SERA'S POV
The dead maid's eyes haunted me.
I couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop seeing those words written in blood: THE PRINCESS LIVES. AND SHE'S NEXT.
They'd closed off the East Wing. Locked down the palace. Kael's men were interviewing everyone who'd been in that corridor. The official story was that a madman had infiltrated the palace. A conspiracy theorist who believed Princess Sera had survived.
The unofficial truth? Someone was playing a deadly game. And I was the prize.
But who? Casimir knew I was alive, but would he announce it so publicly? Would he paint those words in some poor maid's blood just to rattle me?
Or was someone else hunting me? Someone with their own agenda?
At midnight, I gave up on sleep entirely. I wrapped myself in a dark cloak the same one I'd used for reconnaissance during my weeks of planning and slipped into the palace hallways.
The guards were focused on the East Wing. The rest of the palace was surprisingly unguarded. Sloppy. I made a mental note for my security report. If I lived long enough to deliver it.
My feet carried me on autopilot. Down familiar corridors. Past sleeping guards who never looked twice at shadows. Through passages I'd navigated a thousand times as a child when I was supposed to be in bed but couldn't sleep.
The Royal Library doors stood open, beckoning like a siren's call.
I hesitated at the threshold. Kael came here. Once a month, Mira had discovered through surveillance. Always the same night. Always alone. He came here and tortured himself with memories of me.
What if he was here now?
Part of me hoped he was. Part of me needed to see him in this space. Needed to understand what drew him here.
I slipped inside and breathed deeply.
Old books. Leather. Dust. Exactly the same as I remembered. My sanctuary.
The library was three stories tall, with balconies on the upper levels and reading nooks tucked into corners. Thousands of books lined the walls some ancient, some new, all carefully catalogued by the royal librarians.
I'd spent more time here than anywhere else in the palace. Had read my way through entire sections. Philosophy. History. Poetry. Military strategy. Everything.
Knowledge is power, my mother used to say. And a queen needs all the power she can get.
My feet knew the way even in darkness. Past the main shelves with their neat rows of leather-bound volumes. Through the history section where I'd spent hours studying past queens, trying to learn from their successes and failures. To the very back corner where nobody ever went because the books were ancient and boring and written in languages most people couldn't read.
My secret reading nook.
The small alcove was still there, hidden behind tall bookcases. The same worn armchair burgundy velvet, one arm slightly frayed. The same reading lamp with its Tiffany shade. Even my books were still on the shelf, covered in five years of dust like forgotten relics.
Nobody had touched them. Nobody had cared.
The realization hurt more than it should have.
I pulled out my favorite poetry collection with shaking hands. The leather binding was cracked with age. The pages were yellowed. But my notes filled the margins teenage handwriting, innocent observations, hearts drawn around certain verses.
I opened to a page at random.
Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove.
I'd underlined that one in purple ink. Had written in the margin: Like Kael and me. Forever.
Forever had lasted exactly three years.
Tears fell before I could stop them. Silent. Painful. I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep the sobs quiet.
Five years. Five years and the grief was still this fresh. This raw.
I was so lost in grief that I didn't hear the footsteps until too late.
Someone entered the library.
I shrank back into the shadows instinctively, clutching the book to my chest. Heart hammering. Barely breathing.
Please don't let it be a guard. Please don't let me get caught here, of all places
Kael Draven walked past the main shelves, moving with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going.
He was coming to my nook.
Of course he was.
My heart hammered so hard I was sure he'd hear it. I pressed myself against the wall, making myself as small as possible in the deep shadows behind the bookcase.
He entered the alcove and sat in my chair. Just sat there for a moment, eyes closed, like sitting there brought him pain and comfort at the same time.
His face in the lamplight looked different. Younger somehow. Or maybe just more vulnerable. The harsh commander's mask was gone. This was just Kael. Just the man beneath the soldier.
Then he reached for the bookshelf and pulled out the exact poetry book I was holding the duplicate copy, the one I'd bought for him when we were eighteen because I wanted him to read the same verses I loved.
He opened it to a page I knew by heart. The one about love and sacrifice. His fingers traced my teenage handwriting in his copy like it was sacred text. Like touching the words could bring me back.
I'm sorry, he whispered to the empty room. God, Sera, I'm so sorry.
His voice broke on my name.
The sound shattered something inside me.
I should have saved you. His words came faster now, like a confession he'd been holding back too long. Should have run away with you when you asked. Should have chosen you over everything. Tears ran down his face, catching in the lamplight. I chose duty. I chose the kingdom. And I killed the only person who ever mattered.
He pressed the book to his chest, doubling over like the grief was a physical weight crushing him.
Every day, he whispered. Every single day I wake up and remember what I did. Remember your face when I pulled that trigger. Remember watching you fall. And every day I wish I'd been the one who died instead.
My chest felt like it was cracking open. Splitting apart. I couldn't breathe.
He came here. Once a month for five years. He came here and tortured himself with memories of me. Punished himself with words I'd written when we were happy.
I'd been so sure he'd moved on. So certain he'd justified my death as necessary. Convinced myself he was just a soldier following orders without conscience or regret.
But he hadn't moved on. Hadn't forgotten. He was drowning in guilt just like I was drowning in anger.
Two people destroyed by the same bullet.
I wanted to run to him. Wanted to scream I'm alive! I'm here! I forgive you!
But I couldn't move. Because part of me was still angry. Still hurt. Still the girl who'd felt that bullet tear through her shoulder and believed the man she loved had chosen duty over her life.
