The Blackwell estate had survived wars, assassinations, political scandals, and one particularly unfortunate incident involving a cursed fountain and seventeen royal guests.
It had never, however, survived Rosy arriving home with the expression of a woman who had discovered that her entire existence was somebody else's badly managed secret.
The servants recognized the expression immediately.
They moved out of her way.
One maid abandoned a tray of pastries on a table and practically teleported behind a curtain.
A footman bowed so deeply that Rosy wondered whether he was attempting to inspect the floor.
Her father, unfortunately, had not received the warning.
He was sitting in the drawing room with a cup of tea, reading a report as though the universe hadn't nearly ended that morning.
Rosy stopped in the doorway.
"Father."
He looked up.
"My daughter."
"How lovely to see you."
"Indeed."
"I have some questions."
He glanced at the papers in his hand.
"Of course."
"About the Dreamer."
His teacup stopped halfway to his mouth.
"Ah."
"About Nyx."
He carefully put the cup down.
"Ah."
"About the royal family building a prison over my forgotten history."
He closed the report.
"Would you like some tea?"
Rosy stared at him.
Her father stared back.
From behind her, Kael whispered, "He's going to die."
Sol whispered back, "Not if Mom asks her questions first."
Azrael leaned against the doorframe.
"I give him five minutes."
Rosy turned her head.
"All three of you. Outside."
Kael blinked.
"But—"
"Outside."
Sol immediately obeyed.
Kael followed, muttering something about unfair treatment of nephews.
Azrael remained where he was.
Rosy looked at him.
He smiled.
"I am outside emotionally."
"Azrael."
He left.
The door closed.
Rosy returned her attention to her father.
"Start talking."
Her father sighed.
For the first time in all the years she had known him, he looked genuinely tired.
Not physically.
Not because of age.
But because of a burden he had carried for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like to put it down.
"Sit, Liliet."
Rosy didn't sit.
"Rosy," she corrected quietly.
His expression softened.
"Rosy, then."
She took the chair opposite him.
Her father folded his hands.
"There are things I should have told you long ago."
"That is an impressively polite way of saying you've been lying to me."
"I was protecting you."
"Everyone says that."
She looked at him steadily.
"My mother. Seraphine. The Dreamer. You."
Her voice grew sharper.
"Apparently, the entire universe has decided that I am too fragile to handle the truth about my own life."
Her father flinched.
Rosy regretted the words almost immediately, but she didn't take them back.
She needed answers more than she needed another comforting lie.
Finally, her father nodded.
"You're right."
That stopped her.
He continued.
"I convinced myself that silence was protection. I told myself that if you never remembered your first existence, the Dreamer would never find you again."
"Did it work?"
"No."
"Clearly."
His mouth twitched faintly.
"You have your mother's sense of humor."
Rosy went still.
"My mother?"
He looked toward the window.
"Not the woman you met beyond the stars. Your mother in this life."
Rosy stared at him.
She had almost forgotten there was a distinction.
The woman who had raised Isle Blackwell in this world had been absent from so many of the memories she'd recovered. Her father had always answered questions about her with vague, careful explanations.
"Tell me about her," Rosy said.
His eyes lowered.
"She knew who you were."
Rosy felt the room grow smaller.
"What?"
"Not everything. But enough to understand that you weren't an ordinary child."
He paused.
"She loved you anyway."
Rosy looked down at her hands.
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
Then she cleared her throat.
"All right. That's one secret. We have several hundred more."
Her father gave a quiet laugh.
"Yes. We do."
---
He rose and crossed to the fireplace.
Behind a portrait of an old Blackwell ancestor was a narrow compartment.
He pressed his thumb against a carved star.
A hidden drawer opened.
Inside lay a small black box.
Rosy watched him bring it to the table.
"The first Blackwell was not a king," he said. "Nor was he a warrior."
He opened the box.
Inside was a silver ring, a folded letter, and a fragment of something that looked like broken glass.
"He was a witness."
Rosy leaned forward.
"To what?"
"To the first rebellion against the Dreamer."
She looked at the ring.
Its surface was covered in tiny symbols.
She recognized one of them immediately.
The mark she'd seen above the royal palace.
Her father's voice became quieter.
