We walked slowly back toward Kai’s chambers, my brother’s steps unsteady, my hand never leaving his arm. Our father walked on his other side, saying little, but the tension in his shoulders had eased. A little.
The royal wing was quiet again, the chaos of earlier now a lingering memory. I thought we’d reach his door in peace.
But someone was waiting just outside it.
Adrian Lanovo.
He straightened at the sight of us, bowing with exaggerated formality — a little too rehearsed, but still charming. His tunic was rich blue, lined in silver thread, his red hair too perfectly tousled. His eyes locked on me first, then flicked to Kai, and finally landed on the King.
“Your Majesty,” he said evenly. “Apologies for the intrusion… I wouldn’t disturb you if it weren’t important.”
Father frowned. “This is not the time.”
“I know,” Adrian said, his voice low and urgent. “But what I’ve come to say is about that time. The banquet. The poison.”
At that, all three of us paused.
Adrian glanced once at me, then back to the King. “I’ve kept silent until now, because I didn’t know who I could trust. But… I overheard something. The night before the celebration.”
My breath caught.
“You’re not the only one,” I said slowly. “I told the council I saw your father’s steward speaking with Lady Catherine and a foreign envoy. I didn’t know what it meant then.”
Adrian nodded solemnly. “It means more than you know.”
He stepped closer, dropping his voice just enough. “I believe my father and Lady Catherine were the ones behind the poisoning attempt. I think it was a coordinated effort — a bid to remove Prince Malachi from the line of succession… and secure power for themselves.”
The corridor fell still.
The King stared at him, his face unreadable. “You’re accusing your own father?”
Adrian dipped his head. “I would rather betray blood than betray this kingdom. And… than see harm come to your children.”
He said it so smoothly, with just the right amount of concern in his voice. Just the right amount of gravity in his eyes.
Kai stiffened slightly beside me. I felt his distrust, subtle but present.
But me? I didn’t know what to feel. Gratitude. Relief. Confusion. I didn’t want to believe Adrian would lie about something so serious.
And yet.
“Why now?” I asked softly. “Why tell us this now?”
He met my gaze, voice softening. “Because I saw you in the hallway earlier. And I realized I should’ve spoken up sooner. I was afraid of my father. But you… you’re not afraid of anything. And I don’t want to be either.”
The King let out a long, tired breath. “I’ll call for the council. If you’re telling the truth, there will be consequences for them.”
Adrian bowed. “That’s all I want, Your Majesty.”
He turned to me as the King gently steered Kai inside. “I hope this can earn back some of your trust, Princess.”
My lips parted — but I didn’t know what to say.
He gave a soft, almost regretful smile, and then turned and walked away down the corridor.
The heavy oak door closed softly behind me, muffling the quiet breaths Kai took as he settled into the pillows. His pale face was still faintly flushed with the remnants of the blood magic’s fire, and his hands trembled slightly as he rested at last. Our father’s presence lingered for a moment longer, his gaze steady on Kai’s fragile form, before he turned away with a weariness that pressed down on the whole room.
“I’ll be just outside,” I said quietly, forcing a small smile to meet Father’s tired eyes.
He nodded once, wordless.
The halls beyond felt colder, emptier — a stark contrast to the thick, stifling air inside Kai’s chamber. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders and stepped into the dim corridor, the stone floor cool beneath my boots.
The silence wrapped around me like a shroud.
I needed air. Space. A moment to breathe outside the walls that felt like they were closing in.
As I rounded a corner, a familiar voice called out with a teasing lilt.
“Ah, the royal shadow flees her post! Trying to escape the ‘family drama,’ are we?”
I looked up and saw Sylas leaning against the wall, one eyebrow raised in that signature, smug half-smile of his. His silver hair caught the flicker of torchlight, and his mismatched eyes sparkled with mischief — though there was something softer beneath it all tonight.
“I could say the same for you, Prince Drakenvyre,” I said, folding my arms and arching an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be brooding over your own problems?”
He pushed off the wall and stepped closer, voice dropping into a more genuine tone. “Brooding is exhausting. I prefer to annoy people instead. Besides, I thought you might want company.”
