The council chamber was colder than I remembered. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, but the marble floor and stone pillars swallowed warmth whole. I sat to the side, in a seat meant for observation rather than power, my shawl pulled tight around me. No place for women in the line of succession, no voice in the vote that would shape our future—yet every word spoken here pressed heavy against my chest.
The lords were already gathered, their silks rustling like restless birds. Father stood at the head of the chamber, his crown glinting beneath the light. But it wasn’t his voice they had come to hear.
It was his sons’.
Kai stood to one side, a storm barely contained, his green eyes smoldering as if the sparks of war still lived in his veins. Cassian stood opposite, broader, quieter, his expression measured but resolute.
“The throne of Valara,” Father began, his voice carrying across the chamber, “cannot stand empty of a Crown Prince. With your queen gone, it is my duty to name the heir who will guide this kingdom when I am no longer able.”
Murmurs rippled through the lords like wind across water. Some eyes flicked toward Kai, others toward Cassian.
But Cassian spoke first. “Father, my lords—hear me clearly. I will not be king.”
The chamber stilled. Even the banners seemed to hang heavier in the silence.
Cassian squared his shoulders, his voice steady though softer than Kai’s fire. “I was raised for command, not for court. My place is with the army, in the field where Valara’s borders are guarded. That is where I serve best. To take the crown would not only cripple my brother’s claim—it would cripple this kingdom. My loyalty lies with Valara, and with Malachi.”
Gasps and mutters flared at once, the lords exchanging sharp glances. A few muttered their agreement, while others scowled, whispering about propriety and bloodlines.
Kai’s jaw tightened. His hand flexed at his side, restless, but he did not interrupt.
One lord rose—Lord Halveth, his voice a rasp sharpened by years of scheming. “The second prince is older, more seasoned in command. By law, Cassian’s claim is stronger. If he refuses, it raises questions about stability—about unity. Will Valara accept a younger son when the elder turns away?”
Cassian’s gaze cut to him, sharp enough to slice steel. “Valara will accept the brother who was born to lead. Kai carries the fire of our bloodline. I know it. I’ve seen it. I will not steal his crown.”
My chest ached at his words, not only for their clarity but for their love. He gave up power not because he feared it, but because he believed in Kai enough to bear the whispers of disloyalty himself.
Father’s gaze swept across the chamber, silencing the lords’ mutters. His voice was iron. “Then it is decided. Prince Kai will be named Crown Prince of Valara. This is not a request. It is the will of your king.”
The lords bent their heads—some reluctantly, some with genuine deference—but the decision was sealed.
The great hall was dressed in gold and crimson, its banners unfurled like flames against the high stone walls. Candles flickered from every sconce, their light failing to soften the sharp edges of ceremony. A hush filled the air, broken only by the rustle of silks and the shifting of armored shoulders.
At the center stood my father, the King of Valara, his crown gleaming though his face seemed carved from shadow. Before him, Kai knelt, head bowed, his golden hair catching the candlelight like fire caught in glass.
I stood among the courtiers, my shawl clutched around me. The air was heavy with incense and the unsaid.
My father’s voice rang clear, trained by years of command, yet beneath its strength I heard the tremor of a man who had buried his wife too recently. “Before the gods and before Valara, we name a Crown Prince to stand as heir to the throne. This duty should have been shared with my queen, whose counsel was as steady as the stars. She is not with us now.” His voice caught—just barely—but it rippled through the hall all the same. “Yet I know she watches. Her wisdom endures in our children.”
My throat tightened. The lords bowed their heads, whether out of grief or obligation I could not tell.
Father turned to Kai, his eyes grave, his voice iron once more. “Malachi Eleryn of Valara. You are born of my blood and the fire of our line. Do you swear to defend this kingdom with your life, your heart, and your honor?”
Kai lifted his head, emerald eyes burning with a promise that was more than words. “I swear it, before gods and our kingdom.”
“Do you swear to guard the weak, to lead with justice, and to serve Valara above all else?”
“I swear it.”
Father lifted the crown, not the one of kings but a circlet of gold and falcon-shaped rubies. His hands trembled as he held it aloft—not with weakness, but with sorrow. “Then rise, my son. Rise, Crown Prince of Valara.”
He placed the circlet upon Kai’s brow. The hall erupted in applause, the lords’ voices rising, some fervent, some begrudging, but none dared silence. The banners stirred as though the air itself bowed.
Kai rose to his feet, tall, fierce, the fire of his oath burning in the golden set of his jaw. Yet when his eyes flicked toward me, I saw the burden already settling, the weight of crown and kingdom pressing down like chains.
My father stepped back, his gaze lingering on Kai, but his words were spoken to the hall. “Valara endures. Valara burns bright.”
The lords echoed him, the hall filling with the chorus of loyalty.
