"Hey… are you okay?" Cleo asked, her voice softer than usual as she noticed the subtle shiver that passed through Laraine.
Laraine gave a stiff nod, eyes fixed ahead, saying nothing.
Cleo turned toward the war table, fingers tapping against the edge of the map. The tension lingered, heavy and unspoken.
"I suppose Her Highness is well-acquainted with the palace?" she said flatly.
Laraine's gaze snapped to hers, sharp as a blade.
"One: don't ever call me that," she said, her voice low and edged with steel.
"And two—yes. I know the palace inside and out. Every corridor. Every hidden door. Every weak spot."
Cleo held her stare, then gave a slow nod, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips.
"Good. That's exactly what we'll need."
---
Vienna walked calmly through the shadows, steps soundless against the damp forest floor. The woods cloaked her perfectly as she watched from a distance—unseen, unknowable. Her crimson eyes locked on the rebel outpost, specifically the window where two figures stood.
Through the murky glass: glistening blue hair. Piercing blue eyes.
Laraine.
Beside her, Cleo, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, pointed something out on the map between them. Plans. An infiltration—probably of the palace.
Vienna's jaw tensed. Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
And yet… something inside her shifted. Something warm.
'It's been so long,' she thought bitterly.
Laraine still moved like she owned the world—elegant, fire-eyed, deliberate. Even here, among rebels and ruin, she looked like destiny dressed in defiance.
Vienna's gaze lingered too long. She hated it. Hated her.
'She's the enemy,' Vienna reminded herself.
But her heart beat unevenly. Laraine tilted her head mid-conversation, smirking at something Cleo said. That smirk—it hit like a memory, too familiar, too dangerous.
'You're supposed to kill her.'
And yet she remained in the shadows. Watching. Again.
Her cloak fluttered behind her as she turned away.
The queen wanted Laraine dead. The rebels wanted the palace to fall. And Vienna? Vienna was starting to forget which side she was on.
---
Inside the rebel outpost, Laraine's fingers hovered over the edge of the map. Cleo was detailing a breach route through the palace kitchens, voice calm, logical. But Laraine's mind had wandered.
A prickling sensation crept up her spine.
She straightened slowly, eyes flicking to the window.
"Something wrong?" Cleo asked, pausing mid-sentence.
Laraine didn't answer. She stepped closer to the glass, narrowing her gaze at the woods beyond. Still. Too still.
"I thought I saw something," she murmured.
Her fingers grazed the hilt of her dagger.
Cleo joined her at the window. "Probably one of our scouts. Or a bird."
"No," Laraine said firmly. Her posture had changed—tense, poised. Alert. "Scouts don't hide from me."
Her heart beat faster. Not with fear. With recognition.
'Vienna…?'
The name flared in her chest like a warning. Or a ghost.
She hadn't seen her in years. Not since the betrayal. Not since Vienna left her for dead.
Laraine turned from the window, face unreadable.
"Double the watch tonight," she said softly. "We're not alone out here."
---
The Luthain Palace
The palace halls were too bright.
Serelith moved through the corridors like a whisper, mourning silks blending into the tapestries. The guards were lax—Adana had made them soft. Her daughter's voice echoed from the throne room ahead: sharp, polished, hollow.
'She talks like me,' Serelith mused. 'But she never listened.'
The two guards stationed at the entrance never even had time to gasp. Serelith's needle-thin blade kissed their throats, and they slumped without ceremony. She stepped over them, wiping her dagger on one's velvet sleeve.
The throne room doors groaned open.
Adana looked up, wine goblet in hand, the perfect mask of composure—until her gaze landed on the intruder.
The cup shattered.
"Mother."
The word was venom.
Serelith smiled. "Hello, little viper."
She walked slowly across the room, savoring the way Adana stiffened in her throne. The queen had her face, her eyes, her pride—but not her spine.
"You're supposed to be dead," Adana hissed.
"Disappointed?" Serelith ran her fingers along the throne's gilded edge. "I hear you've been busy—poisoning husbands, hunting daughters. Tell me, do you still vomit after killing, or have you finally grown a spine?"
Adana surged to her feet. "I learned from the best."
Serelith's laugh was a rasp. "Oh, darling. You learned nothing."
She stepped closer—blade drawn, pressed to Adana's throat in a blink.
Adana froze.
"Still slow," Serelith whispered.
She didn't cut. Not yet.
Adana's breath came short. "What do you want?"
"The same thing I've always wanted." Serelith pulled back, sliding the dagger away. "To remind you that thrones are taken, not given. And yours?" Her gaze swept the empty room. "Looks rather unstable."
Adana's eyes narrowed. "Vienna failed me."
"Vienna indulged you." Serelith smoothed her sleeve. "But I'm here now. And unlike your pet assassin, I clean up my own messes."
"You'll kill Laraine?"
"No," Serelith said, smile turning to frost. "I'll teach her what I taught you—how to carve out a kingdom's heart. And then who'll earn my legacy."
Adana's voice lowered to a whisper. "She'll hunt you too."
Serelith didn't look back.
"Good," she said. "I'm looking forward to it."
The doors creaked shut behind her. And somewhere far to the south, thunder cracked.