Then, from the crowd, a new presence emerged—one that instantly commanded attention. She was beautiful, strikingly so. I’d heard whispers that she and Zagan were once meant to be betrothed.

She was looking at him now, her gaze unreadable.

Circe.

I hadn’t seen her in years, but there she was, seated among the royals like she belonged there—because she did. With that impossibly perfect posture, that poised expression, and those haunting lilac-colored eyes, she looked every bit the princess she had become.

Her hair, a shade lighter than Lysander’s, was spun gold, cascading down her shoulders in delicate waves. Honestly, it was kind of unfair how effortlessly regal she looked. She had always been like that, though—graceful, composed, untouchable in a way that made it seem like the world moved around her, not the other way around.

I still remembered when we used to play in the palace gardens. Back then, Circe wasn’t a princess yet—just the daughter of a foreign duke from the far west, and I was… well, not about to be executed for a crime I didn’t commit, so those were better times. The women would sip tea and exchange court gossip while we ran off into the hedgerows, giggling over nonsense and weaving flower crowns. We’d pretend we were rulers of our own tiny kingdoms, blissfully unaware of the real one waiting for us.

Of course, that was before her mother became the king’s consort. Before Circe was pulled into the royal family and I was dragged into my own nightmare.

I could still hear the rumors in the back of my mind. The people from Circe’s father’s land were said to have strange magic—the kind that let them speak to the dead. Nonsense, obviously. But as I watched her now, calm and unreadable in her seat, I couldn’t help but wonder…

If anyone in this room could see through deception, it was her.

I turned, ready to slip away—only to be met with a cold, calculating gaze.

Yvonne’s mother. My step-mom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, flanked by guards.

Oh, wonderful.

__________________________________________________

They didn’t even give me a moment to think. One second, I was standing there, trapped under my stepmother’s cold glare, and the next, I was being dragged off like some common criminal.

“Careful with the dress!” I huffed as the guards practically hauled me through the halls. “It’s special.”

One of them grunted. I’m not sure if it was out of frustration or if he was actually considering my request, but either way, I ended up in chains, so I’d call it a loss.

The prison was about as pleasant as you’d expect—cold, damp, and smelling faintly of regret and rotting straw. The stone walls seemed to close in on me, the only source of light coming from a flickering torch outside my cell. How dramatic.

I slumped against the wall, staring up at the barred window where the moon hung high in the sky. Yvonne was far from me now. Soon, she’d be queen. Was this how she felt back then, when I was the one engaged to Lysander? So powerless? So… defeated?

I sighed. The night was still young, and yet fate had already decided to wrap things up for me. No escape. No miracles. Just me and my inevitable execution.

Then, just as I was sinking deeper into self-pity, a familiar presence washed over me—dark, heavy, unmistakable.

Zagan.

Before I could even fully register the weight of his presence, a voice drifted through the shadows. “I didn’t think you’d fail your… evil plot.”

Oh, great. He was going to be smug about this.

I turned my head, and there he was, standing just outside my cell, looking as infuriatingly composed as ever. His purple eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, his expression unreadable. That stupid handsome glare—ugh, I could die now, and not from execution.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered, narrowing my eyes. “You’re not thinking of releasing me, are you? Don’t! That could mean treason!”

Zagan raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Who told you they could imprison you here?”

“Uh, the law?” I scoffed. “Am I not a suspect in a plot to kill the prince?”

“They can’t take what’s mine.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “You’re my prisoner.”

Oh, so now I belonged to him? How convenient. “Oh, so now you want to take me,” I muttered. “I thought you wanted me dead.”

“I never said I wanted you dead,” he corrected, his gaze steady. “I said I’d kill you for trespassing and for being stubborn enough to fight monsters beyond the fortress walls. A lady like you doesn’t belong there. Do you want to die that badly?”

I lifted my chin. “I was made to kill them, my lord.”

His expression darkened slightly. “Just because you found you have magic—” his voice dropped to a whisper, “—does not mean you are suddenly capable of taking on monsters anytime you please.”

Before I could argue, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor. My breath hitched. Zagan tilted his head slightly, listening.

“Are you really helping me or not?” I hissed. “If yes, does that mean…”

“As of now, your plan won’t work,” he interrupted. “You won’t reach your sister.”