But when the sound died, I saw the shadow in my father’s eyes, the grief he could not speak here. His queen was gone, and the son who had once been only a boy of fire and mischief now bore a crown too heavy for youth.
And though the hall glittered with triumph, I felt the truth in my bones: this was not only a crowning. It was the beginning of something greater—and far more dangerous.
The feast spilled across the hall in a blur of gold and crimson. Long tables groaned beneath platters of roasted boar, bowls of stewed fruit, and loaves steaming with spice. The air was thick with laughter, the clatter of goblets, the scrape of knives against bone. Yet for all its brightness, the celebration felt heavy to me, every note of music echoing against the hollow place in my chest.
Kai sat at the high table beside our father, the circlet of the Crown Prince glittering on his brow. He looked every inch the heir Valara demanded—composed, unyielding, fire simmering just beneath the surface. Cassian, at his other side, drank sparingly, eyes ever watchful, as if he could not unlearn the habits of war even in peace.
I lingered further down the table, Fennie at my side, trying to force food past the knot in my throat. Every so often I caught a glimpse of my father, his smile practiced, his gaze slipping toward the empty chair beside him. The queen’s place. It had been polished, draped in silk, and left untouched. No one dared sit there. The reminder was sharper than any blade.
The lords, however, wasted no time in filling the silence with their own chatter.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Lord Halveth muttered from across the table, his voice carrying farther than he thought. “The Duke’s son vanishes, no trace, no word. On the very night of the victory banquet, too.”
Another lord leaned closer, his tone sly. “Adrian was always too quiet, too careful. Perhaps he found reason to flee. Perhaps his loyalties lay elsewhere all along.”
A lady in velvet fanned herself delicately. “Or perhaps,” she said with a sigh, “he simply could not bear the court’s weight any longer. His father rots in the dungeons. Would you not run, too?”
The words slid under my skin like shards of glass. I kept my face still, my goblet poised, but my hand trembled around it. They spoke of him as though he had been a shadow passing through our halls, not a man who had once stood at my side, whose voice had murmured assurances I no longer knew how to believe.
I thought of his hands on me, both gentle and cruel. His blade, his eyes, his voice whispering that I belonged to him alone. My gut ached where his knife had pierced me, though no blood bloomed now. The lords did not see it. They never would.
Fennie touched my sleeve softly, pulling me back to the present. “Don’t listen,” she whispered. “Let them talk. They don’t know.”
But I did. And every careless word reminded me of the truth I could not speak—that Adrian had not disappeared into the mist of rumor. He had left a scar carved deep into me, one that would not fade as easily as their whispers.
Kai’s voice broke through the murmur then, low but commanding. “Enough.”
The lords stilled, startled. He did not raise his voice, but the weight of his new crown lent his words the strength of fire. “This is a night for Valara. Not for gossip. Not for the ghosts of men who abandoned their place.”
The silence that followed was thick, every lord shifting uncomfortably in his chair. At last, they bent their heads, muttering half-hearted apologies. The music swelled again, the dancers spun, and the feast rolled on as though nothing had broken it.
Yet I could not shake the chill. Adrian’s name clung to me like smoke, seeping into every breath. Even in his absence, he lingered, poisoning the edges of my joy.
I raised my goblet and drank deeply, though the wine tasted like ash.
Across the hall, Kai’s eyes found mine. For a heartbeat, the fire in them softened, a promise unspoken. He would not let the shadows of men like Adrian steal the light from me again.
And yet, as the laughter roared back to life around us, I wondered if the shadows had already won more than anyone could see.
The hall finally emptied, leaving only the faint echo of music and the scent of smoke clinging to the air. I slipped away before the servants could clear the last goblets, my feet carrying me toward the quieter corridors of the palace. A familiar laugh—low, roughened by wine and weariness—drew me to one of the smaller sitting rooms.
Kai and Cassian were there, the fire crackling between them. Their crowns of duty had been set aside: Kai’s circlet resting on the table, Cassian’s sword leaning against the wall. For the first time all night, they looked less like heirs and soldiers and more like brothers.
I eased into the room, curling into one of the chairs. Fennie had begged me to rest, but I couldn’t—not when the weight of the day still pressed on my chest.
Cassian lifted a brow when he saw me, though his expression softened almost at once. “You should be in bed, little sister.”
“So should you,” I countered, though my voice lacked bite.
Kai smirked faintly, leaning back with a goblet in his hand. “She’s always had a sharp tongue. Even when she’s half-dead.”
“Better than sulking like you,” I shot back.
He only huffed, but I saw the tension ease from his shoulders.
For a while, the only sound was the pop of the fire, the occasional clink of Cassian’s ring against his goblet. Then Cassian spoke, his tone quieter, more serious. “You know… when Father announced the coronation, part of me thought the lords might force the matter. That they’d press me until my refusal broke.”
Kai’s eyes flicked to him, sharp. “You could have taken it. By law, you had the stronger claim.”
