bothering to look up.
He hesitated. “Do you want me to leave?”
The question surprised me. I shook my head slowly.
He dropped into the chair beside me, a little too dramatically, as always. “Alright. I’ll stay. But only because your tragic gloom is ruining the ambiance.”
I huffed, just barely.
Sylas leaned over to peer at the journal. “Is that one of the ‘I’m definitely cursed if I read this’ books?”
“Yes,” I said flatly.
“Perfect. We’ll match.”
For a while, we sat like that—him glancing at the book, then me, then the dome above. He didn’t press, didn’t ask me to talk. He just was.
Eventually, my eyes blurred. My fingers shook.
And then… I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
A sound broke from me—half-sob, half-breath—and I dropped my forehead into my hands, shoulders trembling. I hadn’t cried in days. Not really. Not like this.
Sylas stilled.
Then, slowly, wordlessly, he shifted his chair closer. One arm slipped around my shoulders, tentative. When I didn’t flinch, he pulled me into his chest.
I cried like I had the night it happened—raw and silent, my hands clutching at his tunic, my face buried in the curve of his shoulder. He didn’t speak. Just held me.
And when the worst of it passed, he said softly, “My mother used to cry like this.”
That surprised me enough to lift my head.
He was looking at the dome. “When my father broke something she loved. When he reminded her that even queens could bleed.”
“Sylas…”
“I’m not saying I understand what you're feeling,” he added quickly, glancing at me. “But I’m… not as bad at being human as people think.”
Something in my chest cracked again, but not from pain.
He smiled faintly. “And you? You’re terrifying. You nearly lit the council chamber on fire with your mind, and now you're studying cursed blood-magic tomes with a face like thunder.”
I let out a shaky laugh.
“Better,” he said smugly. “Your laugh echoes in this place. It’s awful. Do it more”
I elbowed him lightly, and this time, I meant it.
Later that night, after the candles in the library had burned too low to read by, I slipped away from Sylas quietly. He didn’t try to stop me. Just offered one last soft, theatrical bow and murmured, “Return triumphant, Lady Bloodmage.”
I rolled my eyes at him.
But when I reached Kai’s room, the humor drained away. The chamber was dim, firelight flickering against the stone walls. Soren had stepped out, likely giving me privacy. He always knew when I needed it most.
I took the same seat I’d claimed the night it happened, beside Kai’s bed. The covers rose and fell with his slow breathing. He looked unchanged—too pale, too still—but alive. I clutched the worn leather book in my hands, pressing it to my chest.
“I cried,” I whispered, voice hoarse. “You’d probably tease me for it. Or tell me I looked ugly when I cried. Or say something terrible just to make me laugh.” My breath shook. “You’d say it was fine. That you’d be fine. And I’d believe you.”
I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers with his. The warmth was faint, but there.
Then—I saw it.
A flicker of crimson beneath his skin. Brief. Barely there. But real.
I drew back slightly, watching. A faint shimmer followed the line of a vein along his wrist before fading again.
I didn’t breathe for a moment.
I returned to the library at dawn. Bonnie had tried to coax me into eating something, but I couldn’t stomach anything more than a sip of tea. The High Mage’s journal waited where I’d left it, and this time, I brought two more volumes—books so old their spines crackled when opened.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the rustle of pages and the distant tolling of the palace bells.
The passage came midway through the second book, tucked in a half-erased section near the back.
“The blood-bound are never chosen gently. The magic answers only in dire need — death, betrayal, unbearable pain. The awakening always takes something in return.”
I frowned, reading it again.
“It is not merely magic. It is inheritance, drawn from ancient lines. Royal ones, most often.”
That struck a note in my chest. Royal. Kai had always joked that if I had a gift, he should too. But this wasn’t a gift.
It was a warning.
I flipped the page, and another line, handwritten in the margins, caught my eye.
“If two are born of the same bloodline, and one awakens, the other may follow.”
The words blurred. I blinked rapidly, heart starting to pound.
Me.
Was it possible…?
My hands curled over the page, knuckles white. The golden light I used—was it related? Or was this something worse? Something connected?
The implications scattered through my mind like glass.
I pushed the book away and stood abruptly. I needed air.
Cassian stood at the edge of the mage’s study, arms folded, his jaw tight. The High Mage Ariston sat behind his carved desk, fingertips steepled, listening intently as I read the line aloud once more:
“If two are born of the same bloodline, and one awakens, the other may follow.”
The silence afterward stretched taut between the three of us.
Cassian broke it first. “So you think this… awakening—yours—might’ve triggered his?”
I looked down at my hands. “Maybe. My magic—my healing—it’s been growing stronger since the Temple. I thought it was just healing. But now it feels… older. Wilder. Like something waking up”
“You’re certain it started with you,” Ariston murmured, studying me over steepled fingers.
I nodded. “I felt it changing before Kai ever showed signs. And the bond we share—it’s not just emotional. It’s something else. Like… a tether.”
Ariston rose slowly and poured tea, the clink of ceramic the only sound in the quiet room. “Blood magic is old. Wild. It often lies dormant for generations, waiting for a spark to call it forward. You may very well have been that spark, Princess.”
Cassian was pacing now. “You’re saying this magic—your magic—woke his?”
“Not woke,” I corrected. “But maybe it answered. And if this kind of power runs in our line…”
“Then you both carry it,” Ariston finished.
Cassian ran a hand through his hair. “So let me get this straight. My brother almost dies, magic explodes out of his veins, and now we’re acting like this is some long-lost blessing?”
