The hearth was nearly out, a low glow barely warming the corners of my chamber. I sat curled beneath the blankets, knees drawn up to my chest, my fingers still tingling from the dream.
It hadn't faded. I could still feel the weight of the air beneath those white trees. Still remember how it felt when our fingers touched and the petals began to fall.
I sat up slowly, heart drumming too hard. I shouldn't be awake. I shouldn't be thinking about him. And yet…
The memory clung like moss to bare stone.
I reached for my cloak and padded across the cold floor. My slippers were soft against the rug, silent. I didn’t light a lamp. I didn’t want anyone to stop me.
The hall outside was quiet. Most of the castle had long gone to sleep. Even the guards near the east wing barely looked up when I passed.
I knew where I was going. The old archives.
When I was little, I used to play there. Back before it was locked. Before Catherine made sure the east wing fell out of use. But I’d found her old sigil key years ago—buried in the bottom of a box of her discarded letters.
Now it slid into the lock like it belonged there. The door creaked open.
Dust hung in the air. Rows of scrolls and ledgers and forgotten tomes stretched into the dark. I lit a single wall lamp with a shaking hand.
I don’t know how long I searched. But I found something tucked behind a genealogy volume—a folded letter sealed but never sent. Addressed to Queen Matlilda. My grandmother. From Lady Catherine.
I broke the seal with my nail.
"I have sinned in silence. The girl born after shadows fell bears my face but not my name. You must protect Cassian. He must never know what I traded for his place."
My blood ran cold.
I pressed the letter to my chest.
Nearby, I found a ledger. I traced names with my fingertips.
Cassian Eleryn. Son of Lady Catherine. Father: King Tharion.
Isabella Lanovo. Born three years later. Mother: Lady Catherine. Father: "O.L."
O.L. Octavius Lanovo.
I stared at the initials. O.L. My stomach twisted. Of course it was him. The Duke hadn’t just helped raise her — she was his. And Catherine… Catherine had handed her over like a secret she never wanted to keep.
And there—one more entry. Barely visible. A boy. Elliot. Born eight years before me. Died two weeks later.
Mother: Lady Catherine. Father: King Aslin. My grandfather.
My stomach twisted.
She’d buried a son. Then birthed another for a king. And another for a duke.
How many lives had she rearranged just to survive?
I closed the book and leaned back against the shelf, breath caught.
I quickly stuffed the letter into my cloak pocket and left.
The palace library wasn’t like the Archives — it wasn’t locked behind guards or layered with royal seals. But there were still doors you weren’t supposed to use.
I used one anyway.
The west passage was older, lined with faded tapestries and disused sconces, and led to a quiet stair that looped behind the upper gallery of the main library. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d miss it. I always liked that.
It made sneaking in feel like less of a sin and more of a secret.
I slipped through the carved archway and down the first few rows of towering shelves, letting the scent of sun-warmed parchment and ink wrap around me. The light filtering through the stained-glass windows painted the marble floors in hues of lavender and moss green.
I wasn’t expecting to find anyone else.
But there, curled lazily in the window seat with a book propped on his knee and his damp hair sticking slightly to his temple, was my twin.
“I thought you might come here,” Kai said without looking up.
I blinked. “Are you following me now?”
He turned a page and smirked. “You’re the one sneaking around back corridors. I was here first.”
I stepped closer, letting the heavy door shut behind me. The stained glass filtered morning sun across the shelves in bands of violet and green.
“I needed to think,” I said, brushing my fingers along a leather spine. “About something I overheard.”
Kai looked up, sharper now. “From the banquet?”
I nodded, hesitating only a moment. “It was Lady Catherine. And the Duke. They were arguing. About Isabella.”
His brow furrowed, and he set the book aside. “What about her?”
“She’s Catherine’s daughter.”
Kai blinked. “Wait. What?”
“She had her after Cassian. With the Duke. That’s why she kept her hidden — and why he’s parading her around now. The Duke’s using Isabella to blackmail her. If anyone finds out, it could ruin Catherine’s standing. Worse... it could make people question Cassian’s legitimacy.”
I didn’t need to explain. He understood what that meant.
“That’s impossible,” Kai said slowly, but the edge in his voice cracked. “Cassian looks exactly like Father.”
