The morning started with sun-kissed gardens and the scent of blooming starroot. I remember that part. The rest unraveled like a scroll dropped into flame.
I was sitting in the Queen’s Solarium, half-listening to the hum of the healers who had come to discuss temple arrangements for the winter, when the door burst open.
Cassian was the first through.
His sword was sheathed, but his face was war.
“Where’s the king?” he demanded.
“Still in the south wing—why?”
He didn’t answer. His boots echoed across the tile, a shadow behind him taking form. General Varyn, the Lord Commander. Behind him came two more councilmen and Kai, who looked like he hadn’t slept.
Something tightened in my throat.
Kai gave me a look across the room—brief, warning, protective. Stay back if you can.
But I stood.
“Someone tell me what’s happened.”
Cassian turned to me, jaw set. “Drakenvyre struck our eastern border. A full-scale siege on Fort Elaras. Reports say they’ve broken the outer wall.”
Time slowed. The words didn’t feel real. Not until I saw the seal in Varyn’s hand—cracked wax, scorched black. A declaration.
The war had begun.
“Why now?” I asked, breath shallow. “Why strike now?”
Kai exhaled, folding his arms. “Because they knew we weren’t ready. The fort was low on supplies, half its soldiers rerouted to aid the western famine. They chose a famine-weakened border on purpose. They wanted blood, not land. They’ve been watching. Waiting.”
“And Sylas?” I said, too fast. “He’s still—?”
“In the palace,” Cassian answered, “for now. But not for long.”
Something in his voice pulled my gaze to him. He looked—torn. Like something had been said behind closed doors I hadn’t been part of. A decision made.
I barely had time to process what Cassian said — or what it meant — before the others were already moving.
Varyn swept past me with his councilmen in tow, murmuring directives under his breath. Cassian gave me one last look, sharp and unreadable, then turned on his heel. Kai hesitated beside me, hand still on my arm.
“Come,” he said quietly. “You should hear what comes next.”
And just like that, I found myself moving too.
We slipped into the council chamber behind the others, the Queen’s Solarium already fading behind us like the last quiet moment of a dream. The air inside was colder, sharper — thick with tension and old stone and the scent of ink and smoke. As the doors closed, sealing us in, the war followed us inside.
I barely registered the next flurry of movement. Advisors whispering, Varyn giving orders. But I heard the Queen’s steps behind me. Slow. Soft. Unsteady.
She took my hand.
Her fingers were cold.
Her face was pale, lips pressed tight.
“I’ll see your father,” she whispered, more to herself than me. “He must decide quickly… before we lose more ground.”
Before she left, she brushed my hair from my eyes like I was still her little girl. But her touch trembled.
As the doors closed behind her, the council exploded into noise. Plans. Maps. Evacuation protocols. They talked over me, around me, through me.
But I only heard Kai.
He came to my side, touched my arm gently. “It’s starting, Kira.”
“I know,” I whispered.
But the words weren’t really mine.
I don’t remember what happened next — not clearly. Voices blurred together. Varyn’s orders, Cassian’s warnings, a dozen arguments layered like armor I couldn’t wear. Everything felt too loud and too far away at once. I stood still in the middle of it, a ghost in a storm of urgency. And then… it passed. The council moved to the strategy chamber. The maps and voices followed them. And I… I slipped out.
The corridor was quieter than it should have been. No distant echo of boots, no rustle of servants or clipped commands from guards. Just the hush of velvet drapes and late afternoon light slipping in slanted through the stained-glass windows.
I turned a corner and nearly collided with Sylas.
“Ah—Princess Trouble,” he said, catching my elbow in time to steady me. “Perfect. I was hoping fate would shove you at me.”
“You mean you were lurking around a corner.”
He gasped, mock-wounded. “I’ll have you know I was dramatically brooding by the window. You’ve ruined the aesthetic.”
I snorted. “A tragedy.”
His hand lingered on my arm a moment longer before he let go. “You heading to the stables to stop them? Or just looking to scream into the wind?”
I hesitated. “Both?”
A faint smile played at his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. I looked at him then—really looked. The way his silver hair was tied back in a loose knot, a few strands escaping to catch the light. The way his mismatched eyes tracked mine, like he was memorizing me one blink at a time.
“You’re going with them,” I said quietly.
He nodded once. “My father made his move. First strike was on your eastern border—some poor outpost that barely had walls. He’s daring Valara to answer. So I’m answering.”
“You’ll be fighting your own people.”
He shrugged one shoulder, the careless kind that meant everything. “They stopped being mine the moment they started obeying a tyrant.”
“Sylas…”
He looked at me then. Something simmered behind his usual theatrical ease. Fire beneath velvet.