I hesitated, surprised by the offer.
“Why?” I asked, wary but curious.
He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “Because even a princess might appreciate a little mischief and distraction. And honestly, you look like you’re about to collapse from all the worry.”
I bit my lip, the tension I’d been holding threatening to spill. “It’s... been a long day.”
Sylas’s grin softened into something almost gentle. “Long days have a way of piling up. Come, walk with me. The palace has quieter corners than this one.”
We fell into step together, our footsteps echoing softly in the empty hall.
“So,” he began, “what’s the verdict on your twin’s dramatic debut with ancient, possibly cursed, blood magic?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “The verdict is: I don’t know what’s happening or how to fix it.”
He nodded, eyes thoughtful. “Family curses, lost magic, political poisonings. Sounds like a proper fairy tale.”
“A nightmare, more like,” I muttered.
Sylas glanced at me sideways. “If it helps, even princes with mismatched eyes and silver hair get overwhelmed sometimes.”
I caught myself smiling.
“Besides,” he added, “if you ever need someone to remind you that life isn’t always so grim, you know where to find me.”
His teasing wink felt like a small balm to my bruised spirit.
For the first time since the poisoning, the tight knot in my chest loosened just a little.
And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t so alone after all.
I left Sylas behind with a parting glance and a barely-hidden smile. The halls beyond turned sharper with each step, the quiet returning — but not the peace.
I rounded the far corner of the gallery wing, toward the inner courtyard, when I heard them.
Voices.
Low. Clipped. And far too interested in things that weren’t theirs.
“…I’m telling you, it was blood magic. The prince nearly killed a physician in the hallway. They say the walls were scorched—”
“—and the High Mage himself said it hadn’t been seen in centuries. Not since the Empresses of the North. Gods help us if the boy can’t control it.”
“Or worse,” another whispered, “if his sister has it too.”
My footsteps slowed.
There were three of them — cloaked in noble velvets, their backs to me as they stood near a marble alcove. A cluster of courtiers: Lord Halren’s daughter, Lady Vessina of the Riverlands, and one of Duke Lanovo’s nieces — I didn’t know which. They hadn’t seen me yet.
“He could be dangerous,” the niece murmured, glancing around with exaggerated caution. “The prince is barely awake and already someone’s nearly dead. What if he loses control again? We sleep beneath the same roof.”
“Maybe he already has,” Lady Vessina said with a note of drama. “Did you hear how his eyes were glowing red? Like something out of an old fable. Perhaps the poison didn’t kill him because he isn’t entirely human anymore.”
That made the other two laugh — nervous, breathless.
And then one of them added, “It’s unnatural, all of it. There’s no telling what kind of power the twins hold now.”
I stepped forward then, boots clicking hard against the tile.
The laughter stopped.
They turned.
Three faces froze into polite horror.
“Princess Kira,” Lady Vessina stammered, curtsying too quickly.
“Good evening,” I said, voice sweet as poisoned honey. “Please—don’t let me interrupt your riveting tale about my family. I’m sure your creative instincts are very valuable to the council.”
No one spoke. Not a breath.
I took one slow step closer. “Next time you decide to invent bedtime stories, perhaps you’ll be brave enough to say them where I can hear the whole thing.”
The air was glass-thin. The noble girls dipped their heads and hurried away, skirts sweeping like fleeing shadows.
I stood alone again, anger tightening in my chest.
Let them talk.
Let them tremble behind fans and fine embroidery.
But if they thought fear would keep me quiet, they had never seen what a sister was willing to become when her brother was on the line.
The halls had emptied by the time I returned, the gossip and tension retreating behind heavy doors. Shadows stretched across the stone floors, and the sconces flickered softly as I neared Kai’s chambers. Two guards stood outside — Soren among them — and stepped aside the moment they saw me.
“He’s resting,” Soren murmured. “But he asked if you were coming back.”
I nodded, offering a faint smile, then slipped inside.