I crossed my arms, the weight of it all settling deeper. “They wouldn’t need proof, Kai. Just the idea of doubt. If anyone thinks Catherine was disloyal—if they believe Cassian could be the Duke’s—”
“They won’t,” he said quickly, but it sounded more like hope than certainty.
“They’d strip him of everything,” I finished. “Even if it’s not true.”
Kai exhaled. “We need to be careful, Kira. If this gets out, if the court catches wind...”
“I know,” I said. “I just... needed to tell someone. And I didn’t want to carry it alone.”
His hand touched mine, briefly. Warm. Steady. “You don’t have to.”
Neither of us said anything for a long while.
Then, lighter, Kai added, “So. You and the silver prince. Are we pretending that didn’t happen?”
I blinked, startled. “What?”
Kai grinned. “Sylas. You looked like you were in the middle of a romance novel, Kira.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“…He gave me a pastry.”
Kai clutched his chest dramatically. “A pastry? This is serious.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved him lightly. He laughed, and I didn’t mind the teasing. Not today.
Not when the truth in the walls felt like it could crack the whole palace open.
Fennie appeared at the end of the aisle then, puffing slightly as she spotted us.
“There you are,” she said, trying to sound stern and failing. “Cassian’s waiting. Soren said to come before your brother decides to start sparring everyone twice his size just to ‘keep sharp.’”
Kai snorted. “That sounds more accurate.”
I raised a brow. “He’s not reckless.”
“No,” Kai agreed. “But he is competitive. Which is worse.”
I stood, brushing the edge of my cloak back into place. “Let’s go, before he challenges the palace statues to a duel.”
Fennie grinned and slipped back down the corridor to let Soren know we were coming.
Kai lingered beside me for a moment longer.
“Do you think we should tell him?” he asked quietly.
I didn’t answer right away. My fingers grazed the edge of a scroll someone had left behind, its wax seal cracked and curling.
“I don’t know,” I said finally. “Not until we understand it better.”
Kai nodded once. Then with a gentle nudge to my shoulder, he turned toward the stair.
“I’ll race you,” he called over his shoulder.
I rolled my eyes. “You always say that when you’re about to lose.”
He laughed.
And this time, I followed.
Kai and I took the garden path toward the training yard, our steps crunching softly over the crushed shell walkway. The morning air was clear and gold-tinged, warm against my skin. A slight breeze tugged at the ivy climbing the trellises, sending shadows rippling across the old stone walls.
“Cassian’s probably already swinging at targets like they insulted his hair,” Kai said.
“He’s been in the yard since dawn,” I replied. “Fennie told me he skipped breakfast.”
Kai let out a low whistle. “Dangerous. A hungry Cassian is a reckless Cassian.”
I smiled faintly. “You say that like a fed Cassian isn’t reckless.”
We rounded the bend—and slowed.
Up ahead, just near the terrace steps, stood our father.
He wore no crown this morning, just his embroidered court coat in steel blue, dark leather gloves tucked in one hand. He stood speaking with Lord Arel, one of his advisors, but his posture was looser than usual—less king, more father.
As we neared, Father turned, catching sight of us. A flicker of warmth passed over his features. The kind he rarely showed at council meetings or state dinners. But here—outside, in the sunlight, with no court watching—he looked like the version of him I knew as a little girl.
“Twins,” he said, voice rich with fondness. “Out to conquer the training field?”
I dipped a small curtsy. “Only mildly. Kai says I’m supposed to let him win today.”
Father arched an eyebrow. “And are you going to?”
“Of course not,” I said. “But I’ll make it look convincing.”
Kai rolled his eyes. “She’ll gloat for weeks if she lands even one hit.”
Father chuckled, then reached out to gently clasp Kai’s shoulder before turning to me.
That’s when I saw it.
The brooch—my brooch—was pinned neatly at his shoulder, nestled just beneath the royal crest. Silver, shaped like a falcon mid-flight, its wings arched, glinting as it caught the sun.
He was wearing it.
A strange flutter stirred in my chest.
“You wore it,” I said quietly.
His eyes followed my gaze, then returned to me with a small, knowing smile. “Of course I did.”
I swallowed. “You didn’t have to.”
“From you?” His voice dropped slightly. “I’d wear it into battle.”
Something in my throat tightened.
He studied me a moment longer. Then, softer, said, “It reminds me of the night you gave it to me. That gift—and the look on your face when you handed it over. I keep it close.”
