Whispers followed me in doorways. Even when no one spoke, I heard them.
At the first mirror in the corridor, I stopped. Smoothed my bodice. Set my shoulders. Counted my breath until the tremor in my hands eased. A Keeper passed, eyes politely averted. I gave the smile I’d perfected since childhood—the one that revealed nothing—and moved on. Toward sound. Toward distraction. Toward the library.
I didn’t think about the moment I collapsed. I let it live in the heat under my skin. If I gave it language, it would grow teeth. So Ididn’t.
I worked the ribbon at my throat until the knot bit my skin. I straightened the cuffs. I walked.
I was the eldest daughter. I knew the price of things. This would be another cost—long, unbearable, but survivable.
When the board is rigged, you don’t flip it. You bleed your opponent slowly. Move quiet. Count the pieces. And when a hand reaches to topple your Queen, make sure it closes around a blade instead.
Let Kaelith think I was his pawn, his bride, his prize. Pawns cross boards when no one watches. Pawns become more. I would wear the smile. I would lie. I would count steps. For Aeryn. For myself.
I tied the ribbon once more—tighter.
The night of Kaelith’s announcement, something ancient had crawled beneath my skin, settling there, dragging me into myself. When I finally woke, Santiago and Lysara had been at my side. Lysara brought food and pressed a warm brown liquid into my hands; I drank and let the heat steady me. She called it “coffee.” It was strange, bitter, divine—and instantly became my favorite.
Since then, it seemed Santiago and I had been granted a different kind of freedom—not from walls or guards, but from the shadows that had stalked us since we arrived. Their tether had loosened, no longer dragging at every step.
In those stolen hours, he told me how he’d come here. How he’d left Synnex in search of herbs said to ease despair. Too many in the city were drowning in it, and he wanted to help. He told me how the mist swallowed him whole before he could return. He’d woken in Nyxarra’s dungeons, bruised but alive, and, in his words,better off than most who ended up there.
We spent much of our time in the library—first under the pretense of browsing shelves, which quickly turned into lingeringfor Seraphine’s stories. The Keeper was a master of mischief and memory, her tales tangled with history and magic.
Lysara was never far behind. Always watchful, always composed, always listening.
I hadn’t seen Malachi or Kaelith since that night.
Lysara claimed they were preoccupied, ensuring preparations for the upcoming ball were underway. Malachi, she’d said, had been sent to invite nobles and the distinguished society of Nyxarra personally.
“Are you even listening to me?” Seraphine shouted, fluttering just inches from my face, breaking me from thought.
“Sorry, Sera,” I said. My stomach rumbled. “I think I’m going to go find some food.”
We’d been in the library for hours, sunlight—or whatever passed for it here—fading to the muted gold that never quite became night. Between Seraphine’s stories and Santiago’s questions, I’d almost managed to forget where I was. Almost.
As I rose to leave, Santiago came sprinting from between the stacks.
“Did you say food? Great, because I am starving. Join us, Sera?” he asked.
“I—uh—I would love to,” she said, smiling faintly, “but I cannot leave. And someone has to guard my books until you two inevitably wander back in.”
“A true dragon," Santiago teased. "Duty first—so honorable.”
But Seraphine didn’t respond with her usual wit, charm, or insults. She just smiled softly and fluttered deeper into the library.
“She cannot leave,” Lysara said quietly as we stepped outside the library. “Like many Keepers, she is bound to a specific part of this castle. Her rooms and the archives are connected by hidden passages—old pathways built when Eryndis still walked these halls. That is how she reached you when you firstwoke.”
Lysara’s mouth twitched. “And why she panicked when she sensed Malachi coming. She had already stayed too long.”
I hesitated, then glanced toward Lysara as we descended the steps toward the kitchen. “Can I ask you something?” I said, keeping my voice low.
She tilted her head, eyes never leaving the path ahead. “You may.”
“What is Kaelith?” I asked. “I mean, truly. When he’s near, it’s like the air thins—like I can’t get a full breath. It doesn’t just unsettle me. It feels… wrong. Like he’s pulling life out of the room just by standing in it.”
Lysara’s steps slowed. “You’re not wrong,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “His power is old—not as old as Malachi’s or mine, but older than most remember. It isn’t granted. It’s taken.”
My brow furrowed. “Taken how?”