“I’m going back,” he said. “To end him. To rip him out root and rot and make sure no one like him ever sits that throne again.”
I swallowed. “You could die.”
“I could,” he said. “But not before he does.”
I reached out before I could stop myself, fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve. “You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
“I won’t,” he said softly. “Your brother, your captain, your golden prince—they’ll stand with me. And you… you’ll still be here when it’s over, won’t you?”
I didn’t answer right away. My throat felt tight, full of unsaid things.
Sylas stepped closer, his voice lower now. “You’re the first person who ever made me want to survive this.”
My breath caught.
“But not the first person he took from me,” he added, quietly. “He killed my mother, Kira. Because she was too loved. Too powerful in her own right. Sound familiar?”
I stared at him, heat crawling up the back of my neck. “You think he’ll try the same with me.”
“I think he already has,” Sylas said. “Just… in different ways.”
He stepped back before I could say anything, restoring that usual distance between us—but not the ease.
“We’ll leave before sunrise,” he said. “Try not to miss me too much.”
I folded my arms. “Oh, I’ll be far too busy disrupting the peace.”
“Atta girl,” he murmured. Then he bowed low, teasing as ever, though there was weight in it this time. Reverence.
And when he turned to go, I didn’t stop him.
Not yet.
The moment Sylas was gone, I turned and ran.
The corridors blurred around me, a rush of gold banners, stone columns, and the faint hush of servants who dared not speak. My slippers scuffed against the polished floors as I twisted down the eastern hall toward the private wing.
Toward my brother.
Kai.
My heart was beating like a war drum by the time I reached the sparring courtyard. The scent of scorched wind and chalk dust clung to the air — and then I saw him.
Golden hair wind-swept and messy, cheeks flushed from practice, a practice sword still in his hand. He looked taller. Stronger. Like he was trying to wear the shape of a soldier, even if it didn’t quite fit.
“Kai!”
He turned.
And then I was in his arms, fists bunching at his back as I buried my face against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered instantly, holding me tight. “I should’ve told you sooner.”
“You’re a traitor,” I muttered, voice thick. “You didn’t even tell me you were going.”
He pulled back enough to meet my eyes. “I was going to.”
“But you didn’t.” I shoved at his chest, not hard — just enough that he knew I was angry. “You were going to march off to war and leave me here like it wouldn’t rip me in half.”
His gaze softened, wounded. “Kira…”
“You’re my twin,” I said, breath catching. “You’re not allowed to die. Not without me.”
“That’s why I have to go.” He smiled, a sad sort of smile. “To make sure you’re safe. Cassian, too. You think I could sit back and let someone else defend you?”
I shook my head. “That’s not fair. You always do this. You throw yourself into fire like your life’s some kind of shield for the rest of us.”
“It is,” he said quietly. “You’re the heart of this kingdom, Kira. I’m just its sword.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not true. You’re my heart, Kai.”
He flinched at that — just slightly — and I saw the struggle behind his eyes. The desire to protect. The fear of losing everything. The weight of being born with too much power and not enough time to grow into it.
Before either of us could say more, another voice broke the moment.
“You two are dramatic even when you’re not fighting armies,” Cassian called as he crossed the training yard, sweat glistening at his brow. He tossed a canteen to Kai, who caught it without looking.
“Stay out of this,” I snapped, spinning toward him. “I know you’re going too.”
Cassian paused. “Of course I am. It’s my duty.”
“No,” I said. “It’s your guilt.”
His brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
“You think if you don’t go, you’re somehow less — that everything your mother did, everything she kept from us, you have to carry it alone. Well, you don’t! But that doesn’t mean you have to—” My voice cracked. “You don’t have to get yourselves killed just to prove you’re loyal.”
Cassian crossed the space between us and placed a hand on my shoulder, gentle.
“I’m not doing this because of Catherine,” he said, voice calm despite my fire. “I’m doing it for the same reason Kai is. Because we love you. And we won’t let this kingdom fall around you.”
“Well, I hate it,” I said. “I hate your big brother complex, and I hate Kai’s martyr complex, and I hate that I can’t stop any of it.”
Kai gave a faint smile behind me. “She’s always hated when we make decisions without her.”
“I am your sister,” I snapped, eyes stinging. “You’d think that would matter.”
“It does,” Cassian said softly. “That’s why we’re doing this.”
But I couldn’t look at them anymore. I just turned away, wrapping my arms around myself like it would keep everything from falling apart.
If love was a battlefield, I was already losing.
I wiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand, furious at myself for crying. I hated when I cried. It made everything feel too real, too final.
