The heavy oak doors of the council chamber groaned open, and I stepped inside, heart pounding beneath the weight of the day’s grim purpose.
The long room was already filled. Nobles and advisors sat in their high-backed chairs, voices hushed with tension. The High Mage stood near the end of the table, arms folded, eyes sharp. No one smiled. No one even tried.
The subject was clear: the attempted assassination of Prince Malachi Eleryn.
My twin.
The word attempted rang hollow. Kai hadn’t woken. Days had passed, and he remained suspended in a deep, frightening stillness. Every minute stretched unbearably thin, and every whispered theory only tightened the knot in my chest.
“The poison used was traced to a rare toxin known only to grow in the coastal marshes of Uralen,” the High Mage was saying. “It’s almost impossible to acquire without powerful connections or a great deal of coin.”
“Or both,” someone muttered.
I stood slowly. “I need to speak.”
All eyes turned to me. My voice shook, but I didn’t let it falter.
“The night before the banquet… I saw Lady Catherine. She was in the west gardens, speaking with Duke Lanovo’s steward and one of the envoys from Prince Sylas’s delegation. It was past midnight. They didn’t see me, but I saw them.”
Gasps murmured through the room. One noble’s hand flew to his chest.
The High Chancellor’s eyes narrowed. “Do you believe they were conspiring?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But it didn’t feel innocent. And hours later, my brother drank poison from a goblet meant to celebrate our birthday. It may be nothing… or it may be the only warning we get.”
There was silence. Heavy. Dreadful.
King Tharion, my father, sat at the head of the table. He hadn’t spoken once. Not even now. His face remained still, carved from stone, but I could see it in the way his jaw clenched—the weight he carried was devouring him.
The meeting adjourned shortly after. Nobles trickled out in small groups, their whispers curling through the corridor like smoke. I lingered behind, searching the chamber with my eyes.
I found him in the hall outside—my father.
He stood by the window, staring out over the north courtyard, hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders taut beneath the weight of silence.
I stepped forward. “Father?”
He didn’t turn.
I tried again, more quietly. “Dad… please.”
Still nothing. He moved to walk past me. I stepped into his path.
“You haven’t said a word to me since that night,” I whispered. “Why won’t you look at me?”
He stopped.
The stillness between us cracked.
Then, suddenly—he turned.
Tears stood in his eyes, sharp and unshed. His voice burst out, rough and cracking, “How could you?”
The words hit like a slap. My breath caught.
“You almost died,” he said again, louder now, the fury trembling beneath grief. “You almost died, Kira. I almost lost both of you in the same damned minute.”
I stared at him, stunned. His fists were clenched. His eyes were glass.
“I was trying to save him,” I said. “I didn’t care what it cost.”
“And if it had killed you?” he snapped. “What then? What would I have left? What would I tell your mother?”
“I couldn’t just let him die—”
“You’re eighteen—nineteen,” he corrected himself, voice cracking. “You’re not supposed to have to make those choices. I’m supposed to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection,” I said, the tears spilling freely now. “I need my brother back. I need my family whole.”
His face broke. He staggered back a step, as if my words had knocked the wind out of him.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” he whispered, voice raw. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”
I reached out, took his hand in mine. “Then don’t do it alone.”
We stood there, King and Princess, father and daughter, both broken in different ways. The wind rustled faintly outside the stained glass. Somewhere, distant bells chimed the hour.
“We’ll find a way,” I said again. “For Kai.”
His fingers curled around mine.
“For all of us,” he murmured.
And we stood like that—together, for once not as royalty, but as a grieving family holding onto what remained.
The corridor was quieter now, empty save for the muted tap of my boots and the pounding of my heart. I walked beside my father in silence. For once, he didn’t rush ahead or retreat behind his crown. His steps were slow. Tired. Each one seemed to echo more from grief than command.
We stopped outside Kai’s chamber.
His hand hovered near the door’s handle but didn’t touch it. I stared at the lines in his face—the ones that had deepened since the banquet, the ones I hadn’t noticed before. Grief carved shadows beneath his eyes. Guilt bent his shoulders.
I swallowed hard. “There’s something else you need to know. About Lady Catherine.”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak.
“I found something in the royal archives… months ago. Records buried in the back, near the sealed bloodlines.” I hesitated. “She had another child. A girl. Isabella.”
His head turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “That cannot be true.”
