I sat alone at the edge of the terrace garden, my hands curled around a cup of tea gone cold.
The roses were blooming early this year, winding up the ivory trellises in shades of coral and blush. For a moment, the peace almost felt real — like the poison, the trial, the haunted look in Kai’s eyes hadn’t really happened. But it had.
I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of chamomile and earth and—
"Your Highness."
I looked up. Adrian stood just beyond the low stone steps, a polite smile tugging at his lips. He wore no noble cloak today, just a soft gray tunic and riding gloves tucked into his belt — more relaxed than usual. Almost casual. Almost.
"May I join you?"
I gave a slow nod. “Of course.”
He settled beside me with a soft exhale, hands resting on his knees. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just watched the sun filter through the climbing vines like he was trying to memorize the moment.
“About the council’s decision,” he said at last, voice low. “And how brave you were. Again.”
“I don’t feel brave,” I murmured. “I feel… tired.”
“I can only imagine,” he said gently. “But what you did—standing there, speaking the truth, even when it hurt—people saw that. They saw your strength.”
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. There was something in his voice, something too carefully crafted, and I didn’t have the energy to parse it.
After a pause, he shifted slightly toward me.
“Kira,” he said softly, “I know things are still heavy right now. But I was wondering…”
I glanced up. His eyes were warm. Earnest.
“…would you allow me to take you away from the palace for a few hours? Not far. Just… a short ride. There’s a lake beyond the outer orchard. Quiet. Peaceful. No politics. No court.”
He offered a small, sheepish smile. “And no poisoned goblets, I promise.”
I huffed a quiet laugh despite myself.
His smile deepened. “You deserve a moment to breathe, Kira. I’d like to give you that. If you’ll let me.”
There it was again — the careful charm. Not forceful. Not pushy. Just… gently persistent.
I hesitated, eyes drifting back to the garden.
“I’ll think about it,” I said honestly.
He didn’t press. Just nodded, rising smoothly to his feet. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Then, almost as an afterthought, he reached into his coat and pulled a small bundle wrapped in silk. “I saw this at the market yesterday. Reminded me of you.”
He unwrapped it just enough to reveal a delicate comb carved from pearleshell, inlaid with silver filigree — a subtle crest of the twin moons along the spine.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
I blinked. “It’s beautiful.”
He gave a soft bow. “As are you.”
And with that, he turned and left, leaving the scent of crushed herbs and polished silver behind.
The palace gardens were quieter in the mornings. Early sunlight painted everything in soft gold, and dew clung to the petals like tiny stars.
I sat on the stone bench beneath the flowering yew trees, fingers brushing over the silk comb Adrian had given me. I hadn’t worn it. Not yet. But I also hadn’t been able to part with it.
“You’ve been quieter than usual,” a familiar voice said gently behind me.
I turned. Mother stood at the edge of the path, wrapped in a dove-gray shawl, her crown absent, her hair loose for once — looking less like a queen and more like a mother.
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” she said, stepping closer.
I smiled faintly. “You never interrupt.”
She sat beside me without waiting for an invitation, hands folded neatly in her lap. “You’ve been carrying too much. Even for someone as strong as you.”
“I don’t feel strong.”
“You don’t have to. That’s the trick no one tells you — sometimes being strong just means choosing to get out of bed.”
I exhaled shakily, blinking against the sting in my eyes. “I keep thinking of Kai… of everything he’s still carrying.”
Mother’s expression softened with that quiet sorrow she wore too often these days. “He’s alive, Kira. Because of you. But I know he’s not the same. You both have changed.”
I looked down at the comb again, running my thumb along the silver edge.
“Adrian invited me for a ride,” I said, almost absently. “Just to get away from the palace for a few hours.”
Her brow lifted, but she said nothing at first.
I added quickly, “I haven’t said yes yet.”
“And now?”
I paused.
“He’s kind,” I said. “Charming. He makes me feel… like I’m not drowning.”
Mother watched me for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Then go. If only to remember the world still holds small joys. Let yourself breathe, even just for a little while.”
I nodded, swallowing the knot in my throat.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
She smiled and kissed the side of my head, like she used to when I was small. “Come home before sunset.”
Later that day, I found Adrian by the stables.
He turned, surprised — then visibly brightened. “Princess.”