I stormed down the corridor, heart hammering, breath still uneven after the argument with Kai. My shoulders brushed tapestries I barely registered, my slippers silent against marble, and then I froze.
Just beyond the open archway, the Queen sat alone on the balcony.
She looked like a painting: blond hair swept into a coil, pearls at her throat, the afternoon light gilding the white lace of her gown. She cradled a porcelain cup in her hands — pale blue, rimmed in gold — and stared out over the gardens in still, almost regal silence.
Except…
Her hands were shaking.
Not violently. Just barely. The tremble of someone who hadn’t slept, who had lost too many things and was still expected to be strong for everyone else. The motion made the tea ripple in the cup like a memory of rain.
I stood in the shadows, unsure if she had seen me. Part of me wanted to go to her. The other part — the childish part — wanted to be held. Wanted her to say everything would be fine.
But she didn’t look like a mother preparing for war.
She looked like a woman trying not to break.
And I wondered — Had she already cried? Screamed? Raged? Had she done it behind closed doors where no one could see?
My throat tightened.
The wind brushed past, carrying the scent of lilacs and the faint, eerie hush that fell over the palace when everyone pretended nothing was ending.
Because maybe if we kept pretending, it wouldn’t.
But her hands told the truth. And for the first time since this all began, I realized something:
Even queens are afraid.
I didn’t go to her.
I should have. I could have. But something in me… hesitated.
Maybe I didn’t want her to see the state I was in — red-eyed, shaking, furious and heartbroken all at once. Maybe I didn’t want to see the look on her face if I asked her not to let them go, if I begged her to stop this, to fix it. Because deep down I already knew the answer.
So I turned.
My steps carried me down the familiar path, past sunlit windows and ivy-wrapped columns, until I reached the lower courtyard. It was empty. Everyone was either preparing or pretending — and I, for once, was neither.
I sat on the edge of the old stone fountain and finally let my shoulders sag.
The water lapped gently behind me. Somewhere in the distance, a sparrow chirped.
But inside me, there was only storm.
I hated this. I hated this fear that felt like it lived under my skin now, like it had made a home in my bones. I hated that I couldn’t protect them — Kai, with his reckless heart and haunted eyes; Cassian, always shouldering burdens no one asked him to carry. I hated that every person I loved seemed determined to throw themselves into the fire.
And I hated that I couldn’t follow.
I clenched my fists in my lap. My vision blurred again, but I didn’t blink it away this time.
Why did it have to be us?
Why did it always have to be our family that was asked to bleed for the kingdom?
I tilted my head to the sky, the clouds soft and pale above me — a sky that had no idea what we were about to lose.
“I’m not ready,” I whispered.
Not for war. Not for goodbyes.
And certainly not for being the one left behind.
I didn’t hear his steps.
Not until the shadow stretched long across the flagstones, and I felt the stillness shift beside me.
“Mind some company?” came his voice — quieter than usual, stripped of the usual weight it wore inside council chambers and war rooms.
I blinked up at him.
The King.
Not in his crown, not in polished armor or layers of velvet. Just my father, his black hair hair silvering at the edges, lines around his eyes deeper than I remembered. He looked tired.
And he looked at me like I wasn’t hiding anything at all.
I shook my head.
He sat beside me, careful, like he wasn’t sure if I’d shatter if he moved too quickly. And maybe I would have.
“I thought I was being quiet,” I whispered.
“You were,” he replied. “I just know where you go when the world starts closing in.”
That made something inside me twist. The tears I thought I’d buried started up again, sudden and raw. I wiped at them quickly, but it was no use.
“I hate this,” I choked out. “I hate that they’re going. That you’re going. Everyone’s leaving, and I’m just—left.”
My father didn’t speak right away. He only placed a hand gently over mine, grounding. Strong and warm.
“I know,” he said finally. “It isn’t fair. It never has been, has it?”
That was the thing about him. He didn’t lie to comfort me. He just sat with it. With me.
I leaned into him, shoulders trembling. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” he murmured, his arm coming around me.
“But you don’t know that,” I said, and the honesty of it burned. “None of us do.”
He exhaled — slow, deliberate. “You’re right. I don’t. But what I do know is that you’re strong, Kira. Braver than you think. And no matter what happens… you carry us with you.”
He rested his forehead briefly against mine, like I was small again.
“I see so much of your mother in you,” he whispered. “But what you gave yourself — this heart — that’s yours alone.”
And maybe that was the moment something broke open in me. Or maybe it was the moment something began to heal.
I closed my eyes and let myself cry. For the war. For Kai. For Cassian. For him.
He didn’t rush me. Just stayed there — my anchor in a world unraveling.