CALISTA'S POV
I wake up on the floor with blood dripping from my nose.
The journal lies open beside me, the name ELARA ASHENMERE still glowing faintly on the page. My head feels like someone split it open with an axe.
But I remember.
Not everything. Just fragments. Flashes. A woman with kind eyes calling me "my star." A little girl—Lyra—braiding my hair and laughing. A crown that felt too heavy. A mother who died screaming.
They're going to execute Lyra today.
I stagger to my feet, gripping the desk. The black ring burns on my finger, but I don't take it off. The pain means it's working. The pain means I'm fighting back.
I lurch toward the door and pound on it with both fists.
"Let me out! I need to speak to the Queen! LET ME OUT!"
No response.
The door stays locked.
I slam my shoulder against it—once, twice—but it doesn't budge. Magic locks. Of course.
"PLEASE!" My voice cracks. "My sister—they have my sister—"
"Lady Calista."
I spin around.
A man stands in my room. He wasn't there a second ago. He just... appeared.
He's old—maybe sixty—with silver hair and eyes that are completely black. No whites. Just darkness.
And I know him.
The memory is fuzzy, but it's there: this man standing over me while I screamed. This man's hands glowing with red light. This man whispering words that made my brain feel like it was melting.
"Vaskir," I breathe. The blood-mage. The one who cursed me.
He smiles. "Good. You remember me. That ring is working better than expected." He steps closer, examining me like I'm an interesting bug. "How much do you recall, I wonder? Your sister's dramatic little visit? Your true name? The six nobles you murdered?"
"They weren't nobles," I whisper, the memory suddenly sharp and clear. "They were my mother's advisors. Her friends. People trying to help me."
"Yes. And you killed them beautifully." He reaches out, and I try to run, but my legs won't move. Magic holds me in place. "The Queen sends her regards. She's decided your sister's execution will be public. She wants you there. Front row seat to watch little Lyra's head roll."
"No." Tears stream down my face. "Please, I'll do anything—"
"Oh, you'll do exactly what you're told." His black eyes bore into mine. "You see, Calista—or should I say Elara?—your memories are mine to give and take. That ring you're wearing? It's barely holding back the tide. One word from me, and you'll forget you even have a sister."
He raises his hand.
Panic explodes in my chest. "WAIT!"
"Why?"
"Because—because—" I grasp for anything, any leverage. "Because if you erase me completely, I'm useless to you. Right? You need me aware enough to function. To marry. To kill on command. If I'm just an empty shell, the curse won't work."
Vaskir pauses. Then he laughs—a dry, cold sound. "Clever. Your intelligence keeps bleeding through, no matter how many times I scrub your mind. Fine. Keep your fragments. For now." He lowers his hand. "But the execution happens at noon. The Queen wants you dressed appropriately. After all, you're about to become engaged again."
The magic releases me, and I collapse.
When I look up, he's gone.
They come for me an hour later.
Not Sera this time. Two silent servants who dress me like a doll in a black gown—mourning colors, but expensive. Royal quality.
I keep the ring on. They don't notice it. Or they don't care.
My mind races as they work. Lyra is going to die at noon. That's—I glance at the sun through my window—less than two hours from now.
I have to stop it.
But how? I'm a prisoner. I can't even open my own door.
Unless...
Unless the Queen wants me at the execution. Which means she'll take me out of this tower. Which means I'll have a chance—maybe the only chance—to do something.
The servants finish and step back. I look at my reflection in the mirror.
I look like someone going to a funeral.
I suppose I am.
The throne room is packed.
Nobles line both sides, whispering behind their hands as guards march me down the center aisle. Everyone stares. Some with fear. Some with disgust. A few with pity.
I keep my head high and my hand closed around the ring, using the pain to stay focused.
The Queen sits on her black throne, watching me approach. She's beautiful in a cold, sharp way—like a knife. Her crown glitters. Her smile is poisonous.
And standing beside her throne is Theron.
Our eyes meet, and something passes between us. A warning? A promise? I can't tell.
"Calista Ravencross," the Queen says, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You have been summoned to witness justice."
"Justice?" My voice comes out steady. Stronger than I feel. "You're executing a sixteen-year-old girl. How is that justice?"
Murmurs ripple through the crowd.
The Queen's smile doesn't waver. "The criminal Lyra Nightborne broke into your tower. She assaulted you. She attempted to spread lies about the royal family. These are acts of treason."
"Her name is Lyra Ashenmere," I say clearly. "She's my sister. And the only lie here is you."
The throne room goes dead silent.
The Queen's eyes narrow. "You're confused, Lady Calista. The memory curse has damaged your mind. You have no sister. You are the last of House Ravencross."
"Then why are you so afraid of her?" I take a step forward. Guards move to stop me, but Theron raises his hand and they freeze. "If she's just a crazy girl telling lies, why kill her? Why not just let her rot in a cell?"
"Because mercy is weakness," the Queen snaps. "And I am not weak."
"No." I meet her eyes, and for the first time in three years, I feel like myself. Like the person I used to be before they broke me. "You're terrified. Because Lyra found proof. Proof of what you did to your sister. Proof of what you did to me."