“It is.” I met his gaze. “Born after Cassian. She was hidden. Passed off as someone else’s until now. And now the Duke parades her like a token—because she’s part of his blood, too. He's using her.”
A beat passed. He exhaled like someone who had just been stabbed.
“I thought it might be a mistake. I wanted to believe it,” I whispered. “But the night before the banquet, I saw Lady Catherine speaking with the Duke’s steward. And a man from Prince Sylas’s envoy. I didn’t hear what they said. But I saw their faces. And I saw what they were hiding.”
That got his attention.
His face turned to mine, unreadable. “You should have told me sooner.”
“I didn’t know what I was looking at.” My voice rose. “But now I do. They were planning something. And the next day, my twin was poisoned.”
He looked away, his hand finally curling around the door handle.
“I’m not accusing her blindly,” I added. “But she’s at the center of all this, whether you want to see it or not.”
For a long, aching moment, the silence stretched like a blade between us. Then, at last, he opened the door.
The quiet inside was sacred. Cool light pooled at the edges of Kai’s chamber. The scent of cedarwood and incense lingered. He lay motionless beneath the layered covers, face pale, lashes still. Every breath he drew felt borrowed.
My father stepped forward and sat at his side. His hand didn’t reach for Kai’s—just hovered over the blanket, as though the touch itself might break them both.
“He looks like you,” I said quietly, standing beside him. “When you used to laugh.”
A breathless sound escaped him. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sob.
He leaned forward, finally brushing the back of his knuckles against Kai’s temple. “He’s so still.”
I didn’t say what I was thinking—that the stillness was the worst part.
His hand fell away. “I knew Catherine had ambition. But this…” His voice broke. “Isabella’s existence—Cassian doesn’t know, does he?”
“No,” I whispered.
“We’ll have to tell him.”
I hesitated. “He deserves the truth. But… not yet. He’s already drowning.”
His eyes met mine again. Warmer this time. A father, not a king.
“We’ve been blind, Kira,” he said. “All of us.”
I stepped closer, my hand brushing Kai’s. “Then let’s stop being blind.”
He didn’t answer. But he stayed. That, for now, was enough.
My father didn’t say anything as I lingered by Kai’s bedside. Just a soft look and a nod—silent permission, but also a dismissal. He wanted time alone. I understood.
So I slipped quietly from the room, letting the door shut behind me with a gentle click.
The corridor outside was dim, touched by the gold of early evening light filtering through the high windows. I pressed my hand to my chest, breathing deep. The air was cooler here, less suffocating, but no easier to bear. Guilt and worry still clung to my skin like a second cloak.
I turned the corner—and nearly ran straight into Adrian.
“Oh,” I breathed.
He took half a step back, then smiled that careful, princely smile. “Forgive me. I should’ve waited for you to pass. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “I was just—getting some air.”
Adrian’s eyes flicked toward the door behind me. “Is he...?”
“Still asleep,” I replied, not needing to say his name.
Adrian nodded solemnly. “It’s hard. Seeing someone so strong reduced to… stillness.”
His tone was gentle. Not mocking, not cold. Just… sincere. Or close enough to pass for it.
He shifted his weight, eyes searching mine. “I wanted to apologize. For the other day. I may have come across… too forward. I just—missed your presence. The temple made you a mystery, and I suppose I let my curiosity get ahead of my manners.”
I blinked, taken slightly off guard. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“No,” he said. “But I wanted to. I respect you, Kira. And I want to be someone you can trust. Especially now.”
His voice lowered a little at that last part, softer. Earnest.
I gave him a nod, unsure of what to say. He smiled again—slightly boyish, slightly rehearsed—and took a slow step closer.
“I know he’s always been your shadow, your twin. But until he wakes, if you ever need someone to lean on... I’d like to be that for you.”
The words made my throat tighten, but before I could form a reply—
“Your Highness.”
I turned toward the sound.
Soren stood a few paces away, posture straight and unreadable, eyes steady on mine. I wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there.
Adrian straightened. “Captain Valehart.”
Soren gave a tight nod. “Princess. The High Mage is requesting your presence in the western archives.”
“Oh,” I said, a little dazed. “Yes. Of course.”
Adrian stepped back, offering a slight bow. “Another time, then.”
I nodded, grateful for the out but uncertain why I felt relief.
As we walked, I glanced once at Soren. He didn’t say anything right away. But the way his jaw was set, the quiet tension in his steps—I knew he’d seen enough.