I bit my lip. “I know… I’m powerless. I’m also entitled to execution. I… I won’t be able to prove my innocence. And what if I’m wrong? What if my intuition is off? What if Yvonne isn’t a human Celestian? What if my magic doesn’t work? I’ll just embarrass myself in front of Lysander. In front of everyone.”

Zagan studied me for a long moment before speaking. “And doing so will also alert other Celestians. You’ll become a target. You can’t do this publicly, and doing it alone will make you bait. You need power to protect yourself.”

“That’s why I need you…” I said softly. He was silent. “To be my ally… to help me become queen.”

The footsteps were getting closer. Still, Zagan said nothing. The tension between us stretched thin. Finally, he exhaled. “We’ll talk about that later. First, we need to get out of here.”

Without another word, he touched the iron bars. They crumbled into stone, then shattered. Just like that.

“Will you be my king?” I whispered, watching him. He didn’t answer. Instead, his shadows wrapped around me, pulling me against him. The next thing I knew, I was pressed against his chest, and we were outside. A horse waited for us nearby.

“We’ll confirm your intuition another day,” he said, setting me down. “For now, you need to prepare yourself. Do you have anyone you trust?”

I hesitated. There was one person… my mentor. A swordmaster, trusted by my mother. He taught me how to wield a weapon, how to fight, how to survive. But I didn’t want to drag him into this mess. His family had always been loyal to ours.

“I don’t want to involve anyone,” I admitted.

“If you truly want to fight for the throne, you need allies, my lady,” Zagan said firmly. “Who do you trust?”

I clenched my fists. “Then… let’s go to Eldermere’s border. I’ll meet my swordmaster there.”

“To Eldermere, then.”

Before I could protest, he scooped me up effortlessly. Saints, he was strong. And he smelled good. This was unfair.

With that, we rode off into the night. Eldermere was miles away—at least a week’s journey from the capital. We stopped at a nearby village before morning.

Though I was technically a wanted criminal, the neighboring villages didn’t really know me. Especially not the tribes. They had their own jurisdictions, their own leaders. The capital respected their autonomy, and in return, the tribal lords were part of the king’s council—the council that, ultimately, had the power to elect the next ruler.

Alazne had seven clans, seven kingdoms. Terran had seven as well. Each continent had only one ruling king and queen. The lost kingdom—once Reinilda’s—was now known as Celestia, the land of the Celestians. And because my family was gone, except for me… that kingdom now belonged to them.

Marriages between clans kept the alliances strong, preserving magic where they could. Unfortunately for the Reinildas, our magic didn’t always pass down through blood. In every generation, fewer and fewer of us had it. And for years, the power to repel magic had become nothing more than a myth.

Until yesterday.

We arrived at the village and checked into an inn. To my surprise, they welcomed Zagan warmly.

I glanced at him, puzzled. Did people beyond the capital respect him this much? I had lived in the heart of the kingdom my entire life, knowing nothing about what lay beyond the walls. My father and stepmother had moved us to the capital years ago, and Zagan… well, he had lived in hiding. Or at least, away from me.

Who exactly was Zagan to these people?

--------------------------------------------------------

Zagan and I are sharing this bed?! No way in hell.

"Whatever you're thinking, is not happening, my lady," he muttered, his face dangerously close to mine.

Oh great, now he's reading my mind.

"I'll be back before dawn. Rest here. No one will disturb you."

And here I thought I could seduce him through the night—plan failed even before it started.

Wait. Did I really just think that?! What is wrong with me?! This is cheating, right?! But... thinking about Lysander now… do I even love him? It hurts to picture him watching me die, loathing me, cursing my name. I don't know. Do I still have feelings for Lysander? I don't even know anymore. My feelings are...unsure. I don't know if I could trust him anymore after I've witnessed my death. 

We've been betrothed since my mother died. I never even knew why she died. They said she died serving the kingdom. Maybe she protected us from the Celestians?

The thought makes my stomach twist. Celestians. Yvonne... If she's a Celestian, then we've been tricked all along.

I don't want to think about it. She's still a part of me. She's my sister—

No.

She deceived me. She deceived everyone. She's a traitor. She was never my sister.

She killed me, once.

I loathe her.

I won't give up my chess piece. I will find a way to move my pieces. I will defeat her.

She can't kill me. I won't let her kill me again.

When my stomach started protesting at an ungodly hour, I decided to sneak down to check out the bar restaurant. A girl’s gotta eat.

