The Imperial Gardens — A Week Later
There were two kinds of thrones in Serynthia: one gilded in power, and the other dressed in performance.
Today, it was the second.
The palace had orchestrated a "casual family appearance" — thinly veiled damage control for the bombshell that Alina, presumed dead for six years, was very much alive. And not just alive.
She was the mother of the heirs.
Kaelir hated this.
Not because of the cameras. Or the crowd.
But because of how pale Alina looked under the soft sunlight.
Riven and Auron stood on either side of her, dressed in deep blue suits trimmed with gold. They were uncharacteristically still, likely from the weight of the stares. Of being known.
Kaelir stepped up beside her.
"You okay?" he murmured low, where no one else could hear.
Her jaw tightened slightly. "You do realize this is the same balcony your mother tried to exile me from?"
"Yes," he said. "That's why I'm putting you back on it."
Alina blinked. And for a fraction of a second, something soft passed behind her eyes.
But it vanished just as quickly.
"I hate this part," she whispered.
"You don't have to smile," he whispered back.
"I know."
And then she smiled anyway.
---
Twenty Minutes Later — Post-Event Reception
Inside the Grand Atrium, nobles and foreign dignitaries sipped champagne and whispered behind glittering fans.
Alina stood alone for a moment, watching her sons in the distance. They were surrounded by nobles, but guarded closely by palace security.
Kaelir approached with two glasses in hand.
She didn't take hers.
"I don't want your wine," she said coolly.
"It's not for the wine," he replied. "It's a signal."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Someone passed a note to Riven while we were outside," he said. "Folded into a paper bird."
Alina was ice in an instant. "What did it say?"
Kaelir handed her the note. She unfolded it with trembling fingers.
> You think exposure makes you safe. But now we can see you.
And the boys bleed like you do, Alina.
There was no signature. Just a mark.
A violet serpent coiled around a blade.
Her heart stopped.
Kaelir watched her face drain of color. "You know that symbol."
"Yes," she whispered. "I know exactly who it belongs to."
He waited.
But she didn't explain.
Instead, she looked up at him with something terrifying in her voice.
"If they've found me, then this isn't about revenge anymore."
"Then what is it?"
She looked across the room to her sons.
"It's a hunt."
---
That Night – Alina's Old Safehouse
The twins were asleep. Kaelir had insisted on them being moved under heavy surveillance—four guards outside, two inside, drones overhead.
Alina stood in the dark kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water with shaking hands.
Kaelir leaned against the doorframe.
"I haven't seen you shake since you disarmed a man with a butter knife," he said quietly.
Alina didn't turn.
"They're not like the others," she said. "They don't come for power. They come to erase."
"Erase what?"
"Me. My bloodline. My family. Anyone who carries the Moreau name."
Kaelir moved closer.
"You should've told me."
"I tried. Six years ago. I tried to warn you what was coming, and you chose the crown instead."
"I'm not making that mistake again."
She looked at him finally.
"I don't need your guilt."
"I'm not giving you guilt," he said. "I'm giving you me."
Silence.
She whispered: "Don't make promises you're going to break."
Kaelir stepped closer, voice low. "Then stop pretending you don't want me to make them."