The Queen sat at the heart of a wet cell. Gloom pooled around her like water.

  She stared at the prisoner as if she could see through darkness.

  The man had been bound to an old wooden chair. Fed properly. Spared the pain of torture.

  Gregoria flicked her wrist. Flame bloomed in her palm—hot, bright, hungry. Another lazy motion sent the fire leaping into the torches.

  Light flooded the cell. Stone walls slick with moisture. Iron manacles rusted at their edges. The prisoner's face—pale, trembling.

  No wand. No incantations. Few magicals could cast without it. Gregoria Thorne was among them.

  The prisoner's face contorted. Fear twisted his mouth.

  Gregoria knew what lies had poisoned his mind. She closed her eyes. Woke her Seal. When she opened them again, her irises had shifted from green to silver.

  Her Seal could bend perception—make the mind see, feel, believe whatever she chose to plant there. Reading minds, too.

  Any Magical could do that. But she needed no spell. No preparation. No extra energy. It came easily as breath—most of the known world had no idea about Seals.

  She invaded the man's mind.

  Unaware she'd reshaped his reality, he felt free—the chains gone, the chair vanished. His breath steadied. Calm crept back.

  Not for long.

  She had seen enough. She withdrew from his memories like a blade from a wound.

  When his eyes stopped seeing what she'd crafted and recognised the cell once more, realisation dawned. Panic followed.

  Gregoria returned his voice. It had been taken to avoid screams after his imprisonment.

  "." Venomous. His voice thick with contempt. A poor soul who feared what he could never understand.

  The Queen inhaled slowly. The slang. Fashionable again after centuries.

  "Auror. He shall never see again," she commanded, turning towards the door, without looking back.

  The prisoner spat at the floor, cursing everyone in the room.

  "He was better mute," Odraud said. He flicked his wand. The man's screams cut off instantly.

  Baaron stepped forward and opened the door for his aunt-Queen.

  "You know what Auror is about to do to you, Raffin—" She paused. Her eyes steady. "—doesn't require magic at all."

  The man's hands jerked against the bindings. His mouth formed voiceless pleas before the iron door shut behind her.

  As they walked through the wet corridor, the silence pressed heavier than screams. The smell of damp stone clung to them until they passed the iron door that opened not to the castle stairs, but to the Phoenix Forest.

  The air changed instantly—pine and frost replacing rot and fear.

  "Are you really going to kill him?" Rezal asked, announcing he hadn't been paying attention.

  Gregoria exchanged a glance with Baaron. His expression mirrored hers: disbelief.

  "You all may go," she ordered. "Rezal and I have matters to discuss."

  The others hesitated before obeying.

  The two of them stayed behind, walking beneath the thick canopy separating the castle from the outer woods. Pine needles crunched underfoot.

  "Nature taught us that the strongest survive," Rezal said at last — using the voice of a man now, not a boy. "And conquer."

  "She begs to differ, Rez." Baaron's voice echoed from ahead.

  Gregoria exhaled slowly, crossing her arms. "How have I managed to raise both you and Viperyan so differently?”

  "Are we supposed to live in fear—"

  "Shut up, Baaron. None of us lives in fear." Gregoria cut him off before that talk took another turn.

  "But—" Baaron tried to argue.

  "Baaron." Gregoria's tone softened. "I love you."

  "Right. I'll take my arse off before I join Raffin in the dungeons…" The future king darted forward, catching up to Cherstin, leaping playfully onto the man's back.

  Rezal had steered her neatly away from Viperyan. She let him believe it worked.

  "Fear." She began. "A feeling you're far too intimate with, isn't it, son?"

  Rezal's glance struck her like someone thrown into a fire pit.

  "You won't die of asking for her hand, Rellum!" Baaron had clearly cast a spell to hear them.

  "I'll bloody kill you—" Rezal yelled, trying to sprint.

  Gregoria halted him with a casual flick, pulling him back to her side like a misbehaving child.

  "All of us made of pain, an old friend," she said. "And lie with it every night."

  "Easier said than done," he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

  Nausea coiled in her gut. The old rage stirred—phantom heat of blood churning her insides to acid as the names returned unbidden. . All the ways children had found to unmake him.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The old wounds had never scarred over—they still bled when touched.

  To her surprise, he stopped. Planted himself before her. Drew breath as if pulling strength from the earth itself.

