The first thing I felt was the cold—the chill of the chamber pressing against my skin, sharp and unforgiving. My eyelids fluttered, heavy as lead, and every breath felt ragged, like I was drawing the air through a sieve. Sounds reached me in pieces: distant shouts, hurried footsteps, the sharp clatter of armor, and something else… low murmurs, frantic whispers threaded with fear.
I tried to move, but my limbs refused to obey, stiff and trembling under the weight of exhaustion and pain. The room tilted, then righted, then tilted again, each motion sending a surge of nausea through me. My hand, sticky and cold, brushed against something damp—I recoiled slightly, heart hammering. Blood. I had been stabbed.
Faces swam into view, blurred at first, then slowly solidifying as my focus sharpened. Soren was crouched near me, his expression tight with tension, eyes darting as he whispered urgently to someone behind him.
“Kira… stay with me,” he murmured, voice steady despite the fear that rippled through it.
I tried to speak, but my throat felt raw, my voice nothing more than a rasp. I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze upward.
Kai’s face appeared first, sharp and rigid with barely contained fury. His jaw clenched, and his hands flexed, still trembling as if he might leap at something—or someone—again.
And then my father. My heart constricted at the sight of him, his battle-worn armor scuffed and smudged with dust and ash, but his eyes… they were red-rimmed, haunted. Grief and guilt clung to him like a second skin, and the way he crouched beside me, one hand trembling as it brushed against my hair, made my chest ache with a sorrow that matched his.
Cassian was there too, silent, his gaze sharp yet carefully restrained. His presence grounded me, a tether to reality that made the swirl of panic around me almost tolerable. He kept a hand near my shoulder but didn’t touch me, waiting, alert, protective.
The room was a haze of movement and murmurs. Servants scurried with bandages and waterskins, whispers of fear and urgency filling the space. Fennie hovered just beyond, her usual composure cracked, hands clenching at her sides, watching anxiously for any sign that I might slip again into darkness.
I tried to take it all in, tried to focus on the faces around me, but everything felt unreal, like I was seeing them through a fogged glass. Bits of the attack flashed in my mind—the cold steel of Adrian’s blade, the searing surge of Kai’s magic, the golden shadow of Maerial beside him—but the images were fractured, fleeting.
I felt a hand brush my cheek gently—my father’s—and my eyes welled with tears despite the haze of exhaustion. “Kira… you’re here. You’re alive,” he whispered, voice trembling.
I tried to respond, to nod, to reach out, but my hands fell weakly to my sides. I blinked rapidly, trying to steady my vision as the panic and urgency around me pressed in.
Through the blur, I saw Kai glance at Adrian, still restrained but retreating, and Cassian’s jaw tightened in quiet anger. The room’s chaos slowed to a muffled hum as I fought to stay present, to keep my body awake enough to witness that I was still… me.
I caught sight of Maerial’s faint shimmer in my mind’s eye, a ghostly reminder of what had been at play, of the divinity that had protected me even as I bled. A flicker of gratitude and confusion crossed me, but it was fleeting, buried beneath the immediate awareness of pain, family, and survival.
The room tilted once more as I exhaled shakily, and my father leaned closer, murmuring, “It’s alright, Waterbug. You’re safe now. You’re with us.”
For the first time in what felt like hours, I let myself cling to that reassurance. My eyelids drooped again, heavy with fatigue, but this time the darkness didn’t feel as menacing—it was a fragile reprieve, a pause between terror and recovery, as I watched my family gathered around me, their faces etched with fear, relief, and love.
Time passed in fragmented moments. I felt as though hours—or maybe only minutes—had slipped by, each one indistinct, marked only by the shifting of faces around me and the ebbing throb of pain in my side. Servants flitted in and out, carrying waters, bandages, and whispering softly to one another. I caught snippets of their murmured questions: “Is she conscious?” “Will she be all right?” Each one made my chest tighten, a painful reminder that the world outside my own fractured vision continued without pause.
My father remained at my side, unrelenting in his vigilance. Every so often, he would brush damp hair from my forehead, adjust my blankets, or simply place a trembling hand over mine. His lips moved in quiet reassurance, murmured promises that I was safe, that I had survived. I could see the guilt etched in every line of his face, the shadow of having arrived too late pressing down on him. His shoulders slumped under the weight of regret, yet he refused to leave.