"The royal family descended from those who betrayed Seraphine. The Blackwell family descended from those who helped her escape."
Rosy looked up.
"So the entire rivalry between the crown and my family—"
"Was built upon a truth neither side wished to reveal."
"Let me guess. The crown called us traitors because we refused to obey them."
"Yes."
"And they called Isle a villainess because she threatened their reputation."
His silence answered her.
Rosy's expression went cold.
"How original."
Her father unfolded the letter.
"The original royal family discovered a way to communicate with the Dreamer. They believed it could grant them power beyond anything the world had ever known."
"And they wanted to control it."
"They wanted to become part of it."
Rosy frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"They wanted their bloodline to survive every version of reality. Every cycle. Every world the Dreamer might create."
A terrible understanding began to form.
"The prince."
Her father nodded.
"The royal family believed the crown prince was the perfect vessel."
Rosy sat motionless.
The foolish, arrogant prince from The Sunshine—the man whose childish decisions had helped ruin Isle's life—had not merely disappeared.
He had been chosen.
Her father continued.
"The prince's ancestors placed a mark upon their descendants. It was passed down through generations, hidden beneath the royal insignia. The mark was meant to prepare a vessel for the Dreamer."
Rosy thought of the white-eyed shadow following the prince.
"Did the prince know?"
"We don't know."
She studied her father's face.
"You believe he didn't."
"I believe he was raised to think that power was his birthright. Whether he understood what that power would cost him is another matter."
Rosy leaned back.
For the first time, she felt something other than anger toward the missing prince.
Not forgiveness.
Certainly not sympathy without reservation.
But an uncomfortable awareness that the boy who had once made her life miserable might also have been another piece on somebody else's board.
"Where is he now?"
Her father shook his head.
"Beyond the door."
Rosy's fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
"The one I saw in the library?"
"Yes."
"And the person sitting on the throne?"
Her father looked at her.
"I don't know who that is."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Father."
"I swear it."
Rosy searched his face.
He wasn't lying.
That was almost worse.
"Then what else are you hiding?"
Her father looked down at the box.
"There is one more thing."
"Of course there is."
He picked up the silver ring.
"This belonged to the first Blackwell. It was given to him by Seraphine before she disappeared."
He placed it in Rosy's palm.
The metal was cold.
Then it warmed.
A faint purple light moved through its engraved symbols.
Rosy gasped.
The ring dissolved into light and flowed across her fingers, forming a thin silver band.
A voice echoed inside her mind.
When the crown claims the sun, the darkness must remember its name.
Rosy stared at her hand.
"What does that mean?"
Her father looked at her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher.
"It means the Blackwell family was never meant to rule the kingdom."
He paused.
"We were meant to make certain that no ruler ever owned you."
For several seconds, Rosy simply stared at him.
Then she let out a slow breath.
"That is the first sensible thing anyone has said to me today."
Her father smiled faintly.
"I shall treasure the compliment."
"Don't. It may never happen again."
---
The door burst open.
Kael stumbled into the room.
"I knew it!"
Rosy turned.
"What?"
"You're planning something dangerous."
"I am always planning something dangerous."
"Exactly! And you sent us outside, which means you're planning something especially dangerous."
Sol appeared behind him, holding a plate of pastries.
"I brought food."
Rosy blinked.
"Where did you get those?"
"The kitchen."
"Did you ask?"
Sol considered the question.
"Not in words."
Kael pointed at him.
"He charmed the cook."
Sol looked mildly offended.
"I smiled."
"That's worse."
Azrael entered last, carrying Rosy's abandoned coat.
He took one look at the ring on her hand.
His expression changed.
"Where did you get that?"
Rosy held it up.
"Family heirloom."
Azrael stared at her father.
"You gave it to her?"
Her father nodded.
Azrael's jaw tightened.
"Then you know what it means."
"Yes."
Rosy looked between them.
"Oh, wonderful. Another conversation in which everyone knows something except me."
Azrael turned to her.
"The ring is a key."
"To what?"
He glanced toward the palace in the distance.
"To the throne beyond the door."
Rosy's smile vanished.
"And the person sitting on it?"
Azrael hesitated.
That was all she needed to see.