  Then froze. His hands opened and closed at his sides.

  His turmoil bled through him—his muscles clenched, his breath shallow—yet the words would not come.

  She caught herself reaching for old excuses for his brokenness. No. He was a man now. Rezal couldn't hide forever.

  "Why have you never used it on her?" The doubt had drifted through Gregoria's mind for years.

  Rezal's head tilted back slightly. He blinked. A furrow carved between his brows.

  "Why would I want to manipulate her feelings for me?" His pupils blew wide—incomprehension, raw as a wound. He turned away, resuming his stride.

  "I admire you for never using it. Your life would've been much easier if you had."

  She meant every word.

  When he looked back, his eyes were yellow.

  His Seal awakened.

  "Do you want me to be like that toward her?" His power rolled over Gregoria in a soft wave, calming, steadying. "If I fake a feeling once, I'd have to fake it forever. A life of lies."

  She didn't dare say anything. Instead she reached up, cupped his cheeks as she always did when he was a kid. Crying, asking for Veron or Ramidur—his parents.

  He smiled and placed his hand over hers.

  . He had a heart too kind for Easeror.

  The rest of their walk was silent. Heavy.

  When they reached the castle hall, Rezal finally spoke. "Aren't you going to tell us why Raffin is here?"

  "Trustees meeting in a couple of hours," Gregoria said.

  As she watched him turn down the eastern corridor, unease settled in her chest. She called after him:

  "Your brother asked for her hand, you know."

  Rezal stopped but didn't turn.

  "And you denied. Or you wouldn't be having this talk with me." His voice cut like a blade through the corridor.

  "Spoken like a true heir, Rezal." She smiled faintly. “Though it’s a shame that your fear of rejection is greater than whatever you feel.”

  "Your Grace," he murmured, bowing his head. His fists clenched so tightly she feared he might tear into his own palms.

  She watched him disappear down the corridor. The ache in her chest had no name—only pressure.

  When she realised he wasn't going to pursue it, she walked briskly to her scriptorium.

  The weight of her crown ached her shoulders. Seventeen years of decisions, and this one sat heavier than all the rest.

  It was time to answer the Northern Kingdom.

  A faint scent of lavender drifted through the air. On the walls, woven tapestries depicted the old tales—the Twelve Kingdoms, The Age of Myths, of Chains. The First Phoenix. The Souglaves.

  She stopped paying attention to them decades ago.

  Maybe hope lay elsewhere.

  She reached the circular room that served as her sanctuary. Filled with dusty relics, weathered wood, and silence.

  Soft light fell over the carved desk when she finally sat.

  The stillness broke with the gentle rustle of wings.

  A shadow crossed the light. She didn't need to look — she felt him before she saw him—. His plumage rippled with iridescent hues—moonlight caught and held in every feather.

  His song filled her ears like a lullaby. A sound only the other side of the bond could hear. A private spectacle.

  The brimmalis symbolised wisdom and guidance. The bond carried his song directly into her mind. Her pulse slowed, matching it—a calm she hadn't earned but desperately needed.

  "Let's hope," she murmured, "that Tarisia's boy carries the honour his mother lacks."

  She opened the drawer and withdrew a brooch—silver, with a skull engraved at its heart. Clutching it, she closed her eyes.

  Her command echoed across unseen channels.

  She didn't need an answer. She felt her order being obeyed. By the time she closed the drawer, knocks rapped against the door.

  "You may enter."

  Auror stepped inside—broad and bearded. One of her oldest friends. One of the few who knew the reason behind Cyrillus's name.

  The man opened his mouth, but she waved for him to wait as she dipped the quill.

  Meanwhile, Auror poured wine into two cups: one for her, one for himself.

  She took her glass and paused writing only long enough to drain it in one motion. She gestured for him to refill it.

  When the final stroke was laid, Gregoria pressed her ring into green wax, sealing the parchment with her crest—a basilisk's bite in green wax.

  Before either exchanged a word, the floorboards trembled with hurried footsteps. Cherstin burst in, sweat beaded at his temples, two papers clutched in his hand.

  "Another raid!" he gasped.

  "Non-Magicals?" Gregoria asked, already reaching for the reports.

  "Quite the opposite," he said grimly.

  Gregoria's eyes narrowed. "Summon the Trustees. Now, Auror!"

  She held the sealed letter to Cherstin. "You know who to send this to… Just wait two more days."

