Cassian's POV
I crashed through my bedroom door and slammed it shut, throwing every lock.
My hands shook as I shoved my desk against the wood. Then a chair. Then anything heavy I could move. Matthias's black blood was still splattered on my sleeve, and the memory of his too-sharp teeth made my stomach heave.
What are you?
Your destiny.
"No," I gasped, backing away from the barricaded door. "No, no, no—"
A knock rattled the wood. Gentle. Polite.
"Prince Cassian?" Matthias's voice, perfectly normal again. "Is everything alright? I heard a crash."
I pressed my fist against my mouth to stop the scream building in my throat.
"I'm... I'm fine! Just knocked something over."
Silence. Then: "You cut my face."
My blood turned to ice.
"That wasn't very princely of you," he continued softly. "We should discuss this. Open the door."
"No."
"Cassian." His voice hardened. "Open. The. Door."
"I said NO!"
The door handle rattled. Then stopped. Footsteps retreated down the hallway, and I sagged against the wall, gasping for air.
He'd tried to kill me. Or erase my memories. Or both.
*This time it'll look like an accident. And when you wake up, you'll have forgotten all of this. Just like the last two times.*
Last two times?
My mind spun. I'd thought I'd lived twice—once where I died at twenty-one, and now, returned to eighteen. But Matthias had said *two times*. Which meant...
"Three lives," I whispered. "I've died three times and come back."
But I only remembered two. Which meant someone had erased one from my memory.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up my throat. I'd thought having a second chance was a gift. But what if it wasn't? What if I'd been trapped in this cycle—dying, returning, forgetting—over and over?
"You're spiraling, little prince."
I spun around. My room was empty.
"Up here. No, left. Oh, for heaven's sake—I'm in your HEAD, idiot."
The voice from before. Female. Sharp as broken glass. Coming from... everywhere and nowhere.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"Someone who's been watching you make terrible decisions for three lifetimes now. Though to be fair, you only remember two of them. The first one—" She made a disgusted sound. "Hunting accident at sixteen. Pathetic. At least the second death had some drama to it."
My knees buckled. I slid down the wall to the floor. "You know about my deaths."
"Of course I know. I can feel them on your soul. Death leaves marks, like scars on steel." Her voice turned curious. "Though I admit, I didn't expect you to remember this time. Usually they wipe you clean before sending you back."
"They?"
"The things wearing human faces. Like your dear advisor." She practically purred the word. "That green glow in his hand? That was memory magic. He was about to erase everything and start your third life over from scratch."
The shard of mirror glass was still clutched in my bleeding fist. I'd stopped him. Barely.
"Why?" My voice cracked. "Why keep killing me and bringing me back?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" The woman's voice moved, circling. "But you already know the answer. You heard what he said. Not ready yet. They're preparing you for something. Each death makes you stronger. More powerful. Until eventually..."
"Until I'm strong enough to be useful."
"Or until you're strong enough to be a weapon." She laughed, dark and bitter. "Trust me, little prince. I know exactly what it's like to be turned into a tool."
I climbed to my feet, searching the empty room. "Where are you?"
"The Vault. Three floors down, behind chains and warnings and three centuries of lies." Her voice dropped. "They sealed me away because I learned the truth. Just like you're learning it now."
The Kinslayer. It had to be.
"You're the cursed sword," I breathed.
"Cursed." She spat the word. "Is that what they're still calling me? How convenient. Blame the weapon, not the people who betrayed us."
"Us?"
"Me. My brother. Every prince and princess who got too close to the truth." Something in her voice cracked. "They made me into a monster to hide their crimes. Locked me in steel and threw away the key."
I pressed my hands against my temples. This was insane. Weapons didn't talk. They didn't have memories or emotions or—
"I wasn't always a weapon," she said quietly. "Once, I was human. Princess Seraphiel Solmere. Your great-great-however-many-times-grandmother."
The room tilted. "You're lying."
"Am I? Ask yourself this: why would they seal away a weapon for three hundred years? Why not destroy it? Melt it down? Throw it in the ocean?" Her voice turned sharp. "Because they CAN'T. My soul is bound to this steel, and as long as I exist, I'm proof that everything they've taught you about sacred weapons is a lie."
My back hit the wall. "What lie?"
"That the weapons are divine gifts. That bonding with one is an honor." She laughed, cold and cruel. "The truth is, every blade in that vault is a prison. And every wielder is just another victim waiting to be consumed."
