The forest swallowed Seraphina whole.
One moment, she was crashing through the undergrowth, the crown's thorns biting deeper into her palms with every frantic step. Next, the trees seemed to shift around her, their gnarled trunks twisting closer together, their branches knitting into an impenetrable canopy that blotted out what little light remained. The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and something else—something metallic and sharp, like the taste of blood at the back of her throat.
She skidded to a stop, her chest heaving. The silence here was absolute. No birds. No insects. Not even the rustle of leaves in a wind that didn't exist. Only the sound of her own ragged breathing and the steady, insistent thrum of the crown's pulse against her skin.
Then—
A whisper.
"You can't run forever."
Seraphina whirled, dagger drawn, but there was nothing there. Just the endless trees, their bark blackened with age, their roots snaking across the forest floor like veins.
The voice came again, this time from the other side.
"She's already in your blood."
Closer now.
Seraphina backed against the nearest tree, her grip tightening on both dagger and crown. The thorns had worked their way deep enough that she could no longer tell where they ended and her flesh began. Blood—her blood—dripped steadily down the braided strands, disappearing into the crown's hungry embrace.
A shape moved between the trees.
Not Lysandra.
Something older.
Tall and impossibly thin, its limbs elongated, its skin the colour of tarnished silver. It stepped into the small clearing where Seraphina stood, moving with the liquid grace of something that had never been human. Its face was smooth, featureless save for two slits where a nose should be and a mouth that stretched too wide, filled with needle-thin teeth.
But its eyes—
Its eyes were hers.
Brown and warm and terrified.
Lysandra's eyes.
Seraphina's breath caught. "What are you?"
The thing tilted its head, Lysandra's eyes blinking slowly in that alien face.
"What do you think?" it asked, its voice a perfect mimicry of her sister's.
The crown jerked in Seraphina's hands, the thorns twisting deeper. Pain lanced up her arms, white-hot and blinding. She cried out, her knees buckling as the thing took another step forward.
"She's hungry," it whispered, reaching out with fingers too long, too thin. "And you're holding her food."
The world dissolved into pain and silver light.
Meanwhile, in the Ruined Throne Room
The king's corpse moved.
Not with the jerky, puppet-like motions from before—but smoothly, naturally, as if the body remembered how to be alive. The hollows of its eyes still swirled with darkness, but now something else peered out from within. Something interesting.
Not-Lysandra watched from the shadows, her silver-scarred arms crossed. "You took your time."
The corpse-king smiled, its lips splitting further than any living man's could. "Some doors take longer to open than others," it said, its voice layered with something ancient and cruel. "Where is she?"
Not-Lysandra's gaze drifted toward the forest. "Running."
"And the crown?"
A pause. Then—
"Still in her hands."
The corpse-king laughed, the sound wet and choking. "Good. Let her wear it. Let her try to resist." It turned toward the broken throne, its movements too graceful for a body that should be rotting. "When she fails, we'll be waiting."
Not-Lysandra said nothing.
But the silver in her veins pulsed brighter.
Back in the Forest
Seraphina came to with her back against a tree, her hands still locked around the crown. The thing with her sister's eyes crouched before her, its head cocked to one side.
"You're stronger than you look," it mused, tapping one elongated finger against its chin. "But not strong enough."
Seraphina spat blood. "Where's my sister?"
"Gone," the thing said simply. "Or rather... changed." It leaned closer, Lysandra's eyes wide and pleading in that monstrous face. "You can still save her. All you have to do is put the crown on."
The words slithered into Seraphina's mind, wrapping around her will like vines. The pain in her hands faded, replaced by a warmth that spread up her arms, soothing, comforting.
Just put it on, the voice—her voice now—whispered. Just put it on, and this all ends.
Her arms lifted without her consent, the crown rising toward her head.
The thing smiled.
And then—
A horn sounded in the distance.
Clear. Bright.
Human.
The spell shattered.
Seraphina gasped, wrenching the crown away from her head as the thing recoiled with a hiss. The warmth vanished, replaced by searing pain as the thorns tore free of her flesh. The horn sounded again, closer now, and then the forest exploded with movement.