I remembered that night so clearly: the weight of the velvet box tucked in my sleeve, his chuckle as he called me waterbug, the way Mother’s hand had brushed my arm after she’d said I had his heart.
That night, for a moment, I had felt like I belonged somewhere between them. Not just a princess, but something cherished.
“I’m glad,” I murmured.
He exhaled slowly, then glanced toward the garden trees. “You’ve grown so much lately. I forget sometimes that you’re not little anymore. That I can’t protect you from everything. Especially… from the rules written long before you were born.”
I looked at him.
His voice stayed calm, kingly. But I could feel the weight beneath his words.
He wouldn’t say it aloud—how unfair it was that I’d never wear a crown here, not in this kingdom. How a girl could never inherit a throne that had always favored sons.
He wouldn’t say it.
But I heard it anyway.
“I don’t want a crown,” I said gently, even if that wasn’t entirely true. “Not if it means losing what I have now.”
He nodded slowly, like he knew I was telling the truth, but also like he knew part of me still ached for something more. Something bigger. Something mine.
He looked to Kai next, and though he said nothing, his hand reached up, brushing the brooch once.
Then he looked back at me and said, “You make me proud every day, waterbug.”
That was all.
But it was more than enough.
Kai and I said our farewells and continued down the path, the sound of our footsteps softening against the sand-dusted stone.
After a few paces, Kai leaned in.
“You okay?” he asked under his breath.
I nodded.
Then, just to lighten the mood, I added, “You know he likes me more, right?”
Kai snorted. “Only because you bribe him with jewelry.”
“He’s got good taste.”
Kai smiled at that, and we both let the silence settle again, warm and quiet and full of unspoken things.
Ahead, I could see the outer gates of the training yard gleaming in the sun.
The clang of steel and shouted commands echoed faintly from the yard ahead, but we hadn’t quite reached the gates yet. The garden path forked here, curving around a weathered stone arch covered in early-blooming roses—and waiting just beneath it were two familiar figures.
Bonnie stood with one boot propped against the wall, thumbing through a leather-bound book so worn its spine was barely holding together. Her braid had been retied—again—and she barely glanced up as we approached.
Soren, however, straightened the moment he saw us.
“Highnesses,” he greeted, giving a sharp nod to me, then Kai. His hand hovered at his sword hilt in that way he always did—like he didn’t trust the roses not to grow teeth.
“I was wondering where my shadows had gone,” I said lightly.
Bonnie finally looked up, her pale violet eyes scanning my face with their usual quiet assessment. “You were safe. The King was with you.”
I tried not to smile too obviously. “Still. I might’ve fainted from too much sun or sarcasm.”
At that, Soren’s mouth twitched. “If sarcasm were fatal, Prince Kai would have perished years ago.”
Kai scoffed. “It would’ve taken the whole council with me.”
That earned a tiny grin from Bonnie, who closed her book with a sigh. “I was just finishing this chapter. There’s a scholar in Eldmere who believed dragons once nested in the cliffs of Valara.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You have three different translations of his work.”
“Four,” she corrected. “But only two are reliable.”
I shook my head fondly, and that’s when Soren stepped a little closer.
“Princess,” he said, more quietly now. “Before you enter the yard—perhaps wear gloves. The hilt may blister if you haven’t trained in a while.”
I blinked. “That’s… thoughtful. Thank you.”
Our eyes met for just a second too long.
There was something in his gaze—steady, focused. Protective, yes. But something else too. Something gentler that he quickly tucked away.
I reached for the gloves tucked into my belt, pretending not to notice.
Then, from behind, a loud voice boomed—
“Am I interrupting a poetry reading?”
Sir Roderic Vale strode up the path, his boots heavy, his expression heavier. He looked at Kai like he was already disappointed in him, which was honestly just their way of saying hello.
“I’m three minutes early,” Kai said innocently.
“You’re three pushups behind,” Roderic shot back. “And if you try that weak left feint again, I’m throwing you in the moat.”
Kai held up his hands. “You wound me, Roderic. Truly. Is this how you treat your dearest pupil?”
“My dearest pupil once tried to duel a diplomat’s son with a mop.”
“Technically,” Kai said, “it was a broom.”
Bonnie groaned and handed me my water flask. “This is why I bring books.”
I smiled as Kai and Roderic bickered down the path ahead of us, their voices echoing louder the closer we drew to the training yard gates.
Then I glanced sideways.