  She'd give it to Viperyan. Not Rezal—but for her sake, he had two more days to find courage.

  The men departed. Gregoria unrolled the remaining reports, her eyes moving swiftly across the words.

  What she read brought her to her feet.

  She stepped into the corridor and pressed her palm against cold stone.

  The wall shimmered. Runes ignited—dark blue light tracing patterns older than the dynasty. A hidden archway unfolded before her.

  The Hidden Room—the entrance to the chamber that had existed since the castle's foundation.

  Inside, Baaron was already waiting. As heir, she'd given him authority to summon the chamber when needed.

  "Is Sophiance all right?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying fear for his adoptive mother.

  "Your mother is fine," Gregoria assured him.

  Moments later, Rezal and Odraud arrived through the shimmering doorway, followed by Auror, Cherstin, Eltry the Scribe, and the Lady Commander, Syr Andromeda.

  The circular table illuminated faintly as each Trustee took their place. The Queen's chair rose slightly above the rest.

  "A Magical village has been attacked," she began. "Allegedly they were harbouring the non-Magicals who were raided last month."

  They looked at each other, frightened.

  Gregoria handed Andromeda the report. "A woman escaped. She claims the Crow Paladins attacked them. Elves were sighted travelling north, bound for their capital."

  Silence fell across the table—the kind that precedes thunder.

  "Cherstin—grant her asylum." Gregoria's tone hardened.

  "That's cause for war," Baaron said, rising slightly.

  "Unfortunately, it's not," Gregoria cut him off, her tone slicing through the air. "They were attacked in northern Dom. Not southern. Try to learn something beyond running about in the woods before you presume to sit in my chair, boy!"

  Her fist struck the desk.

  Baaron clenched his jaw but said nothing.

  "My queen," Rezal interjected carefully, "we may have no—"

  "Enough of this nonsense." Gregoria's eyes flashed. "We don't carve the future by mimicking the past."

  The room went still. Rezal, Odraud, and Baaron exchanged looks—the kind that gave birth to ideas crafted from dark corners and pride.

  "History always repeats itself, grandmother," Baaron said respectfully.

  Gregoria's fingers drummed once against the table—warning.

  Cherstin cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "Perhaps… we should first address the cannibal threat?"

  "Send funds," Gregoria ordered immediately. "And no more than a thousand Skulls. The Order of the Resurrected must remain ready."

  Cherstin nodded, running a nervous hand through what little hair he had left.

  "It's past time we developed spells to contain them," Rezal added. Voice steady.

  Andromeda let a laugh devoid of humour slip from her lips. "Contain?" she repeated. "If not for your Dom—"

  "I've been , haven’t I?" Rezal's words defied her. One of the rare times he dared impolite. "Still. I have the crest and the skill, so I—"

  "Rezal's not wrong, Syr Andromeda." Gregoria's voice cracked unexpectedly.

  All eyes turned to her.

  "On afternoon, the High Lords must come to a meeting, Cherstin." The man took note as she leaned forward, gaze locked on Baaron. "Stay still until then, Baaron Thorne. I'm still the arbiter of your fate."

  Eltry scribbled furiously, ink spattering across parchment.

  "The Crow Paladins are not the Faith." Baaron began carefully. "They’re men. They’re clearly playing both sides."

  "Raffin was sent by the grain heir to find a breach in the accord." Gregoria drew a slow breath. "I couldn't see the King's hand in it. They may be playing both sides, but… one side is unaware."

  "It's far too dangerous to send Viperyan—" Rezal argued.

  "And what are you doing about it, Rezal?" Gregoria's voice was laced with irony.

  Rezal swallowed then looked down.

  She continued when he said nothing. "She can be our greatest asset. The wedding must be hurried—and the groom must be changed."

  A ripple went through the room. Puzzled faces turned towards her. Except Rezal. He understood plenty.

  "A Scaster in Inverdon," he said.

  "Oh." Baaron's interest sharpened.

  "They need us more. They have a twin to spare from the north." Gregoria's eyes brightened with calculation.

  "Well, Grandmother, how in the three kingdoms am I ever supposed to match your wisdom?" Baaron asked, clapping, half in jest, half in real admiration.

  Gregoria regarded him with a slow, small smile. "Well," she said quietly, "soon enough, an eagle shall roost within the basilisk's nest."