The Queen stands. Magic crackles around her like lightning.
"Enough. You will watch your sister die. You will learn what happens to those who defy me. And then—" She smiles that poisonous smile again. "Then you will marry Lord Theron and continue serving me as you always have. Guards, bring in the prisoner."
Doors open at the far end of the throne room.
Lyra stumbles in, hands bound, guards on either side. She looks tiny. Terrified. When she sees me, her eyes go wide.
Help me, she mouths.
My heart shatters.
"Your Majesty," Theron says suddenly, stepping forward. "If I may?"
The Queen looks annoyed. "What is it?"
"A request. Before the execution." He bows with perfect courtesy. "I'd like to make my marriage proposal to Lady Calista now. Publicly. It seems... appropriate, given the circumstances."
What is he doing?
The Queen considers this. Then nods. "Very well. Let it not be said I lack romance."
Theron walks down the steps toward me. The entire court watches. Lyra watches. The Queen watches.
He stops in front of me and takes my hand—the one with the ring.
His fingers brush the black stone, and I feel it: a pulse of magic. His magic, mixing with whatever the ring is doing.
My head clears even more.
Memories flood in faster—
Theron and I studying together at the Academy. Theron holding my hand when my mother died. Theron promising to protect Lyra if anything happened to me.
Theron was my friend. My real friend. Before they took everything.
"Calista Ravencross," he says formally, but his eyes are desperate. Pleading. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
And in that moment, I understand.
This is a distraction. He's giving me time. But time for what?
Then I see it: his other hand, hidden in his coat. He's holding something. He presses it into my palm as he takes my hand to kiss it.
A key.
A small iron key that burns with magic.
I close my fist around it.
"Yes," I say loudly. "I'll marry you."
The court applauds—nervous, confused applause.
The Queen looks satisfied. "Excellent. Seven nights until the wedding. And now—" She turns to Lyra. "—we proceed with the execution."
"No," I say again.
"You cannot stop this," the Queen hisses.
"I know." I look at Lyra, trying to tell her with my eyes: I'm sorry. I tried. I'm so sorry. "But I can give her last words. That's traditional, isn't it? Even for traitors?"
The Queen waves her hand impatiently. "Fine. Make it quick."
Guards push Lyra toward me. We have maybe thirty seconds.
I grab her hands, lean close like I'm hugging her, and whisper in her ear: "The key opens your chains. When I cause a distraction, run. East corridor. Theron's people are waiting. Go."
"But you—" she whispers back.
"I'll be fine. I always survive. It's my curse." I press the key into her bound hands. "Now scream at me. Make it believable."
Lyra pulls back and slaps me across the face.
"I hate you!" she screams, tears streaming. "You abandoned us! You forgot everything! You deserve to be a monster!"
The crowd gasps.
The Queen laughs.
And I use the moment—everyone distracted by Lyra's breakdown—to rip the black ring off my finger and throw it at the Queen's feet.
It shatters.
Black smoke explodes from the broken stone, filling the throne room.
Screams. Chaos. Guards shouting orders.
In the confusion, I hear chains clinking. Running footsteps. Lyra escaping.
Good.
Hands grab me—guards, I think—but the smoke is too thick to see.
Then someone whispers in my ear: "Well done, my poisonous bride. Now comes the hard part."
Theron.
The smoke clears.
I'm standing in the center of the throne room, Theron beside me, surrounded by fifty armed guards with weapons drawn.
The Queen stands on her throne, fury radiating from her like heat.
"You helped her escape," she says, voice deadly quiet. "You just committed treason in my own throne room."
"Yes," I say simply.
"I could execute you right now."
"You could." I'm shaking but I stand tall. "But you won't. Because you need me for the curse. You need me to kill Theron on our wedding night. That's the plan, isn't it? He's been getting too close to your secrets, so you're using me to eliminate him."
The Queen's face goes blank. Shocked.
I guessed right.
"Seven nights," I continue. "That's how long we have. And if you kill me before then, your curse fails, your weapon is gone, and Theron lives to expose everything you've done."
The Queen's hands curl into fists.
For a long moment, no one moves.
Then she smiles—a terrible smile.
"You're right," she says. "I need you alive for seven more nights. But your sister? I don't need her at all. And I swear to you, Calista—or Elara, or whatever you want to call yourself—I will find that girl. And when I do, I will make her death last for days."
She sweeps from the throne room, guards following.
We're left standing there, Theron and me, in the wreckage of my desperate plan.
"Did I just make everything worse?" I whisper.
"Probably," Theron says. But he's smiling. "But you also just bought us seven nights to fix it. And you saved your sister's life. That's not nothing."
"Seven nights until you die," I correct.
"Seven nights until someone dies." He takes my hand again—the one that held the ring. "Let's make sure it's not us. Come on. We have work to do."
"What kind of work?"
His smile turns dangerous. "The kind where we break every curse, expose every lie, and burn the Queen's entire conspiracy to the ground."
He leads me toward a side door.
Behind us, I hear guards shouting. The Queen screaming orders. The hunt for Lyra beginning.
But ahead of us—
Ahead is something I haven't felt in three years.
Hope.