I took a slow breath, grounding myself in the smell of hay and leather and lavender from the nearby hedges.
“I’ll come,” I said. “But no politics. No flattery. And if you call me waterbug, I’m leaving you in the lake.”
He laughed, the sound light and relieved. “Deal.”
The ride out of the palace grounds was smooth and sun-warmed, the kind of afternoon where even the wind felt lazy. The guards stayed back at a distance, per Adrian’s suggestion, giving us space “to breathe.”
“This way,” he said, guiding his horse up a narrow trail half-hidden by wild lavender. “There’s a spot past the orchard that overlooks the lake. You’ll like it.”
I followed, the silence between us filled with birdsong and the rhythmic clop of hooves on dry earth. For once, I let my thoughts still — the weight of court, magic, bloodlines, and poisoned goblets pressed to the far edges of my mind.
When we reached the overlook, I had to admit — he’d chosen well.
A gentle slope of grass rolled down to a still lake, its surface glimmering like a sheet of silver glass. Blossoms drifted across the water’s edge, and a willow leaned out over the bank, its long arms swaying in the wind.
“I used to come here when I visited as a child,” Adrian said, dismounting and tying his horse loosely to a tree. “Back then I believed there were naiads in the lake. I tried to make offerings.” He smiled, a little sheepishly. “They weren’t impressed.”
I laughed. “What did you offer them?”
“Bread crusts. A feather. And one unfortunate gold ring I stole from my father’s desk.”
“That explains why the water gods cursed him with a son who talks too much.”
Adrian gasped. “Cruel, Your Highness. Very cruel.”
We spread a blanket near the edge of the hill. Adrian produced a satchel with soft cheeses, berries, honeyed bread, and two tiny glasses of apricot wine.
“Are you trying to fatten me or bribe me?” I asked, arching a brow.
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.
I laughed again. It felt easier today.
We ate slowly, watching the clouds drift. At one point, Adrian pulled out a small flute and played a soft tune — not masterful, but sweet. The kind of thing that didn’t feel like court or masks or secrets. Almost.
But there was something in the way his eyes lingered on me — too long, too focused.
“You’re different out here,” I said, watching him.
“Less polished?” he guessed.
“Less… careful.”
He shrugged. “Being careful is how people survive in the palace. But out here…” He paused. “I just want to be someone you trust.”
I blinked. “I do trust you.”
“Good,” he said, smiling. But something flickered in his eyes — not quite satisfaction. Something… sharper.
Then he looked away, gaze drifting to the lake.
“Do you ever think about leaving it all behind?” he asked quietly. “The palace. The titles. The weight.”
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “But I couldn’t. Not while Kai’s still learning to stand again. Not while people are whispering behind my back. Not while there’s still so much I don’t understand about who we really are.”
He nodded, solemn. “Then I’ll stay too. As long as you need me.”
His hand brushed mine. Just barely.
I didn’t pull away.
The silence stretched again, but this time it felt heavier.
Eventually, I rose. “We should head back. I promised my mother I’d be home before sunset.”
Adrian stood, brushing grass from his coat. “Of course.”
He offered his arm as we walked back to the horses. “For the record,” he said lightly, “you’re much scarier than any lake spirit I ever tried to impress.”
I gave him a sideways glance. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like you like me.”
He grinned. “Who says I don’t?”
I didn’t answer.
But I didn’t let go of his arm either.
It had been exactly two weeks since my day out with Adrian, we’ve sent a few letters since. Today I found myself at the training yard. The training yard had never been quiet. Not truly. It buzzed with the thrum of practice blades and the soft crunch of boots in gravel, the clang of metal and barked commands. But today, it was different.
Today, it was holding its breath.
I stood near the archway, tucked in the shade of a stone column, arms crossed tightly over my chest. The sun had baked the courtyard dry, but I barely felt its warmth. My focus was locked on the boy in the center—the boy with crimson light dancing at his fingertips.
My twin.
Malachi stood steady, sweat dampening his back, his breathing sharp and controlled. His hands glowed with threads of red—fire and smoke and something older—something that pulsed with a rhythm that didn’t belong to this world.
High Mage Ariston raised his staff. “Begin.”
Kai didn’t respond, only exhaled—and moved.
