Lyra's POV
"He knows?" I stare at the Dragon King's message, my whole body shaking. "How can he already know?"
Ravencroft snatches the paper back, his face twisted with rage. "Impossible. We've been so careful—"
"Careful?" I laugh, and it sounds half-crazy even to my own ears. "You're sending me to marry someone who can sense lies! What part of that was careful?"
He hits me.
My cheek bursts in pain. I stumble backward, tasting blood.
"Watch your tongue, girl." Ravencroft crumples the message and throws it in the fireplace. Flames eat the words quickly. "This changes nothing. You still go. You still marry him. And you still make him love you enough not to kill you when he confirms his suspicions."
"But he already—" "He suspects. He doesn't have proof." Ravencroft grabs my shoulders hard enough to hurt. "Maybe he tests every wife this way. Maybe it's a game dragons play. You'll figure it out when you get there."
"And if I can't?"
His smile is cold as winter. "Then you die, your father dies, and we find another girl who looks enough like the princess to try again." He shoves me toward the door. "You leave at dawn. Get some sleep. You'll need it."
I stumble into the hallway, my cheek aching. The guard takes me back to my room in silence.
My mind spins. The Dragon King knows. He KNOWS. Why would he still want me to come?
Unless Ravencroft is right. Unless this is some kind of test.
Or unless the Dragon King has his own reasons for wanting a fake bride.
I reach my room and freeze.
Someone's inside.
Princess Rosalie sits on my bed like she owns it—which I guess she kind of does, since this is her castle. She's even more beautiful up close. Perfect blonde hair. Flawless skin. A dress that probably costs more than my entire town.
She's reading one of her own letters, the ones Madame Thorne gave me.
"Get out," I say, too tired and scared to be polite.
Rosalie looks up slowly, a mean smile spreading across her perfect face. "These are MY letters. In MY home. You're the one who doesn't fit here, peasant."
"Then why are you here? Come to gloat?"
"Maybe." She stands up gracefully—of course she does, she's had years to practice not tripping over fancy clothes. "I wanted to see the girl they're sacrificing in my place. Wanted to see if you actually believed you could pull this off."
She circles me like a predator studying food.
"You know what's funny? You actually do look like me. Same boring brown hair. Same weird eyes." She touches my face where Ravencroft hit me. I flinch away. "But you'll never fool him. Not really."
"Why do you care? You got what you wanted. You get to stay here with your precious Duke Magnus."
Her face hardens. "Don't say his name. You're not fit to speak it."
"I read your letters, Rosalie." My voice drops low and dangerous. "I know your plan. Send the fake princess to die so you can start a fight. Does Duke Magnus know you're a murderer?"
She slaps me on the same cheek Ravencroft hit.
I see stars. Fall to my knees.
"I'm not a murderer," Rosalie hisses. "I'm a princess doing what's necessary for her kingdom. You're just secondary damage."
"I'm a person!" I shout up at her, tears running down my face. "I have a name! I have a father who loves me! I have a life!"
"Had." She corrects me coldly. "Past tense. The moment you agreed to this, Lyra Everhart died. Now there's only me." She crouches down to my level. "And you know what? I hope you do somehow make the Dragon King fall in love with you. Because when he finds out the truth—and he will—it'll hurt him so much more. Dragons mate for life. Their hearts literally break when wronged."
My blood runs cold. "What are you talking about?"
"Didn't they tell you?" Rosalie's laugh is sharp and cruel. "If the Dragon King bonds with you as his true mate, if he falls completely in love, and then finds you're a fake—the betrayal won't just break his heart. It'll kill him." She stands up. "His heartstone will break. He'll die. And then his entire kingdom will burn with rage."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" She walks to the door. "Ask Madame Thorne if you don't believe me. Ask anyone who knows dragon myth. True mates are precious. Fake mates are death sentences."
She stops in the doorway.
"So here's your real choice, little store girl. Keep him at a distance and he'll kill you the moment he confirms you're a liar. Or make him love you and kill him with the truth." Her smile is deadly. "Either way, someone dies. The only question is who."
The door slams behind her.
I stay on the floor, shaking. My cheek throbs. My heart feels like it's being crushed.
This is impossible. Completely, totally impossible.
If I don't make him love me, I die.
If I do make him love me, he dies.
There's no winning. There never was.
A soft knock makes me look up. Madame Thorne arrives, her face grim.
"You heard," I whisper.
"These walls have ears everywhere." She helps me to my feet. "Princess Rosalie told you the truth. Dragon true mates are sacred ties. Breaking them kills both parties."
"So I'm going to what? Make him fall in love but not TOO in love? How is that even possible?"
Madame Thorne is quiet for a long moment. Then she pulls something from her pocket—a small bottle with silver liquid inside.
"What is that?"
"Insurance." She presses it into my hand. "If you drink this the night before the wedding rite, it'll suppress your ability to form the true mate bond. He can love you, but the sacred link won't fully form. It'll feel close enough that he won't question it, but not deep enough to kill him if the truth comes out."
I stare at the jar. "Why would you give me this? I thought you wanted me to succeed."
"I want you to survive." Her eyes are sad. "There's a difference."
"What happens if I use this? If I block the true mate bond?"
She looks away. "You'll never feel complete. Like half your soul is missing forever. It's a half-life, but it's still life." She meets my eyes again. "The Dragon King will feel it too, someday. He'll know something's not quite right. But maybe by then you'll have earned his trust enough that he forgives the lie."
"And if I don't use it?"
"Then pray the truth never comes out. Because if it does, you'll watch him die knowing you killed him with a lie."
My hand closes around the vial. It feels warm, like it's alive. " The coach leaves in three hours." Madame Thorne walks to the door. "Choose wisely, Lyra Everhart. Your life—and his—depends on it."
She leaves me alone with an impossible choice and a bottle that feels like it's burning through my palm.
Behind me, Rosalie's letter still sits on the bed. The one where she calls me "just a tool."
I pick it up and throw it in the fire.
Watch it burn.
If I'm going to die anyway, I'll do it my way. Not theirs.
I open my hand and look at the silver bottle.
To drink or not to drink.
To kill him with love, or die keeping him at a remove.
Three hours to decide.
The vial glows softly in the darkness, like it knows how important this decision is.
Like it knows everything depends on what I do next.