"You know."
"I have a suspicion."
"Azrael."
He looked at her.
"I don't want to tell you something that may not be true."
Rosy studied him for a moment.
Then she nodded.
"Fine. But when we find out, you're explaining every single detail."
"I expected nothing less."
Sol placed the pastry plate on the table.
"So we're going back to the palace?"
"Yes."
Kael groaned.
"Can't we send a letter?"
"No."
"A very threatening letter?"
"No."
"An extremely threatening letter with a seal?"
Rosy patted his shoulder.
"You're welcome to write one while we travel."
He brightened.
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Make it sound official."
Kael immediately began thinking.
Azrael leaned toward Rosy.
"You're enjoying this."
"A little."
"You have a disturbing relationship with danger."
"And yet you keep following me."
His smile was quiet.
"Always."
Rosy looked away before he could notice her cheeks warming.
Unfortunately, Sol noticed.
He looked at Kael.
Kael looked at Sol.
Neither said a word.
Somehow, their silence was considerably more embarrassing than teasing.
---
They reached the royal palace before sunset.
The capital was recovering, but uneasily. The white sky had returned to blue, and the streets were full of frightened people trying to convince themselves that the morning's disaster had been nothing more than an unusual storm.
Rosy knew better.
The throne room was crowded.
The king stood before the throne, with the queen beside him. The general and the heroine waited near the windows.
When Rosy entered, every conversation stopped.
The king looked at the ring on her hand.
His face drained of color.
"Where did you get that?"
Rosy walked forward.
"From my father."
The king closed his eyes.
For one brief moment, he looked less like a monarch and more like an exhausted man who had spent his life protecting a lie.
"Then the time has come."
Rosy stopped before the throne.
"Tell me where the prince is."
The king opened his eyes.
"He is beyond the door."
"I know that."
"And if the door opens completely, the Dreamer will have access to this world."
Rosy glanced at the empty throne.
"Then we close it."
The king shook his head.
"You don't understand. The prince isn't simply a vessel anymore."
Rosy's eyes narrowed.
"What has happened to him?"
The king looked toward the heroine.
She had gone pale.
"He has become the bridge," she whispered.
Rosy turned to her.
"How do you know?"
The heroine's lips trembled.
"Because he told me."
Silence fell.
The general stepped toward her.
"You spoke to him?"
She nodded.
"Last night."
Rosy's expression sharpened.
"Where?"
The heroine looked at the throne.
"He appeared in my dreams."
The candles flickered.
"He said the Dreamer was coming for you. He said the only way to stop it was to bring you through the door."
Rosy stared at her.
"And you believed him?"
"No."
The heroine's voice broke.
"But he said something else."
"What?"
The heroine looked directly into Rosy's purple eyes.
"He said that the person waiting on the throne was not the Dreamer."
The silver ring on Rosy's finger suddenly burned with cold.
A symbol appeared above the throne.
The same mark.
The same impossible design.
Then a voice drifted through the room.
Gentle.
Almost amused.
"How lovely. The whole family has finally gathered."
Rosy's heart stopped.
Because the voice did not come from the ceiling.
It came from the throne itself.
The empty throne began to glow.
A figure slowly appeared upon it.
Silver hair.
Golden eyes.
A crown made of stars.
And a face Rosy could not remember, no matter how desperately she tried.
The figure smiled at her.
"Hello, little sister."
Sol stepped in front of Rosy.
Azrael's hand moved toward his weapon.
Kael's ice spread across the floor.
Rosy didn't move.
She stared at the stranger.
"Little sister?"
The figure rested his chin upon one hand.
"Did Mother never tell you?"
His smile widened.
"I was the first child the Dreamer ever created."
Then he looked at Sol.
"And you, little Heart of Creation, were only the second."
The throne room shook.
Rosy's ring shattered into silver light.
The stranger rose.
His eyes settled upon her.
"Come home, Nyx."
His smile disappeared.
"Or I will take back everything you stole from me."
And for the first time since the beginning of the world, the First Darkness felt something she had not felt in an eternity.
Not fear of destruction.
Not fear of death.
But the terrible possibility that the one person who understood her existence better than anyone else—
might be the very person who wanted her erased.
To be continued...