I took a breath. Steadied myself. Stepped out of the shadows.
Commander Draven.
He jumped up so fast the book fell from his hands, his hand flying to his weapon. His eyes found me in the darkness, and for a split second I saw everything shock, hope, fear, longing before his training kicked in and the walls came back up.
Miss Frost. His voice was rough, damaged. What are you doing here?
I couldn't sleep. The truth, at least partially. This library seemed... peaceful.
He should order me out. Should accuse me of spying. This was suspicious as hell. A consultant wandering the palace at midnight, appearing in the exact spot he came to mourn?
Instead, he just stood there, looking lost. Looking like a man who'd seen a ghost and couldn't decide if it was real or just wishful thinking.
You like poetry? he asked quietly, gesturing to the book I was holding.
I looked down. I was still clutching the other copy my copy of the same book he'd dropped. Same edition. Same worn leather binding.
Damn.
My mother used to read to me, I said, voice catching slightly on the word mother. Before she died.
Something flickered in his eyes. Understanding. Shared pain. The recognition of someone else who'd lost everything.
Sit. He gestured to the other chair, the small reading chair tucked in the corner. We're both here. Both haunted. Might as well be haunted together.
I sat.
We didn't talk at first. Just sat in comfortable silence, two broken people in a library full of ghosts. The quiet was heavy but not oppressive. Like the silence between people who understand each other's grief.
Who did you lose, Commander? I finally asked, even though I knew. Even though I'd just heard him confess it to an empty room.
His jaw clenched. Someone I should have protected. Someone who deserved better than what I gave her.
Your princess.
How did you He stopped. Of course, everyone knew the story. Yes. Princess Seraphina. I was supposed to guard her life. Instead, I... He couldn't finish.
You followed orders, I said softly, carefully.
I killed the woman I loved. His voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. Like he'd said it so many times it had lost all meaning. Become a mantra of self-flagellation. Duty demanded it, and I obeyed like a good soldier. I've been paying for it ever since.
The coldness in those words like a good soldier froze my confession in my throat.
He still believed he'd done the right thing. Still believed duty justified murder. He was sorry, yes. Guilty, yes. Haunted beyond measure.
But he'd do it again if ordered.
Nothing had changed.
I stood abruptly. I should go.
Wait. He stood too, suddenly urgent. Why did you come here? To this exact spot?
Think. Elena Frost would have a reason. A logical explanation.
I told you. I couldn't sleep.
This is Princess Seraphina's favorite place. His voice sharpened, grew suspicious. Nobody knows that except... except people who knew her.
We stared at each other across three feet of distance that might as well have been an ocean.
Maybe your princess wouldn't want your guilt, Commander, I said quietly, letting some of Sera's voice slip through. Maybe she'd want you to question whether the duty that killed her was worth serving.
His eyes widened. That was too specific. Too knowing.
I walked away before he could respond. Before he could ask questions I wasn't ready to answer.
Miss Frost!
I kept walking, faster now.
Elena!
I ran.
Behind me, I heard him give chase. I knew these halls better than anyone. I ducked through a servant's passage the same one I'd used as a child to avoid my tutors. Down a hidden staircase that led to the kitchens. Through the prep area where tomorrow's bread was rising
Strong hands caught my arm.
Kael spun me around, breathing hard from the chase.
Who are you? he demanded, his grip firm but not painful.
You know who I am.
No. His other hand came up to cup my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. I know who you're pretending to be. But that's not the question. His thumb brushed my cheekbone, the touch achingly familiar. The question is: who are you really?
We stood frozen, inches apart. My hood had fallen back. My brown contacts gleamed in the moonlight streaming through a window.
His hand moved slowly, carefully, toward my face. Toward my eyes.
He was going to remove my contacts. Going to see my violet eyes. Going to know.
Part of me wanted him to. Wanted this charade to end.
Part of me was terrified.
Commander Draven! A guard's voice echoed down the hallway, urgent and sharp. We found something! Another message!
Kael's hand dropped. The spell broke. His face shifted from vulnerable to commander in a heartbeat.
Stay here, he ordered, already moving toward the guard's voice.
I didn't stay.
I couldn't.
I ran to where the guard stood in a corridor near the throne room, staring at a wall in horror.
Someone had painted new words in fresh blood. Still wet. Still dripping.
SHE WALKS AMONG YOU. THE DEAD PRINCESS BREATHES. ASK ELENA FROST WHO SHE REALLY IS.
Below it, painted with sickening care and disturbing accuracy, was my face. My real face. Princess Seraphina Valorian, rendered in perfect detail from the portrait that had hung in the throne room the official coronation portrait that had been taken down after my execution.
Every detail was correct. Every feature exact. Down to the small mole near my left eye that I'd always hated. Down to the way my hair fell.
Whoever painted this had known me. Really known me.
Dear God, the guard whispered, his face white as chalk.
Kael turned slowly to look at me. Our eyes met.
And in that moment, I saw the exact second he understood.
All the pieces clicking into place in his brilliant tactical mind. The scars. The perfume. The way I moved. The knowledge of the palace. The poetry. Everything.
His face went white as the blood drained from it. No. It's not possible. You're
Dead?
I pulled out my contacts with shaking hands. Let them fall to the floor.
Violet eyes stared back at him. My mother's eyes. Sera's eyes.
The same eyes that had looked at him across the execution platform and mouthed I love you.
Hello, Kael, I whispered. Did you miss me?