The room was warm, lit only by a single lamp and the soft glow of the embers in the hearth. Kai lay beneath the sheets, propped against a mountain of pillows. His blond hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges, and the lines of exhaustion still hadn’t faded from beneath his eyes.
But he was awake.
He looked up at me and smiled. It was a tired smile — not the wild, teasing grin he was known for — but it was real.
“Hey,” I said softly, closing the door behind me.
“Hey,” he rasped, voice still hoarse.
I crossed the room and sat beside him. For a long moment, neither of us said anything.
“I heard the nobles are already starting rumors,” he said finally, turning his gaze to the ceiling. “Fire from my veins. Cursed blood. Ancient shadows.”
I made a face. “They always did have a flair for dramatics.”
He huffed a weak laugh. “They’re not entirely wrong, are they?”
“No,” I admitted. “But you’re still you.”
Kai was quiet for a beat. “I’m scared.”
I reached for his hand beneath the blankets and squeezed it. “Me too.”
His fingers tightened around mine, and when he looked at me again, there was something steadier in his gaze. Still shaken — but not broken.
“Tomorrow,” I said gently, “we’ll go to the council. We’ll speak the truth. Let them look you in the eyes and see who you really are.”
“I’m not sure who that is anymore,” he said quietly.
“Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”
A pause. Then, soft and vulnerable, “Thanks for coming back.”
“Always,” I whispered. “You're stuck with me, lifeboat.”
A flicker of his old grin touched his lips. “Seventeen felt easier.”
“Eighteen had a poison course. Nineteen's starting with blood magic. By twenty, we might have wings.”
He chuckled, then winced slightly, settling deeper into the pillows. “Gods, don’t give them ideas.”
I leaned my head gently against his shoulder, and we sat there in the hush of lamplight and fire, our breath slowly syncing. The storm would rise again tomorrow. But for tonight, he was here. He was safe. And I would be too, so long as he was breathing beside me.
We paused outside the council chamber doors. The silence was thick — not tense, but heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks.
Mother stood beside us, her gaze fixed on Kai. She hadn’t said much that morning. Just helped him dress with steady hands and smoothed the fabric over his shoulders like she used to when we were small.
Now, she lifted one gloved hand and brushed his hair back once more. Her fingertips lingered at his temple.
“My brave boy,” she whispered. Then, to both of us: “Whatever happens in that room, remember who you are.”
Kai met her eyes. “Do you still know who that is?”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure she’d answer.
Then, her lips trembled. “Yes,” she said. “You’re my son. And you came back to me.”
She touched my cheek, her hand cool and delicate, then stepped aside as the guards pushed the great doors open.
We walked in—together.
The council chamber felt colder than usual.
High windows cast harsh beams of morning light across the stone floor, dust swirling like ghosts in the air. Nobles lined the long crescent table, some with expressions of curiosity, others with cautious dread. Murmurs whispered across the polished walls — clipped phrases, scandalized breaths. But when the doors opened, silence followed like a blade.
I entered first, with Kai beside me.
He walked slowly, his steps sure but strained, as though the weight of what had nearly killed him still clung to his spine. The pale lines of magic still faintly threaded his fingertips, and though he hid it well, I could see the stiffness in his jaw. He was trying — for Father, for me, for himself.
At the center of the room, standing in chains that shimmered with magical runes, were Duke Octavius Lanovo and Lady Catherine.
Catherine didn’t lift her gaze. She stood still and statuesque, her chin tilted up in defiance, though her hands trembled slightly at her sides. The Duke looked calm, infuriatingly so, as though this were a minor inconvenience in a larger game he was still confident he could win.
King Tharion sat at the head of the table, unmoving. His face was carved from stone — no warmth, no grief, no fury. Nothing.
The High Mage stepped forward first.
"The investigation into the poisoning of Prince Malachi Eleryn has uncovered several disturbing gaps," Ariston said, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Magical archives have been tampered with. Records of court attendance and restricted ingredients used in high-level alchemy are missing. Deliberately erased."
He paused. “Lady Kira Eleryn has provided testimony regarding the night before the banquet.”
I stepped forward, my palms damp despite the cold.