Soren hadn’t moved.
He stood at attention still, but his eyes followed me as I stepped forward. Like he was memorizing something.
I offered him a quick nod—gentle, not formal. “You’re welcome to watch,” I said.
“I always do,” he said.
The yard was alive with motion—squires racing across sun-warmed stone, clatter of swords striking shields, instructors barking orders. I slipped off my cloak and tucked it over the bench where Bonnie sat cross-legged with a book in her lap.
“Don’t let anyone steal that,” I said.
Bonnie didn’t look up. “I’d pity the thief.”
Kai was already circling the practice ring with Roderic pacing at his side, the two of them deep in some strategy debate involving sand traps and hypothetical sieges.
Cassian rolled his shoulders beside me, stretching like he was preparing to fight a dragon, not spar with his little sister. His tunic was sleeveless, revealing the strong lines of his arms—he looked every bit the soldier he’d trained to be. And still, he grinned like a boy who’d stolen an extra slice of honey cake.
“Try not to cry when I beat you,” he said.
I snorted. “Try not to trip over your own smugness.”
Soren stood a few paces behind, arms crossed, watching silently. He hadn’t said a word since we entered, but I could feel his gaze tracking every movement.
“You spar like you speak,” I said to Cassian as we took our places. “Too fast, too confident, and mostly full of air.”
He laughed. “And you hit like a diplomat—pretty, polite, and only dangerous when cornered.”
“Children,” Kai called from the sidelines. “Shall I get you both pacifiers or practice swords?”
I raised my blade in a formal salute. “Watch and learn, brother.”
We moved fast.
Cassian lunged first—of course he did—but I dodged. Steel met steel in a clash that vibrated through my arms. We circled, testing, teasing. He was stronger, but I was lighter on my feet. I ducked low under his swing and jabbed at his side, just grazing the padding.
“Point to me,” I said sweetly.
He growled. “That was luck.”
“Luck favors the observant.”
It went on like that—swing, parry, grin, repeat—until he feinted left and I, foolishly, took the bait.
His boot slid on the packed sand.
I saw it before he did.
He slipped, trying to correct with a turn, but his momentum threw him too hard. He fell backward—and hit the ground with a sickening crack. His shoulder took the worst of it.
“Cassian!”
I dropped my sword and scrambled to his side. Kai was already moving. Bonnie stood up, her book forgotten, and Soren was there in an instant, kneeling beside me.
“Don’t move him,” Soren ordered. “It could be dislocated.”
Cassian groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Stars—feels like it snapped clean off.”
I reached for him. My hands shook, but I laid them gently over his shoulder anyway. “Let me—just—”
The moment I touched him, something shifted.
Warmth bloomed beneath my palm, like sunlight breaking through deep water. I couldn’t explain it—it didn’t feel like magic I summoned, but magic that had been waiting.
Cassian gasped. His body jerked slightly under my hands, then went still.
The heat faded.
I looked up.
Soren was staring at me. Not with suspicion. But with something close to awe.
Bonnie’s lips parted, and for once, she didn’t have a quip.
Cassian sat up slowly, flexing his arm. “It’s… fine.” He blinked at me. “Kira, what did you just do?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I just wanted to help.”
“You healed him,” Bonnie murmured, kneeling beside us. Her fingers hovered over the skin where the bruise had already faded. “There’s no damage. Not even a strain.”
Cassian was still blinking, testing his joints. “I’ve trained through worse and stayed sore for days.”
I backed away slightly, breath shallow. “I didn’t know I could.”
Soren reached out, steadied me with one hand on my back. “That kind of magic… it doesn’t come from nowhere.”
Cassian flexed his arm again, slowly, like he couldn’t believe it didn’t hurt. “It was dislocated. I know what that feels like.”
I pulled my hands back into my lap, staring down at them.
“Apparently,” I said, “you don’t know what it feels like when your little sister fixes it.”
Bonnie crouched beside me, her red braid falling over one shoulder, violet eyes steady. “That wasn’t a field trick, Kira.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t have been able to do that.”
“I know.”
The silence stretched, broken only by the distant clang of other sparring matches. Kai had stepped away to speak with Roderic, and Soren stood guard a few paces off, watching the yard but glancing at me every few seconds like I might collapse or burst into flame.
Cassian reached out and squeezed my hand. “Thank you.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t speak yet. My hands were still warm.