The corridor’s quiet seemed heavier as we walked side by side. Soren’s boots made soft echoes against the stone floor, steady and sure.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said quietly, not looking at me but speaking as if stating a fact.
I swallowed, fingers tightening around the hem of my cloak. “I can’t just sit and wait, Soren. Not while Kai—”
“While Kai’s fighting to wake, yes,” he interrupted gently. “But you won’t be able to help him if you break first.”
I glanced at him, surprised by the tenderness in his voice. “I’m not going to break.”
His eyes met mine for a heartbeat. “Maybe not. But even steel bends under enough pressure.”
We fell into a short silence, the kind that holds more meaning than words.
“Promise me you’ll rest,” Soren added softly. “Even just a little. Let someone else carry the weight for a moment.”
I hesitated, then nodded. “I promise.”
He allowed himself the barest of smiles, a flicker of warmth in the dim hall.
“Good,” he said. “Now, let’s see what that old wizard has to say about your brother’s magic.”
We rounded the final corner, the heavy door of the High Mage’s chambers looming ahead, and I took a steadying breath, ready to face whatever came next.
The chamber smelled faintly of old parchment and burning herbs, the soft flicker of candlelight casting long shadows across shelves stacked high with ancient tomes. High Mage Ariston sat behind a heavy oak desk, his silver hair pulled back in a tight knot, eyes sharp but kind as he regarded me.
“Princess Kira,” he greeted, inclining his head. “I’ve been expecting you.”
I nodded, taking a seat across from him. “I need to understand more about Kai’s magic — the blood magic. And how my healing might have triggered it.”
He sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. “The magic that flows in both of you is ancient, older than many records we have. The Eleryn bloodline carries dormant power — the ability to bend not just elements but life itself.”
“Dormant?” I repeated. “But Kai’s magic... it erupted so suddenly.”
“Yes. Your healing magic awakening could have been the catalyst. Your magic is more stable, focused on restoration, but it stirred something in Kai — something volatile and powerful.”
He pulled a faded scroll from a drawer, spreading it carefully on the desk. “There was once an empress — Alora Everthorn — who wielded blood magic openly. She was said to have saved the kingdom from ruin, but her methods were feared. Many records of her reign were destroyed or hidden.”
I traced my finger over the ancient script, feeling a chill. “So the magic was never truly lost.”
“No,” Ariston said. “It was hidden, sleeping within your lineage. Now, it’s awake. But with awakening comes risk. Blood magic is demanding, consuming. It can protect, but it can also destroy.”
“Is there a way to control it? To help Kai?”
“We must learn. Carefully. And quickly. His body is not yet ready for the strain.”
I swallowed, thinking of Kai lying unconscious, fighting a war within himself.
“Thank you, High Mage,” I said, resolve settling in my chest. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Ariston gave a faint nod. “We will face this together, Princess.”
At a side table, High Mage Ariston had a small stack of dusty scrolls, tied with crimson ribbon.
“These,” he said quietly, “contain her blood magic lineage. Much of it was lost or destroyed after her disappearance, but these survived. You may find answers within.”
I carefully untied the ribbons and unrolled the oldest scroll first. The script was delicate, written in a flowing hand that seemed almost alive. As I read, the tale unfolded — Alora, a ruler feared and revered, who wielded blood magic to protect the kingdom but was branded a tyrant and forced into exile. Her family line was believed wiped out, erased from the official records.
But a passage caught my eye — a faded family tree, with a single branch faintly marked, almost erased but still visible. That branch bore the name Eleryn.
My breath caught. Could it be true? Were Kai and I the last living heirs of that powerful, dangerous bloodline?
A crash shattered the quiet.
My head snapped up.
Shouting echoed from the corridor. Magic flared — raw, wild, terrifying. A second crash followed, and a surge of heat pushed against the library walls like a wave.
I was already running.
Sprinting down the corridor, scrolls forgotten behind me, I skidded around a corner as guards and staff scrambled for cover. The hall was filled with a coppery red glow — and at its center, Kai stood.
Awake.
And not alone.
One of the physicians was pinned to the far wall by crackling red tendrils, blood magic streaming from Kai’s hands like living fire. His eyes glowed crimson, unfocused, panic shadowing his expression as he staggered backward, breathing in ragged gasps.