Cassian shook his head firmly. “I never wanted it. Not for a moment. The crown isn’t mine, Kai. It never was. I’ve always known where I belong—leading men in the field, not lords in council. The court would eat me alive. You…” He paused, swallowing hard. “You were born for this. Fire and blood. The gods chose you.”
Kai bristled, as if the weight of those words was heavier than the circlet itself. “You think I asked for it?”
“No,” Cassian said softly. “But you deserve it. And more than that—you deserve to know that I love you enough not to stand in your way.”
The words settled in the room like embers drifting to the hearth. My chest tightened at the look on Kai’s face—shock, raw and unguarded, chased quickly by something softer.
“Malachi,” Cassian said, using his true name, the one rarely spoken aloud. His voice broke around it. “You’re my little brother. Always have been. Always will be. And I’ll bleed before I let anyone take what’s yours.”
For a long moment, Kai didn’t speak. Then he set his goblet aside and crossed the space between them in two strides. He gripped Cassian’s shoulder, then pulled him into a rough embrace.
I looked away, giving them the dignity of privacy, though my own eyes blurred. It was not often men like them showed their hearts so openly, and seeing it made my own ache.
When they finally broke apart, Kai muttered, almost gruffly, “You’re still insufferable.”
Cassian chuckled, wiping at his eyes. “And you’re still dramatic.”
I smiled faintly, curling deeper into my chair. For the first time since the funeral, since the war, since Adrian’s betrayal, I felt something that might one day grow into hope.
We were still here. Still together. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
The fire had burned low, throwing shadows across the room, but none of us seemed eager to leave. Wine sat untouched at my side; the warmth I felt came not from the drink but from the rare quiet of being with my brothers since they had returned from war.
Cassian stretched his legs toward the hearth, gaze thoughtful. “War changes a man,” he said at last, his voice low, as though the memories pressed heavy on his tongue. “Some nights, I still hear their voices—the ones who didn’t come home. But Kai…” He looked at our brother with something between pride and awe. “He came back with more than scars.”
Kai snorted, though the sound lacked humor. “More than I wanted, you mean.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes catching the firelight. “They called me the Bloodborn.”
I stilled, the name jagged and heavy. “The Bloodborn?”
His jaw flexed, and for once, he didn’t try to smirk away the weight of his words. “Because the ground drank with me. Because when I fought, I made the battlefield answer. Every enemy who faced me whispered it, cursed it. Our soldiers shouted it like a prayer. The Bloodborn Prince.” His voice lowered to almost a whisper. “Do you know what it feels like, to be feared even by the ones you save?”
Cassian reached across the table, clasping Kai’s wrist. “They didn’t fear you, Malachi. They feared what you had to do. There’s a difference.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “But you… you carried it alone.”
Kai’s gaze flicked to me, softer now. “Not alone anymore.”
The silence that followed was heavy but not empty. It was the kind of silence that came when truths were finally named aloud.
After a while, Cassian leaned back, glancing toward me. “And speaking of truths… we need to talk about Sylas.”
My heart stumbled. “What about him?”
“You’ve been carrying that hurt,” Kai said, his tone gentler than I expected. “I can see it in your eyes every time someone mentions his name.”
Heat rose to my cheeks, sharper than the fire’s glow. “He stopped writing to me. After a while, the letters just… stopped coming. I thought—” My voice cracked, shame creeping in. “I thought he gave up on me.”
Cassian shook his head immediately, firm and certain. “No. He never stopped, Kira. Not once. We saw them—his letters came through camp as steady as the tides. Every week, sometimes more. He wrote until his hands blistered. If you didn’t get them…” His gaze darkened. “Someone kept them from you.”
My breath caught, as though the air itself betrayed me. “But… why? Who would—”
“Someone who didn’t want you clinging to him,” Kai said, his voice rough, anger simmering beneath. Sparks of his fire-light flickered across the rug at his feet, faint but visible. “Someone who wanted you to feel abandoned.”
The truth of it sank deep, twisting sharper than any blade. All the nights I’d spent waiting, wondering why Sylas had turned his back—wasted, poisoned by someone else’s hand.
My chest tightened, and I pressed my palm against it, as if I could keep it from shattering. “All this time… he still cared?”
Cassian’s voice softened, threaded with grief and reassurance both. “More than cared. He loves you, Kira. That much was clear in every word he wrote.”
I closed my eyes, tears threatening, the ache of longing and betrayal warring inside me. I had braced myself for a world where Sylas had forgotten me. Now, faced with the truth, I didn’t know whether to weep or rage.
Kai’s hand came down over mine, warm and steady, grounding me. “You’ll see him again. And when you do, you’ll know.”
I opened my eyes, meeting my brothers’ faces—their love, their strength, their certainty. For the first time since Sylas had left, I let myself believe it might be true.