The silence between us pulsed with tension. Prince Ronan stood by the window, arms folded across his chest, his shadow stretching long in the moonlight. He didn't speak. Neither did I. That suited me fine.
Speaking meant mistakes. Mistakes meant exposure.
He turned his head slightly, eyes flicking toward me like he was studying a weapon he didn't remember forging.
"You're quiet," he said finally.
I said nothing.
He took a step closer. "That's new. The Lyara I remember never stayed silent this long."
Still, I said nothing. Let him wonder.
His jaw tightened. "Do you remember anything?"
A safe question. Vague enough to invite truth or lie. I turned my gaze toward the canopy of the bed. "Dreams."
"What kind of dreams?"
I met his eyes, just long enough to keep him from thinking I was weak. "Not the kind worth repeating."
He paced, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling prey he wasn't sure he could trust. I followed his movement with my eyes, but stayed still. Movement meant energy. Energy meant effort. Effort meant suspicion.
"You fell ill," he said. "Collapsed in the courtyard. You don't remember that?"
I shook my head once.
He narrowed his eyes. "And now you speak like a soldier."
I didn't respond. Let him think it was the fever. Let him think it was trauma.
He stopped pacing. "Say something I'll recognize. Anything."
I tilted my head slightly. "The moon is red tonight."
He blinked. "What?"
I repeated, "The moon. It's red. Like it was the night before Solmira fell."
His body went still.
I turned away, feigning weariness. My pulse thundered.
He didn't speak again. Not for a long while. Then, finally:
"You should rest."
I didn't answer. I didn't have to.
He left without another word.
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I sat alone in the silence he left behind.
The fire had dimmed to embers. Shadows clung to the corners of the room like ghosts that didn't know where else to go. I shifted slightly beneath the covers, testing the feel of this body again. How had Lyara ever lived in it?
Or had she?
The thought chilled me. Maybe she hadn't. Maybe she'd always been watching from the shadows, waiting for someone like me to take the fall. Or maybe... she was still here.
I closed my eyes. Focused. Searched the back of my mind like one searches a locked door for a key. Nothing. No voice. No whisper. Just the echo of my own thoughts and a body that felt too foreign to trust.
But I remembered something—just before Ronan left. The way his gaze had softened, the tension in his stance unwinding not in relief, but in remembrance. He knew something was wrong. He wasn't a fool. I'd have to be sharper.
Fewer slips. Fewer stares. Fewer truths.
This was a game now. A dangerous one. And I didn't yet know all the rules.
A knock sounded at the door—not loud, but deliberate.
I sat up straighter. "Yes?"
It wasn't Serra.
A man entered, lean and sharp, dressed in court black with silver clasps. He bowed shallowly.
"Forgive the intrusion, Princess. Lord Velkhar wishes me to remind you of your seat at today's council."
I nodded. "I received the summons."
"Good." He hesitated, then added, "He also mentioned… your voice will be required. No more silences."
My stomach coiled.
So the game escalates already.
"Thank him for his… concern," I said coolly.
The man bowed again and left.
Once alone, I moved to the mirror again. I hated looking, but I had to. My eyes—violet now, not gold. My jaw sharper, my brows softer. Even the set of my shoulders had changed. A court girl's posture. A mask carved from fire and glass.
Was this what the gods intended?
I reached for the ribbon on the vanity, tying my hair in a knot just like I remembered Lyara wore it during the prisoner exchange. One image. One moment. But enough to shape a mask.
And I'd need the mask more than ever.
If Ronan was watching me from the front, Arven from the side, and Velkhar from behind the curtains... I had no room to misstep.
The silk dressing robe clung to my frame like it didn't know where to settle. I stripped it off and changed into one of Lyara's court gowns. Crimson silk. Gold embroidery. A belt shaped like twin serpents coiled around my waist.
I felt like a lamb in a queen's cloak.
But I straightened my spine anyway.
Outside the window, the dawn had fully broken. The palace woke with it—guards changing shifts, servants beginning their rituals, nobles whispering their gossips behind gilded doors.
I pressed two fingers to the pulse at my neck.
Still beating.
Still mine—for now.
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When I woke, the morning light had barely touched the sky. The scent of lavender clung to my pillow. This body still felt wrong—elegant in the way I never had been. Fragile. Delicate. A lie made flesh.
Serra, the maid from the night before, brought breakfast on a tray. She moved with careful hands and downcast eyes.
"Good morning, Princess," she said softly. "Council summons are expected today."
Council.
I barely concealed a wince. Was Lyara usually involved in council matters? Would silence there be more dangerous than words?
"Thank you," I replied, the words foreign in my mouth.
She bowed and retreated.
The food was dainty. Too soft. Too sweet. I forced down three bites, just enough to seem human.
Then the letter came. Red wax, a serpent seal. Lord Velkhar.
I slippe d it into my cloak without reading. No use knowing more than I needed to.
The corridors of the Kaerethian palace whispered secrets. Polished stone, en dless banners, guards who did not smile.
As I passed a group of nobles, they bowed. Some offered greetings. Most avoided my gaze.
Let them.
Two guards in black-lacquered armor blocked a hallway. One stepped forward. "Your brother awaits you in the East Wing training yard, Princess."
Arven.
I nodded. "Lead on."
We moved through halls adorned with murals of conquest. Solmira's fall was depicted on one: my home burning, soldiers dying, the statue of Ethela crumbling beneath flame. I forced myself to look away.
At the training yard, Arven was mid-spar, sweat glistening on his brow, movements brutal and fluid. He dismissed his partner with a nod and turned to me.
"You're up," he said, tone unreadable.
"Apparently."
"How much do you remember?"
"Enough."
He studied me. "You're different."
I met his eyes. "So is the world."
He tossed me a practice sword. Reflex took over. I caught it.
"Let's see what your body remembers," he said.
We fought. My limbs were too light, my stance unfamiliar, but instinct guided me. I didn't win. But I didn't embarrass myself either.
When we finished, Arven wiped his blade and said, "You fight like someone who's survived."
I didn't answer.
He stepped closer. "Just remember, little sister. In this court, the dead have no voice. So if you've come back from something—keep it to yourself."
I nodded.
He gestured toward the tower. "The council waits."
As I left, I felt his gaze on my back. Not suspicion. Not protection.
Recognition.
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