Zara's POV
"Name?"
The guard at the fortress gate stares at me with bored eyes. Behind him, massive stone walls stretch toward the sky. Kaelen's fortress. My target's home. My godfather's prison.
I swallow hard and hand him my papers. "Lira Ashwood. I'm expected. New servant for the upper floors."
He barely glances at the documents before waving me through. "Kitchen entrance is around back. Ask for Head Servant Margot. She'll assign your duties."
Just like that, I'm inside.
My heart pounds as I walk through the gates. This is wrong. Everything about this feels wrong. I'm supposed to be here to kill Kaelen Thorne. Instead, I'm here because he's been searching for me for twelve years. Because he tried to save me. Because he's family.
Because everything the Veil taught me was a lie.
Mira's words echo in my head from last night: "Don't tell him who you are. Not yet. The Architect has spies everywhere, even in his fortress. If word gets out that you're alive and with Kaelen, they'll send everything they have to kill you both. Stay hidden. Stay safe. Learn the truth first."
So I'm Lira Ashwood. Orphan servant girl. Nobody special.
Not the goddaughter he's been desperately searching for.
The kitchen is chaos—servants rushing everywhere, pots clanging, someone yelling about burned bread. A severe-looking woman with gray hair spots me immediately.
"You're late," she snaps.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I—"
"No excuses. I'm Margot. You'll clean the third and fourth floors, polish the library, and stay out of the Archmage's way. He values privacy. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She shoves a bucket and rags at me. "Start with the east corridor. And don't touch anything valuable. We've had thieves before." Her eyes narrow. "They don't last long here."
The threat is clear. I nod and escape upstairs.
The fortress is beautiful in a cold, military way. Stone walls. Weapons displayed like art. Magical torches that burn without heat. Everything is precise and controlled and lonely.
Like a prison disguised as a palace.
I'm scrubbing floors on the third level when I hear voices below—one deep and commanding, the other lighter and teasing.
"—ridiculous, Kaelen. You can't spend every night reading ancient texts. You need to sleep."
"I'll sleep when the war ends, Theron."
Kaelen. That's Kaelen's voice.
My hands freeze on the rag. My godfather is right below me. The man I was sent to kill. The man who planted gardens of purple flowers to remember my mother.
"The war won't end if you collapse from exhaustion," the other voice—Theron—argues. "When's the last time you ate a real meal? Slept more than four hours?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're obsessed. This research into ancient magic, this quest to find some miracle solution—it's destroying you."
A long pause. Then Kaelen speaks, and his voice is so tired it makes my chest ache. "If I can find the right spell, I can end this war without more bloodshed. I can save lives instead of taking them. I have to try."
"At the cost of your own life? That spell you're researching requires a sacrifice, and we both know you're planning to—"
"Enough." Steel enters Kaelen's tone. "This conversation is over."
Footsteps. A door slamming. Silence.
I sit back on my heels, my mind racing. Kaelen is researching a spell that requires sacrifice. His own life. He's planning to die to end the war.
The Architect wants me to kill a man who's already trying to sacrifice himself to save others.
I have to see him. I have to know if Mira was telling the truth, if he really is the person she described.
I abandon my cleaning and move to the window overlooking the courtyard.
And there he is.
Kaelen Thorne stands alone in the center of the yard, silver-white hair catching the sunlight. He's tall, broad-shouldered, powerful. But it's not his size that strikes me.
It's how tired he looks.
His shoulders slump like he's carrying the weight of the world. Dark circles shadow his eyes. His hands tremble slightly as he raises them, and I realize he's practicing magic—blue light crackling between his fingers.
But the magic flickers and dies. He tries again. Same result.
"Come on," he mutters to himself. "You've done this a thousand times. Focus."
He sounds frustrated. Disappointed. Like he's failing some test only he can see.
I watch as he tries the spell five more times. Each failure makes his shoulders drop lower. Finally, he gives up and just stands there, staring at his hands like they've betrayed him.
This is the monster from the files? The ruthless weapon who killed thousands?
He looks like a man who's breaking under pressure he never asked for.
"Careful, new girl."
I jump. Another servant—a girl about my age with kind brown eyes—stands behind me.
"Careful of what?" I ask.
"Getting caught staring at the Archmage. Half the servants develop crushes on him. Margot fires them immediately." She grins. "I'm Senna, by the way. You must be Lira."
"How did you—"
"Small fortress. Word travels fast." She peers out the window at Kaelen. "He's practicing again. He does that when he can't sleep. Which is most nights lately."
"Why doesn't he sleep?"
Senna's expression turns sad. "Nightmares. He heals soldiers during the day, then dreams about the ones he couldn't save. I've heard him screaming some nights." She shakes her head. "Everyone thinks he's this untouchable, powerful mage. But he's just a man carrying too much guilt."
Guilt. Like me.
I'm supposed to kill someone who understands what it's like to drown in blood you can't wash away.
"Come on," Senna says. "We should get back to work before Margot catches us slacking."
But I can't move. Because Kaelen has pulled something from his pocket—a small object he holds carefully in his palm.
Even from here, I can see what it is.
A purple flower. Pressed and preserved.
He stares at it with an expression that makes my throat tight. Grief. Longing. Love.
"He keeps that with him always," Senna whispers. "No one knows why. Some people say it belonged to someone he loved. Someone he lost."
My mother. He carries a piece of my mother with him everywhere.
"Lira?" Senna touches my arm. "Are you crying?"
I am. Tears stream down my face before I can stop them. I wipe them away quickly. "Dust. Got something in my eye."
Senna doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push. "Right. Well, come on. Those floors won't clean themselves."
I follow her, but I keep glancing back at Kaelen. He's putting the flower away now, his face carefully blank. Pushing down his grief to be the strong, powerful Archmage everyone needs.
Just like I push down my feelings to be the perfect weapon.
We're the same. Both of us trapped. Both of us breaking. Both of us pretending we're not.
That night, I lie in my tiny servant quarters, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow I'll start my real work—mapping his routines, finding weaknesses, preparing for the kill.
But I don't want to kill him.
For the first time in eighteen years, I don't want to complete my mission.
I pull out my own pressed flower—the one Mira returned to me. The one that proves I'm Elara's daughter. I trace the purple petals and imagine my mother wearing flowers in her hair. Imagine Kaelen knowing her. Caring about her. Promising to protect her daughter.
A promise he couldn't keep. A failure he's never forgiven himself for.
Does he know I'm alive? Does he still look for me? Or has he given up hope after twelve years?
I'm tucking the flower away when I hear something outside my door. Footsteps. Slow and deliberate.
Someone's in the hallway. At midnight. Right outside my room.
I grab my knife and press against the wall.
The footsteps stop at my door. A shadow blocks the light from underneath.
Then a piece of paper slides beneath the door.
The footsteps retreat quickly. By the time I yank the door open, the hallway is empty.
I pick up the paper with shaking hands. It's a note in handwriting I don't recognize:
"Zara—
I know who you are. I've known since the moment you walked through the gates. Your eyes are exactly like your mother's. Amber fire—impossible to mistake.
Meet me in the east garden at dawn. Come alone. Tell no one.
We have much to discuss, goddaughter.
—K.T."
My legs give out. I sink to the floor, the note trembling in my hands.
Kaelen knows. He knows I'm here. He knows who I am.
Which means one of three things: he's calling me out to kill me, to capture me, or—
Or to finally keep the promise he made to my mother twelve years ago.
The question is: which one?
And what happens when the man I was sent to murder looks me in the eyes and calls me family?