Cassian sat nearby, arms crossed, jaw tight. He didn’t speak, but his presence was a steady anchor. I could feel his attention tracking every movement of Kai and the remaining guards, ensuring no threat could breach the room. Even in his quiet, he radiated the same protective energy that had carried him through years of war.
And Kai… Kai hovered close, though he didn’t touch me. His gaze never left the doorway, as though Adrian—or any other danger—might reappear at any second. But every so often, he would glance down at me, just for a heartbeat, and I could see the raw, unfiltered relief and fear mingling in his emerald green eyes.
I tried to move, cautiously, and winced as pain shot through my side. A sharp intake of breath escaped me, but none of the murmurs or shifts in the room could shake me from the weight pressing on my chest—the lingering memory of Adrian’s hand, the blade, the moment I’d felt the edge of death brush past me.
“I… I’m all right,” I whispered, voice hoarse, barely above the sound of a sigh. My hand rose weakly to my side, testing the bandages that Fennie—or one of the servants—had applied. The pain radiated outward, a dull, constant throb, but it was bearable, and that realization sent a small, fragile relief through me.
Fennie approached cautiously, as if fearing my reaction. She kept a respectful distance, eyes wide with concern. “Your Highness… you’ve been through so much. You should rest, and then—then we can discuss what comes next.”
I shook my head faintly. “No… not yet,” I murmured. I needed to see them all, to confirm that the world outside my own pain was still intact, still holding the people I loved.
My gaze drifted to my father again. “Father…” I whispered, voice breaking despite my attempts at calm. His head snapped up, eyes wide and searching mine.
“I’m here, Waterbug,” he said softly, voice cracking with the weight of emotion. “You’re here. You made it through. I… I’m so sorry I wasn’t—”
I pressed a weak hand to his, stopping him. “It’s not… your fault,” I murmured, even as tears blurred my vision. “I… I survived. That’s what matters.”
Kai’s eyes darkened with a mixture of protectiveness and anger, and he took a half-step closer. I didn’t meet his gaze fully, still too aware of the trembling heat in my chest, the way every nerve screamed in protest at even the slightest movement.
Cassian’s presence remained steady, unspoken support radiating from him like a shield. He finally leaned forward, resting a hand gently near mine. “We’re all here, Kira. You’re safe now. That’s what matters.”
I closed my eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath. The room’s chaos—the rushing footsteps, the worried murmurs—faded into the background as I clung to the simple, grounding fact that I wasn’t alone. That they were all here: my father, my brothers, my twin tether to life itself.
A part of me, the small, stubborn part that had clung to Maerial’s glow during the attack, flickered faintly. It whispered that this wasn’t over—not the grief, not the danger, not the way the world had shifted beneath me—but it also reminded me that I was not entirely powerless.
I let my head fall back against the pillows, still trembling, still weak, but alive. For the first time in hours—or days, or months—I allowed myself a small, fragile comfort: they were here. And I could feel them holding me, even as my mind began to reel with the questions of what would come next.
And even in the haze of pain, even with the memory of Adrian’s madness burned into my thoughts, I knew one thing with clarity: I would survive this. I had to. Not just for me, but for them. For all of them.
When I woke again, the light had shifted. The chamber was dim, the shadows longer, but not entirely empty. Fennie sat curled in a chair by the fire, her eyes red from crying. Someone must have forced her to rest, because she startled upright the instant I stirred, nearly toppling over in her haste.
“You’re awake,” she breathed, relief breaking through her exhaustion. She hurried to the bedside, reaching for my hand, though she hesitated before actually touching me—as though afraid I might vanish if she did.
I blinked slowly, my throat too dry to answer right away. When I finally managed to speak, my voice rasped low, raw from disuse. “The banquet…?”
Her expression faltered, guilt flashing across her face. “It’s already passed. Hours ago. They—they couldn’t delay it without suspicion.” She lowered her gaze, wringing her hands together. “But you were never expected to attend. Not after…”
She didn’t finish, and I didn’t ask her to. My hand drifted unconsciously to my side, to the ache beneath the layers of bandages. The memories clawed up before I could stop them—the glint of Adrian’s blade, the heat of his breath as he snarled that I would be his alone. A tremor ran through me.
Fennie saw it and reached, this time without hesitation, to clasp my hand. “You’re alive,” she whispered fiercely. “That’s all that matters now. You’re alive, Princess.”
I turned my face toward her, forcing my lips into the barest shape of a smile. “Alive, but… not the same.”
She squeezed harder, her stubbornness softening her fear. “Then we’ll find a way to make you whole again. Together.”