The horn's note hung in the air like a silver blade slicing through the forest's oppressive silence. Seraphina gasped as the sound reverberated through her bones, shocking her system like a plunge into icy water. The crown tumbled from her suddenly numb fingers, landing with a heavy thud in the moss at her feet. The thing wearing her sister's eyes recoiled, its elongated limbs folding inward like a spider sensing danger.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then the forest erupted.
Branches whipped through the air as unseen creatures bolted through the undergrowth. The very trees seemed to shudder, their bark rippling as though something beneath the surface was trying to escape. The thing before her let out a chittering hiss, its too-wide mouth twisting in rage as it scuttled backward into the shadows.
"Wait—" Seraphina reached out instinctively, her torn palms stinging. But the creature was gone, leaving behind only the faint imprint of its fingers in the soft earth—each mark too long, too narrow to be human.
The horn sounded again, closer now.
And with it came voices.
Seraphina dropped to her knees, her fingers scrabbling for the fallen crown. The moment her skin made contact, a fresh wave of pain shot up her arms—but beneath the pain, something else. A whisper of awareness, like the first stirrings of a storm. The crown knew that sound. And it feared it.
She barely had time to shove the cursed thing into her belt before the first arrow whizzed past her ear, embedding itself in the tree behind her with a solid thunk.
"Hold your fire!"
The voice was deep, commanding. Human.
Seraphina pressed herself against the gnarled trunk as booted feet pounded through the underbrush. A dozen figures emerged from the mist-wreathed trees—men and women clad in leathers and faded greens, their faces painted with strange, swirling sigils. Hunters. But not from any court she recognized.
At their head stood a woman taller than the rest, her auburn hair braided with feathers and bones. The horn hung at her hip, its mouth still smoking faintly as though the sound had been fire given form. Her eyes—a startling, unnatural gold—locked onto Seraphina with unsettling intensity.
"Well," the woman said, her voice rich with amusement. "Aren't you a long way from home, little queen?"
Seraphina's hand flew to her dagger. "Who are you?"
The woman smiled, revealing teeth filed to delicate points. "The better question is—what are you doing in our woods with her crown?" She nodded to the twisted circlet at Seraphina's belt. "That's a dangerous trinket to carry."
Before Seraphina could respond, a cry went up from the hunters. One of them—a young man with bark-colored eyes—was crouched where the creature had stood moments before. His fingers hovered over the unnatural footprints.
"Eldri," he called, his voice tight. "She's been marked."
The golden-eyed woman—Eldri—went very still. When she spoke again, all traces of humor had vanished. "Show me your hands."
Seraphina hesitated, then slowly extended her bloodied palms. The puncture wounds from the crown's thorns stood out in livid detail, but it was the thin silver lines radiating from each cut that made the hunters murmur. The lines branched like lightning across her skin, pulsing faintly in time with the crown's now-quickened heartbeat.
Eldri let out a slow breath through her nose. "You've been claimed by the Hollow Queen." She reached for the horn at her hip. "That makes you dangerous."
Seraphina's dagger was in her hand before she'd made the decision to draw it. "I don't know what you're talking about."
A chuckle rippled through the hunting party. Eldri's smile returned, sharper now. "Oh, I think you do. Why else would you be out here, bleeding silver into the roots of the oldest trees?" Her gaze flicked to the crown. "That thing isn't just a crown. It's a key. And you're helping it remember what it opens."
The words sent a chill down Seraphina's spine. She thought of the visions—the door of teeth, the First Queen's smile, the way the silver threads had poured from Lysandra's skin like blood from a wound.
A rustle in the branches above made everyone freeze.
Eldri's hand went to her horn, but it was too late.
The thing with Lysandra's eyes dropped from the canopy like a falling star, its elongated limbs wrapping around the young hunter who'd spoken before. His scream was cut short as needle-teeth found his throat.
Chaos erupted.
Arrows flew. Blades flashed.
And in the confusion, Seraphina ran.
The crown burned against her hip, its whispers rising to a scream inside her skull.
Foolish girl, it seemed to say. You can't escape what's already inside you. Behind her, the horn sounded again—but this time, the note was different.
Darker. Hungrier.
And the trees themselves shuddered in response.