SERA'S POV
They know.
Mira dropped the teacup she was holding. It shattered on the hotel floor, porcelain fragments scattering like broken promises. Like the shattered pieces of my life five years ago. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the small room, echoing off the walls.
What? Her face had gone completely white.
I heard Casimir and Viktor talking last night. My voice shook despite my efforts to control it. I could still hear their voices in my head, calm and clinical as they discussed my death like it was a chess move. They ran facial recognition. They know Elena Frost is Princess Seraphina.
Mira grabbed my shoulders, her fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Then we run. Now. Before they
No. I pulled away, pacing the small hotel room like a caged animal. Five steps to the window. Five steps back. They're letting me play out my game. They want to see what evidence I gather, then kill me when I make my move.
So we're walking into a trap. Mira's voice was flat. Dead.
We've always been walking into a trap. I fastened my mother's bracelet around my wrist the only item I'd kept from my old life. Silver with tiny violet stones that caught the light. It had been her mother's before her, passed down through three generations of Valorian queens. The clasp was worn, the silver slightly tarnished, but I'd never had it repaired. Liked the imperfection. Liked the reminder that even precious things could break.
The question is who springs it first, I continued, watching the bracelet catch the morning light.
Mira studied me with worried eyes. She knew me too well. Could read every micro-expression, every tell. You're still having tea with Lyanna today.
It wasn't a question.
Especially today. I met her gaze, forced steel into my voice. If Casimir knows who I am, he'll be watching every move. I need to act normal. Stick to the plan.
The plan where you have tea with the sister who betrayed you? Mira's voice dripped with disbelief. The sister who watched your mother die? Who took your crown? Who
Remember the mission, I said, more to myself than her. She's the enemy.
But my hands wouldn't stop shaking as I said it.
Mira saw. She always saw.
Sera. Her voice softened. You don't have to do this. We can gather evidence another way
No. I turned away, staring out the window at the palace in the distance. The sun was rising behind it, making the white stone glow like it was on fire. She's the key. If I can turn Lyanna, if I can make her testify against Casimir, we have a chance.
And if she betrays you again?
I smiled bitterly. Then at least I'll know for certain she's beyond saving.
Mira sighed, recognizing the stubborn set of my jaw. She'd seen it before. Knew when I'd made up my mind and nothing would change it.
Fine. But I'm coming with you. I'll wait outside the gardens, close enough to intervene if
No. I shook my head. Casimir will have people watching. If you're there, it looks suspicious. I go alone.
Sera
I'll be fine. I touched her shoulder gently. Besides, she's not going to kill me. That's Casimir's job.
That's not funny.
It wasn't meant to be.
The Queen's Garden looked exactly the same.
Rose bushes in full bloom the same hybrid roses my mother had cultivated, their petals a deep crimson that looked almost black in certain light. The old oak tree that Lyanna and I used to climb as children, our governesses shouting at us to come down before we broke our necks. The fountain where we'd throw coins and make wishes that never came true.
I wish Sera and I could be best friends forever, Lyanna had whispered once, age seven, her violet eyes shining with innocence as she clutched a copper coin.
I'd wished the same thing. Threw my own coin into the water and watched it sink, glinting in the sunlight.
Funny how wishes turn to poison.
The garden smelled the same too. Roses and jasmine and fresh earth. The scent hit me like a physical blow, dragging me back through time. I could almost see ustwo blonde girls in matching dresses, laughing as we chased butterflies. Before we knew what betrayal felt like. Before we understood that family could destroy you more completely than any enemy.
Princess Lyanna sat at a small table beneath the oak tree, already pouring tea with practiced grace. She looked beautiful but fragile, like porcelain about to crack. Dark circles shadowed her eyes despite the expensive makeup trying to hide them. Her hands trembled slightly as she set down the teapot.
She'd lost weight since I'd last seen her up close. Her collarbones jutted sharply beneath the neckline of her dress. Her wrists looked too thin, too breakable.
She looked like someone who wasn't sleeping. Wasn't eating. Wasn't happy.
Good, part of me thought viciously.
But another part the part that remembered braiding her hair before bed, remembered holding her when she had nightmares that part felt something uncomfortably close to concern.
Miss Frost. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. Didn't even come close. Thank you for joining me. I'm starved for genuine conversation.
The words were practiced. Rehearsed. The kind of thing a queen says to be polite.
But underneath, I heard the truth: I'm lonely.