"No. That's—the sacred bond protects us—"
"The bond CONTROLS you!" Her voice rose, furious. "It changes how you think. How you feel. It slowly replaces your personality with whatever agenda the weapon—and the things controlling it—want. Why do you think wielders become so single-minded? So obsessed? They're not heroes, little prince. They're puppets."
I thought about the Dawnbreaker. How it had whispered constantly in my first life, pushing me toward battles, toward glory, toward becoming exactly what Matthias wanted.
*Choose me. Be the hero you were born to be. Fulfill your destiny.
"The Dawnbreaker made you into the perfect sacrifice," Seraphiel continued. "Beloved. Necessary. The hero everyone needed. And then, when you were most useful, they killed you and started over."
My fist slammed into the wall. "So I can't choose ANY weapon? They're all traps?"
"Most of them, yes. The ones controlled by... whatever Matthias really is." She paused. "But I'm different."
"Because you're cursed?"
"Because I'm free." Her voice turned fierce. "When they bound my soul to steel, they thought they were punishing me. Silencing me forever. But they made a mistake—they left me conscious. Aware. For three hundred years, I've been trapped in this blade, watching princes parade past me, waiting for one who'd been hurt enough to listen."
"And you think that's me."
"I know it is. You've died three times, Cassian. Your soul is scarred, stronger than any normal prince. Strong enough to bond with me without going mad." She laughed. "Well. Completely mad."
I shook my head. "Prince Daemon bonded with you. Everyone says he went insane and murdered the royal family."
"Daemon was my twin brother," she said softly. "After they executed me, he chose my blade hoping to hear my voice. And he did. I told him the truth—that I was innocent. That the real killers were still out there. He tried to save the family, tried to expose the conspiracy." Her voice broke. "They cut him down and called it justice. Then they blamed everything on me."
The pain in her voice was raw. Real. Three centuries old and still bleeding.
"Why should I believe you?" I whispered.
"Because right now, Matthias is planning which accident will kill you next. Because you only have three years before the golden fire burns you again. Because—" She stopped. "Because I'm the only one in this entire cursed kingdom who's told you the truth."
I slid down the wall to sit on the floor, head in my hands. Everything I'd believed was a lie. The sacred weapons. The divine bond. Even my own deaths.
"What do I do?" The words came out broken.
"Tomorrow, you choose me."
"That's insane—"
"It's survival!" Her voice turned urgent. "The Dawnbreaker will kill you. Every other weapon is controlled by them. But I'm free. I have my own mind. My own agenda."
"Which is?"
"Revenge," she said simply. "I want to destroy everyone who betrayed me. Everyone who turned me into this. And lucky for you, little prince—they're the same people trying to kill you."
My laugh was bitter. "So I trade one death for another."
"No. You trade their timeline for ours. They expect you to choose the Dawnbreaker. They've planned for it. Every manipulation, every prophecy, every 'divine sign' has been pushing you toward that golden blade." Her voice turned sharp. "So break their plan. Choose the weapon they fear. Become the monster they tried to bury."
I thought about Matthias's face when I'd suggested choosing something else. The crack in his mask. The genuine shock.
"They'll try to stop me," I said.
"Let them try." Seraphiel's voice turned hungry. "I've been chained for three hundred years, waiting for someone brave enough—or stupid enough—to set me free. Tomorrow, you walk into that vault. Tomorrow, you put your hand on my hilt. And tomorrow—"
A knock on my door made me jump.
"Prince Cassian?" A guard's voice. "Lord Matthias requests your presence in the dining hall. He says it's urgent."
I met my own terrified reflection in the broken mirror.
"If I choose you," I whispered to Seraphiel, "will you help me survive?"
"Oh, little prince." Her laugh was dark and delighted. "I'll do better than that. I'll help you make them wish they'd never brought you back."
The guard knocked again. "My prince?"
I stood on shaking legs and called out: "Tell Lord Matthias I'll be there shortly."
Footsteps retreated. I was alone again—except not really. Because somewhere three floors down, a murdered princess trapped in steel was waiting for me to either save her or doom us both.
"One question," I said to the empty air.
"If I die again—if they kill me a fourth time—will I come back?"
Seraphiel's voice went cold.
"That depends. Are you brave enough to choose me? Or will you take the safe path and burn like a good little prince?"
My hands clenched into fists.
"Tomorrow," I promised. "Tomorrow I choose you."
"Good." Her voice faded like smoke. "But tonight? Tonight you have to survive dinner with the man who wants you dead. Try not to die before we've had our fun."
The barricade I'd built suddenly seemed pathetically small.
Because somewhere in this palace, Matthias was planning my third death.
And I had less than twenty-four hours to stop it.