A quiet knock at the door interrupted us. My father stepped inside, followed closely by Cassian. Both wore expressions carved of steel, but their eyes softened the moment they saw me awake. Kai lingered just behind them in the hall.
“The court asked after you,” my father said, his voice gentle, as if he feared I might shatter if he spoke too loud. “I told them only that you were unwell. That is all they need to know.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened. “Rumors will spread regardless. But let them. Better they think you’re ill than know what truly happened.”
I swallowed, my chest aching with a different kind of pain. “And Adrian?”
At that, Kai finally entered, his presence filling the room like a storm. “Gone,” he said flatly,. “But not far enough. He’ll answer for what he did.”
I wanted to ask more—how he’d escaped, how far he had gotten—but the weight of my body dragged me back down, leaving me too weak to hold myself upright. My eyelids grew heavy again.
My father pressed a kiss to my temple, lingering. “Rest now, my little waterbug. You’ve missed one banquet, but there will be others. What matters is that you’re here to see them.”
As the darkness pulled at me again, I thought of his words. Banquets, courts, ceremonies… they all seemed so far away now, like another lifetime. What mattered most was the warmth of the hands around mine, the voices that tethered me to the present, and the stubborn will within me that whispered: I survived.
Even as I clung to that thought, the shadows of my room seemed to loosen their grip, drawn back by the morning light creeping through the curtains. Each breath felt a little easier, each heartbeat a little steadier, as if the world outside was coaxing me back into it, one careful step at a time. Slowly, almost reluctantly, I let myself rise, leaning on the strength that had carried me through the corridors, through the pain, through the fear.
The sunlight felt strange against my skin after so long inside. I stood on the balcony with a shawl draped around my shoulders, the autumn air crisp but kind. My body still ached in places where the blade had cut, but the deeper wound—the one that had hollowed me—was only beginning to knit itself closed.
The door creaked open behind me. I didn’t need to turn to know it was Kai; his steps carried the steady weight of someone who would rather pace than walk.
“You’ve grown too fond of hiding,” he said, his voice sharper than the breeze.
I closed my eyes, breathing deeply before answering. “And you’ve grown too fond of scolding.”
His sigh carried both frustration and relief. “You locked yourself away for weeks, Kira. We came home from war to find you half dead. I won’t pretend that didn’t terrify me.”
When I finally faced him, his emerald eyes burned—not with anger, but with the raw, unshielded grief of a twin who couldn’t bear to lose me. For the first time in a long while, I reached for his hand. “I didn’t know how to be with the world after she was gone.” My voice cracked. “After everything was gone.”
Kai squeezed my fingers, grounding me. “Then don’t do it alone anymore.”
Cassian entered quietly then, leaning against the doorframe, his expression softer, shadows beneath his emerald eyes betraying nights of little sleep. “You know,” he said, almost awkwardly, “I always thought of your mother as… mine too.” He hesitated, glancing down. “Catherine gave me life, yes, but your mother gave me home. She made me believe I belonged here.”
My throat tightened, fresh tears threatening. “She would have liked to hear you say that.”
“She knew,” Cassian said simply. “Mothers always know.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full, heavy with shared loss, but stitched together by the strange comfort of speaking it aloud.
Then our father’s voice broke it, firm and deliberate. He stepped into the chamber, his dark attire more suited for court than for family, though the grief still clung to his shoulders like a second cloak. “We cannot linger in mourning forever,” he said, though his eyes softened as they swept over us. “Valara needs direction. A crown prince must be named.”
The words struck like a bell through the quiet.
Kai’s jaw tightened. Cassian straightened from the doorframe. I felt the sting of exclusion before the weight of meaning even settled. Of course. Women in Valara were never considered for succession. Not even daughters.
Kai spoke first, his tone edged with steel. “You’re naming one of us.”
Father inclined his head gravely. “The court will meet within days to confirm it. But yes. One of you will bear the title.”
Cassian glanced toward me then, something unspoken in his eyes. Not pity—never pity—but recognition. He knew what it meant, how it must feel, to stand at the edge of history and know you could not step into it.
I folded my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the sun. “Then I suppose the world moves on, whether we are ready or not.”
Father’s gaze lingered on me a moment, as though he wished he could say otherwise. But he didn’t. He only nodded once, solemn, and turned to leave.
The decision was made. A Crown Prince would rise. And I—
I would have to decide what role I was willing to play in a kingdom that had no place for me on its throne.