I sat across from my twin sister, wearing a stranger's face. Up close, the differences between us were more apparent. She had a small scar on her chin from when she'd fallen off a horse at age twelve. I had one on my shoulder from a bullet.
The honor is mine, Your Majesty.
Please, call me Lyanna. She pushed a teacup toward me. All this formal nonsense makes me tired.
I studied the cup. Recognized the pattern. Our mother's favorite tea set. Delicate bone China with hand-painted violets. I'd broken two cups from this set when I was ten. Mother had been furious until I'd started crying, then she'd just held me and said, They're just things, darling. You're worth more than all the china in the kingdom.
The memory hurt like a knife between my ribs.
I had them prepare jasmine, Lyanna continued, oblivious to my internal struggle. I hope that's acceptable.
Jasmine. Our mother's favorite. The scent she'd always worn. The tea she'd drunk every morning while reading the daily reports.
Was this deliberate? A test? Or just coincidence?
It's perfect, I managed, my throat tight.
We sipped in silence for a moment. The jasmine tasted exactly like I remembered floral and slightly sweet. I hadn't drunk jasmine tea in five years. Couldn't stomach it. Now it tasted like grief.
I waited for the hate to come. The rage I'd carried for five years like a second heartbeat. The cold, calculated fury that had sustained me through exile and training and endless lonely nights.
Instead, I just felt... sad. Hollow.
Lyanna looked miserable. Trapped. Like a bird in a golden cage who'd forgotten how to fly. Like someone who'd won everything and lost herself in the process.
We talked about safe things. Books we both still loved the same obscure poetry. Politics she was surprisingly well-informed about neighboring kingdoms. The weather unusually warm for this time of year.
But something strange kept happening.
We kept finishing each other's sentences.
I was reading that new collection by
Marissa Thorne? Lyanna's eyes lit up. The one about the sea?
Yes! The metaphor about
drowning in memory, I know! She actually smiled, genuine for the first time. That line about 'water holds what earth forgets'
gave me chills, I finished.
We stared at each other, startled by the synchronicity.
Twin things. Sister things that five years and death couldn't erase.
It hurt more than I'd expected.
You remind me of her, Lyanna said quietly, the smile fading. My sister. The way you speak. Your mannerisms.
My heart stopped.
I'm honored by the comparison, Your Majesty.
Don't be. Her voice turned bitter. She was naive. Idealistic. Weak.
The words felt rehearsed. Memorized. Like she'd been told them so many times she'd started to believe them.
Weak? I kept my voice neutral. She was Crown Princess. That requires strength.
She couldn't make the hard choices. Lyanna stared into her teacup like she could read the future in the leaves. Uncle Casimir says she would have destroyed the kingdom with her idealism. That she cared more about being loved than being effective.
Uncle Casimir says.
Not I think. Not I believe. Uncle Casimir says.
Every word a nail in my coffin. Every phrase proof of how thoroughly he'd rewritten her memories, controlled her thoughts, made her believe his lies until she couldn't tell truth from manipulation.
Sometimes, Lyanna continued, voice barely above a whisper, I wonder what my life would have been if my sister had lived.
My teacup froze halfway to my lips. Liquid sloshed, nearly spilling.
She would have been a great queen, Lyanna said to the roses, not meeting my eyes. Beautiful. Smart. Strong. Everyone loved her. I was always just... the spare. The shadow nobody noticed.
There was such raw pain in her voice. Such genuine grief.
I'd spent five years imagining her as a monster. A willing participant in my destruction. But listening to her now, I heard something I hadn't expected.
Regret.
Do you miss her? I forced the words out past the lump in my throat.
Lyanna's face changed. Closed off like a door slamming shut. The vulnerability disappeared behind practiced royal composure.
I miss who she might have been. Her voice sounded mechanical now. Rehearsed. But she was naive. Unsuited for the realities of power. She took a sip of tea, her hand perfectly steady now. Uncle Casimir says she would have destroyed the kingdom with her idealism.
There it was again. Uncle Casimir says.
The phrase was a cage. A leash. A reminder of who controlled her thoughts.
I leaned forward slightly. Lyanna. I let her name her real name fill with warmth. Can I ask you something? Do you ever wish you could?
There you are, my dear.
Duke Casimir appeared like a snake sliding through grass. One moment the garden was empty except for us. The next, he was there silver hair perfectly styled, expensive suit immaculate, smile cold as winter frost.
His hand landed on Lyanna's shoulder. Possessive. Controlling.
She flinched.
I saw it. A tiny movement of fear. Her whole body tensing under his touch.