The blood magic launched forward like a whip, cracking through the air and striking the training dummy dead-center. The wood burst apart, flaming from the inside. Smoke curled upward from what remained.
Too much. Again.
“Kai,” Ariston warned, frowning, “your control is slipping. You need to channel it through you—not just from you.”
“I am,” Kai bit out. He grimaced, the veins in his arms glowing a deeper red. “I am trying.”
He was. I could see it—in the way his jaw clenched, the way his shoulders trembled as he forced the magic to retreat beneath his skin. But it didn’t want to go. It never wanted to go.
Cassian had appeared beside me at some point, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“He’s stronger than before,” he said under his breath.
“He’s breaking,” I whispered. “He’s unraveling every time it comes.”
Across the yard, Ariston summoned an illusion—another attacker, fast and cloaked in shadow. Kai turned too quickly, reacting on instinct. The red light surged from his chest again—roaring up his throat and bursting out in a jagged wave of magic.
The ground cracked. Stone splintered.
“Kai!” Ariston threw up a ward just in time. The shield absorbed most of it—but even that shimmered violently under the weight.
Dust burst into the air. My heart hammered.
When it cleared, Kai was standing in the middle of the blackened floor, breathing hard, hands trembling. Sparks still danced over his fingertips like tiny dying stars.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said, voice hoarse. “It just—it climbs. I can’t stop it once it starts.”
I stepped forward. “You didn’t hurt anyone.”
He didn’t look at me. “Yet.”
The way he said it—
Cassian moved before I could, placing a firm hand on Kai’s shoulder. “Then we’ll stop it together next time.”
Kai looked up at him, then at me. I saw the fear flicker through his emerald green eyes. Not fear of anyone else. Fear of himself.
“I need a break,” he muttered, already turning away. “Before I burn the palace down.”
No one stopped him as he disappeared through the ivy-covered gate.
Cassian stayed beside me, both of us watching the place where our brother had vanished.
“He’s trying to protect us from himself,” I said softly.
Cassian sighed. “And you’ll try to protect him from everything else.”
“That’s how it’s always been,” I murmured.
Cassian glanced at me. “You think you’re the only one who sees him. You’re not. He’s my brother too.”
I nodded slowly, heart aching as I looked back at the cracked floor, still scorched where Kai had stood.
The blood magic was growing. Changing him.
And I didn’t know how much longer he could fight it alone.
The scent of scorched earth still lingered faintly in the air as I stepped through the garden gate. The moon hung low, casting a silver glow that danced over the dew-covered grass. My heart pulled me toward the twisted branches of an ancient oak where I hoped to find him—my brother, my other half.
There he was. Kai.
He sat hunched against the gnarled trunk, fingers tracing absent patterns on the earth. His emerald green eyes lifted when he heard me, but they held something I’d rarely seen before—uncertainty. Fear.
“Hey,” I said softly, lowering myself beside him. The grass was cool beneath my fingers, but the warmth I felt from him was faint, like a flickering flame struggling against the wind.
“I thought you might need a break,” I added, unsure if I was offering comfort or seeking it myself.
He forced a shaky smile. “I’m fine.”
But I knew better. The tight set of his jaw, the way his hands trembled just slightly—that was no fine.
“I’m scared, Kira,” he admitted quietly. “This magic inside me—it’s not just power. It’s a storm. Wild and angry. Like it doesn’t belong to me.”
I reached out, gently taking his hand. His fingers twined with mine, grounding me as much as he.
“You’re not alone,” I promised. “We’ll learn to control it. Together.”
He leaned his head against my shoulder, and I felt the tension in his body ease just a little.
“We’ll figure this out,” I whispered, though inside I wasn’t sure if I believed it. But for him, for us, hope had to be enough.
The night settled around us like a soft blanket, but the palace never truly slept.
I knew I couldn’t stay long before the weight of court and duty pulled me back.
The halls were quiet, but my mind was anything but.
I walked without really meaning to, my feet guiding me down familiar corridors until the stone archway of the moon garden opened before me. A thin mist clung to the petals of the night-blooming lilies. The stars shimmered high above, too far away to touch, too bright to look at without hurting.
I let out a shaky breath and leaned against one of the old stone benches, folding my arms around myself. The cloak from earlier was gone—I must’ve left it behind. Now I felt cold again. Hollow.
I heard the soft scuff of boots on gravel before I saw him.