"I saw them," I said, my voice quieter than I intended. I forced it to steady. "Lady Catherine. The Duke’s steward. And an envoy from Prince Sylas’s visiting party. They were speaking in hushed tones in one of the gallery alcoves. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now—"
"Now we know what was planned," Adrian interrupted gently, stepping forward. All eyes turned to him.
He bowed his head toward the King and Council. “It brings me no joy to speak against my father. But after hearing Lady Kira’s account and… witnessing my father’s strange behavior in the days leading up to the celebration, I began to wonder.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small scroll. “I found this hidden in his study. A list of rare alchemical purchases — most of them ingredients used in paralytic and neurotoxic poisons. It was dated two weeks before the banquet.”
A gasp rippled through the room.
“I believe Lady Catherine—” he paused, voice catching just enough to seem genuine, “was working with my father. I wish I were wrong. But the evidence speaks for itself.”
The Queen turned her face away. One gloved hand trembled at her side, and for a moment, her mask cracked — not enough for tears, but enough to show the war behind her eyes.
It wasn’t just grief. It was betrayal. And shame. Her shoulders were tense, her hand trembling slightly as she touched the edge of the table.
Catherine finally looked up.
Her face was calm, but her eyes burned. “You little snake,” she hissed, not loud, but sharp enough to cut the air.
Adrian didn’t flinch. He just lowered his gaze, like a son burdened by truth.
“I only did what I thought was right.”
King Tharion rose.
His voice, when it came, was frigid. “Lady Catherine. Duke Lanovo. Until the truth is fully uncovered, you are stripped of your titles and lands, and imprisoned under magical binding. You will remain in the palace dungeons until the next ruling.”
Catherine opened her mouth as if to speak, but he cut her off.
“I trusted you,” he said. “Both of you. And you nearly took my son from me.”
The guards moved in, their armor catching the light. Catherine and the Duke were shackled again, rune-lit chains flaring briefly as they were led out of the chamber. Her head remained high, but her face had lost all color. Catherine looked back. Her gaze locked with Cassian’s — not pleading, not apologetic. Cold. Measured. Like she was still playing the game, even in chains. The Duke’s smile had finally faltered.
The doors slammed shut.
A long silence followed.
Cassian was the first to break it. He moved to our side, his jaw tense, his eyes shadowed. “It should’ve been me,” he muttered, low enough for only us to hear.
“What?” I turned.
“It should’ve been me in that bed,” he said. “Not Kai. They tried to kill him to make room for me. And she—” he stopped, swallowing hard, “my mother knew exactly what she was doing.”
Kai looked at him, the guilt in Cassian’s voice heavier than any verdict.
“We know you didn’t want this,” Kai said quietly.
Cassian’s hand clenched. “She raised me. She loved me, I thought. But now I don’t know if I was ever more than a piece on the board.”
“Maybe we all are,” Kai murmured.
The council was dismissed shortly after. Father left without a word. The Queen lingered only a moment, giving us a glance that held more sorrow than anything else.
Kai sagged beside me once the room had emptied.
“Let’s go back,” I said, gently touching his shoulder.
We returned to his chambers in silence. He collapsed into the cushions with a heavy breath, one arm flung over his eyes. I sat beside him on the edge of the bed, listening to the ticking clock above the hearth.
Cassian entered quietly. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Just sat across from us in the chair by the fire, the shadows flickering across his face.
Eventually, he spoke. “I think I hate her.”
Neither Kai nor I answered.
“She’s my mother,” he said. “But when they led her away, I didn’t feel anything. I wanted to. But I didn’t.”
I reached over and took his hand.
“We’re all reeling,” I said softly. “None of this makes sense. But you’re not alone.”
Kai opened his eyes. “You’re our brother. That doesn’t change.”
Cassian looked away, jaw clenched, but his fingers curled around mine tightly. “Thanks,” he whispered.
Outside, the light was fading.
Inside, we sat in silence — bruised, but still standing. A family stitched together by blood, by choice, by grief. Holding each other steady in a world that kept trying to shatter us.
And when the next blow came, we would be ready.