I've been looking everywhere for you, Casimir continued, his voice warm and concerned in a way that made my skin crawl. The Council needs your input on the trade negotiations.
Of course, Uncle. Lyanna stood immediately, her teacup rattling slightly as she set it down. I was just having tea with Miss Frost.
So I see. Casimir's eyes found mine. Sharp. Calculating. I hope my niece isn't boring you with palace gossip, Miss Frost.
The words were polite. The eyes were predatory.
He knew. Knew exactly who I was. Knew exactly what this tea party meant. And he was reminding me subtly, carefully that he held all the power here.
Not at all, Your Grace. I smiled my Elena Frost smile. Professional. Cool. Her Majesty is excellent company.
I'm sure. He squeezed Lyanna's shoulder. I saw her wince. Come, my dear. Duty calls.
He led her away, his hand still gripping her shoulder like a handler with a trained dog. I watched my sister shrink under his control, seeking his approval with every step. Watched her become smaller, quieter, less with every word he spoke.
A prisoner who didn't even know she wore chains.
I sat alone in the garden after they left, staring at the two teacups. Hers was half-empty. Mine untouched except for that first sip.
Lyanna was a puppet. Casimir had spent five years rewriting her memories, controlling her thoughts, making her believe his lies until she couldn't tell truth from manipulation.
My sister was a victim too. A beautifully dressed, crown-wearing victim who'd chosen survival over resistance.
The question was: could she be saved? Or had Casimir's poison sunk too deep?
I stood to leave, taking one last look at the garden. My eyes landed on a spot near the fountain where the paving stones looked newer than the rest. Different color. Different texture. Slightly raised, like they'd been installed recently.
My breath caught.
That was where they'd killed our mother.
I remembered it with perfect clarity. The way she'd fallen. The blood spreading across the old stones. The gardeners had replaced them the next day. Couldn't have the queen's blood staining the beautiful garden.
I knelt slowly, pretending to adjust my shoe. My fingers touched the new stones, feeling the difference. They were smoother. Colder. The mortar was still slightly soft in places.
I'm here, Mama, I whispered, my voice barely audible. I haven't forgotten. I promise you, they're all going to pay.
A shadow fell over me.
I looked up.
Kael Draven stood there, watching me with those storm-gray eyes that saw too much. He was in full uniform, weapon at his side, every inch the commander. But his eyes were confused. Suspicious.
That's an interesting spot to stop, Miss Frost. His voice was dangerous, loaded with suspicion. Almost like you know what happened here.
My heart stopped. Stuttered. Restarted too fast.
I stood slowly, carefully, buying time to think. I tripped. These shoes weren't made for garden paths.
Strange place to trip. He stepped closer, invading my space deliberately. Right on the exact stones that mark where Queen Valorian died.
We stared at each other. Too close. The air crackling with tension.
Do you know what happened here five years ago? he asked quietly, each word precise and measured.
Play dumb. Stay in character.
I know what everyone knows, I said, keeping my voice steady. There was a coup. People died.
The queen died. He stepped even closer, close enough that I could smell him leather and gunpowder and something uniquely Kael. Right where you're standing. Murdered defending her daughter.
His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked. He was barely holding himself together.
And what happened to the daughter? I asked, my voice steadier than my heartbeat.
She was executed. For treason. His jaw clenched harder, like the words physically hurt to say. I killed her myself.
The confession hung between us. Raw. Painful.
Did you? I held his gaze, refusing to look away. Because I heard they never found her body.
Something flashed in his eyes. Suspicion. Hope. Fear. Longing.
Miss Frost
His radio crackled, cutting him off. Commander, we have a situation. Body found in the East Wing. You're needed immediately.
Kael's expression hardened instantly. Professional soldier replacing the man who'd just been breaking apart in front of me.
This conversation isn't over, he said.
Then he strode away toward the palace, his hand on his weapon, shoulders set with military precision.
I followed, my pulse racing. My mind spinning.
He knew. Or suspected. Or wanted to believe so badly that he was willing to entertain the impossible.
We reached a corridor in the East Wing where guards had gathered in a tight circle, their faces pale with shock. They parted for Kael, stepping aside with the automatic deference soldiers show their commander.
On the floor lay a young woman. Palace maid by her uniform. Very, very dead.
She couldn't have been more than twenty. Blonde hair. Blue eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Her throat had been cut with surgical precision.
But it was what was written on the wall above her in blood that made my blood run cold.
Letters three feet high, painted with methodical care:
THE PRINCESS LIVES. AND SHE'S NEXT.