“Soren?”
He didn’t say anything at first. Just approached slowly, as if not to spook me, and then stopped a few feet away. His eyes scanned my face once, then the empty path behind me.
“I figured you’d end up here,” he said finally. “You always do when you can’t sleep.”
I nodded, eyes falling back to the dark water of the reflecting pool.
Without asking, he shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it around my shoulders. His hands were warm as they lingered a second too long at the edge of the collar.
“You’ll catch a chill,” he murmured, and then settled beside me, leaving a respectful distance between us.
For a while, we sat in silence. Not awkward, just... quiet. Like we were both waiting for the world to soften a little.
“It’s a lot,” I said at last, my voice thinner than I meant it to be.
Soren nodded slowly. “You’ve been through too much too quickly.”
My throat tightened. “Kai’s still recovering. The council’s watching every move I make. And Adrian—he keeps appearing like he’s always two steps ahead. It’s like I can’t breathe.”
He shifted, then looked at me gently, his voice low and even. “You don’t have to pretend to be fine, Kira. Not with me.”
That did it. I let my head tip against his shoulder, just for a second, just enough to lean into something real. Something still and solid.
“I’m tired,” I whispered. “Not just tired—bone-deep, aching kind of tired.”
“I know,” he said softly. “And I’ll stay here. As long as you need.”
And he did.
By morning, I’d barely remembered falling asleep. Soren must’ve carried me back to my room at some point, or maybe I walked without realizing it. Either way, I woke with the faintest imprint of his hand still wrapped around mine, and the weight of his cloak still across my shoulders.
But the day wouldn’t wait.
I found Cassian alone in the west library, seated at a long reading table that had once belonged to one of our ancestors. The only light came from the tall, arched windows behind him, painting gold lines across his shoulders like armor he wasn’t wearing. His back was to me, but I recognized the slope of it — the way he sat when something was breaking him.
I closed the door softly behind me. “Cass?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just turned the page of the book in front of him without looking at it.
“I know,” he said finally. “You’re going to tell me I should eat. Or sleep. Or stop hiding.”
“Not today,” I replied, stepping closer. “I’m here because I miss my brother.”
That got a flicker out of him. Not a smile — but the smallest shift of breath, a thread of quiet relief.
I sat across from him. The table between us felt too wide.
He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the page, eyes still distant. “She tried to kill him,” he said, voice like gravel. “My mother. She looked me in the eye before the banquet — told me everything she’d done was for me. For my future. And I believed her.”
He shook his head. “Gods, Kira. I believed her.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I didn’t. I let the silence stretch, waiting.
“I used to think if I fought hard enough, earned enough, maybe it would undo the way I was born. Like if I kept my armor polished and my blade sharp and gave everything to this crown, someone would say I belonged.” His voice thickened. “But if this is what it costs…”
His jaw clenched. “I don’t know who I’m fighting for anymore.”
I reached out, laying my hand over his. “You don’t have to keep proving yourself to anyone, Cass. Not me. Not the court. Not her.”
“I know,” he whispered. “But it still feels like if I let go now, everything I’ve built falls with it. Every scar, every oath—worthless.”
“Not worthless,” I said quietly. “Just… heavy. And maybe it’s time you put some of it down. Not forever. Just long enough to breathe.”
His eyes found mine at last. There was grief there — real, deep, and old. The kind that didn’t fade, just settled deeper into the bones.
“I want to step back,” he said. “From the line of succession. From all of it. At least for now. I want to choose who I am, not just chase what someone else decided I should be.”
I nodded, heart aching. “Then step back. And we’ll still be here when you’re ready to stand again.”
A long pause passed between us. Then Cassian huffed a breath — almost a laugh, bitter at the edges.
“She’ll hate me for it,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said. “But she already betrayed you. You don’t owe her anything anymore.”
His gaze dropped to our hands, still touching across the table.
“You and Kai… you’re everything she couldn’t understand. You fight for each other. You see each other.” His voice cracked. “I envy that.”
I swallowed hard. “You have it too. With us.”
Cassian didn’t speak again. He just squeezed my hand, held it tightly for a beat longer, and then leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, as if the act of saying it out loud had cost him something — and freed him, too.
For the first time, he looked a little less like a crown in waiting.
And a little more like my brother.