“No,” I said quietly. “Kai didn’t almost die because of the magic. He almost died because someone poisoned him. The magic saved him.”
Cassian’s shoulders dropped slightly, the fire in his eyes cooling into something heavier. “Right.”
He looked at me again then, his expression a little less guarded.
“You’ve always been strong,” he said softly. “Even when you don’t see it. But you don’t have to carry this alone.”
“I don’t want to,” I admitted. “But I need to understand what’s happening. To both of us.”
“You’re not your brother’s shadow, Princess,” Ariston said gently. “Nor his shield. But you are… connected. The deeper your power grows, the more you may find those connections have roots in places even the oldest mages never dared to look.”
Cassian stepped closer and rested a warm, calloused hand on the back of my neck—a familiar weight, comforting in its steadiness. “Whatever you find,” he said, voice lower now, “we’ll face it together. That’s what family does.”
I left the High Mage’s study with Cassian at my side, my head heavy with questions and my chest tighter than it had been in days.
“I’ll check in with the steward,” he said, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You go see him.”
I nodded, grateful, and started down the east corridor toward Kai’s chambers. The stone floor was warm beneath my slippers, the late afternoon sun casting pale beams through the tall windows. I could already feel the quiet pull in my chest, that unspoken thread tugging me toward my twin like a tide returning home.
I was halfway down the marble corridor when I heard it—
“Princess Kira.”
The voice was smooth, like velvet dipped in wine.
I turned to find Adrian Lanovo leaning against one of the tall pillars, his arms loosely crossed, his smile casual—too casual, like it had been rehearsed a dozen times before being worn tonight.
“Adrian,” I said, a little surprised. “You’re still here?”
He pushed off the column with slow, graceful ease. “Where else would I be on your birthday week? I did promise I wouldn’t miss a moment.”
I gave a small, polite smile. “Well, it’s been… an eventful one.”
His expression sobered slightly, though the edges of his mouth stayed curved. “How is your brother?”
I hesitated. “Still resting.”
Adrian made a thoughtful noise. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How quiet the palace feels without him.”
I frowned, and he stepped closer—not enough to alarm, just enough to be noticed.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” he added quickly, his tone softening. “I’m glad he’s recovering. Truly. But… I can’t say I hate having more of your time.”
I blinked. “You never struck me as someone who had trouble getting attention.”
His grin deepened, and for a heartbeat, he looked like the boy who’d once charmed the temple cooks into giving him three desserts.
“Ah, but your attention, Kira—that’s something rarer. And lately, harder to come by.” His voice dropped just slightly. “I worried you might be… too lost in grief to see who’s still standing beside you.”
My pulse skipped. It was sweet. And yet—something in his gaze lingered too long.
“I haven’t forgotten the people who’ve been kind,” I said carefully. “But it’s been hard to think beyond the moment.”
He nodded solemnly, but the way his fingers brushed his sleeve betrayed a certain restrained energy. “Of course. I understand grief better than most. And I know how easy it is to fall apart when the one person who tethers you isn’t there.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. My throat suddenly felt too tight.
Adrian stepped aside, clearing the path for me again. “I won’t keep you. I’m sure your brother needs you.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he leaned in slightly. “But I hope… when things settle, we’ll have time again. Just us.”
He reached for my hand, not to kiss it, just to brush his fingers along my knuckles—a brief touch, calculated and gentle.
“I’ll be around, Princess.”
And then he was gone, footsteps soft against the tile, leaving behind a flicker of something I couldn’t quite name. Not yet.
But I didn’t linger on it.
Not when Kai still hadn’t woken.
Inside, the room hadn’t changed.
Kai lay still on the wide bed, tucked in neatly by the maids. Too neat. He’d have hated that. His hair had been brushed away from his brow, but a single stubborn lock had fallen again, curling toward his temple like it refused to obey anyone’s rules but his.
I sank into the chair beside him.
The chair was too small for how long I stayed in it.
“Hey,” I whispered, voice thin. “I saw the High Mage today. He says you’re recovering. Slowly.”
My fingers brushed his hand, cool and unmoving.
“I talked to Cassian. He’s… he’s trying to hold everything together. I think it’s hurting him more than he wants us to see.”
I swallowed. “And Adrian’s been around. Too much, if you ask me. He keeps showing up like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s trying to find a space where you used to be.”
The words stuck in my throat.
“You’re the space, Kai. I don’t care what kind of magic you wake up with—I just need you to come back.”
Silence answered.
And still, I stayed.
The moon had already risen high by the time I slipped back to my chambers, my limbs aching with the kind of exhaustion no magic could mend.
I didn’t light a lamp.
I didn’t need to.
The silver light spilled through my window, painting long stripes across the floor and catching faint glimmers in the glass perfume bottles on my dresser.
I crossed to my desk, fingers trailing over the cover of a book I’d left open days ago. It was still there—The Last Empress of Valara, the one Bonnie had given me. The outlawed account of a long-forgotten queen who once ruled alone, centuries before Valara’s laws forbade it.
She’d killed her father to save the realm.
She’d vanished before her execution.
They called her a tyrant.
I called her brave.
I ran a hand through my hair, the ache behind my eyes sharp and persistent. The weight of the day threatened to pull me under, and for a moment, I stood in the middle of my room, directionless.
Then—
A breeze.
Soft, impossible. The window was still latched
I turned, heart thudding once, twice.
Nothing.
Only the faintest shimmer of warmth along my palm—just where I’d touched Kai’s skin.
It was gone in a blink.
But I smiled anyway.
He was still with me.
And I would find whoever had done this to him. Even if I had to burn down every secret the palace held.