“I didn’t mean—!” he choked. “I didn’t mean to—don’t touch me!”
“Kai!” I shouted, heart in my throat.
He turned at the sound of my voice.
And the blood magic lashed out toward me.
The blood magic came fast — like lightning in reverse, red and wild and searing as it tore down the hall. It shrieked through the air, a high sound that made the walls tremble and the very air thin.
I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
My instincts screamed, but my heart didn’t budge.
The magic froze mid-air — tendrils of crimson fire trembling, twitching, so alive it almost breathed — then crumbled into red ash at my feet.
“Kira?” Kai’s voice cracked.
He stood just beyond the dissipating smoke, shaking violently, hands outstretched, eyes glowing with molten red. Sweat clung to his skin, and his tunic was soaked through, clinging like it didn’t belong. His legs buckled beneath him.
I ran to him.
His eyes had dimmed — just slightly — from that burning scarlet to something ember-soft, flickering with barely restrained power. When I reached out and touched his face, he flinched like my fingers were fire.
“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” he gasped, clutching at his chest. “He tried to touch me and—I woke up and everything was too much—it snapped. I couldn’t stop it.”
“You’re okay,” I whispered, brushing the damp hair from his face. “You’re awake. That’s all that matters.”
“No. I’m not okay.” His voice broke, and his fingers tangled in the fabric of my sleeve. “It’s in me. It woke up and it won’t stop. It won’t go quiet.”
Behind us, guards hovered at the edges of the corridor, weapons half-drawn. The physician who’d tried to check on him sat on the floor, dazed but alive, being pulled gently to his feet by a healer. He looked at Kai like one might look at a god—or a monster.
And maybe he was both.
Blood magic. Living magic.
And my twin had wielded it like it was a part of him.
“Kai,” I said softly, steadying him, keeping my voice low and even despite the rush in my chest, “you’re not a monster. You were scared. You woke up alone and overwhelmed. Anyone would’ve reacted.”
“I hurt someone,” he said, voice thick with guilt. “And I almost hurt you.”
“But you didn’t.”
He met my gaze — really met it — and I saw him in there, through the storm. My twin. My other half.
“I thought I died,” he whispered. “I thought you died. I saw this… place. A forest. A throne. It was—huge. Cold. Wrong and right all at once. There was mist, and the trees whispered. And you—” His breath hitched. “You were there.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“I saw you,” he said, his eyes wide and almost disbelieving. “You were walking toward the throne. There was water curling around your arms. You looked different—older maybe, or… brighter. I tried to reach you, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t see me.”
I swallowed hard. “I had the same vision.”
Kai’s breath stilled. The air seemed to hold its breath, too.
“You were there,” he whispered.
“I was,” I said. “And you saw me.”
He let out a long, ragged breath, then leaned forward until our foreheads touched — just like the morning of our birthday. That moment felt a world away now.
He trembled in my arms, still glowing faintly from within, and whispered, “I was so scared.”
“I know,” I whispered back. “I was too.”
A flicker of broken laughter left him — then footsteps thundered from the end of the corridor. Heavy. Familiar.
Father. Mother. Cassian. Soren. Ariston. The entire weight of the palace descending on this moment.
The guards raised their weapons again.
I stepped in front of my brother, arms spread wide. “Don’t.”
They stopped.
“He’s awake. He’s scared,” I said, voice hoarse but unwavering. “He didn’t mean it.”
Kai pushed himself to stand beside me, still clinging to my arm. His legs shook, and blood magic flickered like embers along his fingertips.
“I’m not a threat,” he said softly. “Not unless someone tries to hurt her.”
That silenced everyone.
Even Father.
The King stepped forward, slowly. Every line in his face was tight — not with rage, but fear. Fear I hadn’t seen in him. His voice was low and raw.
“Kai… you’re awake.”
Kai nodded once, unsteady.
Their eyes locked.
And then, without another word, Father closed the space between them and gripped Kai’s shoulders.
“Don’t you ever do that again,” he said, the words hoarse and trembling. “Don’t you dare almost die on me.”
Kai blinked at him, wide-eyed. “You… cried?”
“You both almost died,” Father snapped — but his voice cracked on the last word. “What else was I supposed to do?”
Kai stared at him… and then sagged forward into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
And for a heartbeat, everything else — the guards, the blood magic, the ruined marble — disappeared.
He was back.
My brother. My twin.
And nothing would ever be the same again.