I leaned over the counter. "Hey, uh… do you guys offer free meals for renters?"

The bartender—who looked like he could wrestle a bear and win—flashed a friendly smile, though his sheer size and rough beard made it mildly terrifying. "Aye, that we do, lass. Got a special dish tonight." Of course, I would be treated fairly here—no lords nor ladies.

He slid a plate in front of me. It smelled hearty and rich, but my eyes caught something suspicious. "Nightshade?"

His smile stiffened. "Hm. Not from 'round 'ere, are ya? You allergic to it?"

Before I could answer, he reached under the counter and—oh gods—suddenly pointed a weapon at me.

"Wait, sir! Easy! I'm from the capital. I've never been out of its walls for a long time. We never serve nightshade at my household, so I have no idea why it's in this meal! Not that I don't appreciate it! I'm just wondering. You know, out of curiosity!"

His eyes narrowed. "Yer tellin’ me ye ain’t never been served nightshade before?"

"Uh, no? Does that mean anything?"

He didn’t lower the weapon. "Hm."

Okay, this was not the dinner conversation I expected.

So, like an absolute genius, I bit into the meal, chewed, and swallowed the nightshade right in front of him. Minimal amounts wouldn’t kill a human, right? …Right?

He watched, arms crossed. "Eat all of it."

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

Under the watchful eyes of everyone in the bar, I cleared my plate. There was only a little nightshade in it, so I think I'm safe. At least I know how to counter this poison. It was awkward—and mildly terrifying. Finally, the bartender nodded. "Safe."

"Phew." I wiped my forehead dramatically. "Okay, so what’s the deal with the nightshade?"

His expression remained unreadable. "Yer not a Celestian, are ye?"

"Of course not!"

Wait… what?

"Celestians are allergic to nightshade."

They are? That's news to me.

"But if a human eats too much of it, they’ll be poisoned and die."

"Okaaaay, good to know. But Celestians? What happens to them?" said a man across my table, obviously listening to our conversation.

"They lose their magic. The more they consume, the more they turn back to their original forms." said the bartender.

Oh.

OH.

"So, you mean this meal was… a test?"

"Aye, ‘tis how we tell who's human and who ain't."

Well, that explains a lot.

Does this mean my stepmother and Yvonne avoided nightshade at the royal banquet for this very reason? I remember Yvonne looking sour the whole night. And come to think of it… they never served nightshade to the royal family either.

Huh.

Wait. Zagan—he's been poisoned by nightshade before, right? Could it be that he deliberately takes it when traveling to other towns? Is he trying to prove he isn’t a Celestian to earn their trust?

…That would make sense.

At dawn, just as promised, Zagan returned. We left immediately, heading straight for the dense forest ahead. It would take three days to cross it, and along the way, we found small, abandoned shelters where we could rest.

Each night, he slept sitting away from me, cloaking himself in shadows.

He wouldn’t even sleep near me?! The audacity.

Fine, whatever. Not like I was thinking about seducing him again or anything.

…

I AM NOT THINKING ABOUT IT.

We finally arrived at the border of Eldermere. Unfortunately, the town itself was still far from here, which meant more traveling. And our ride? Oh, just a majestic, totally normal creature called the Havrfiskormr. Rolls off the tongue, right? A flying sea serpent-fish hybrid, because why settle for one weird mode of transportation when you can have both? This thing could swim, fly, and also power a ship, making it the ultimate transportation across Alazne.

Did I like it? No. No, I did not.

"You seem hesitant, my lady," Zagan observed, arms crossed as he stood beside me, his usual brooding self. I could practically feel the judgment radiating off him.

"Oh no, not hesitant at all! Just absolutely thrilled to be riding a giant scaly torpedo over the most unpredictable sea in existence. Love it. Dream come true," I deadpanned.

He merely raised a brow. "We don’t have time to take the bridge. Unless you’d rather take days walking and risk being caught."

Right. The bridge. The painfully long, never-ending bridge that would take days to cross. I looked at the Havrfiskormr again. It blinked at me. I groaned.

"Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you."

"You’ve already spent enough time haunting me." I do? God—well, if he would just agree to take the throne with me, all of this would be over by now, wouldn’t it?

After a stomach-churning ride (which I will never speak of again), we reached the port. Of course, trouble was already waiting for us. Civil guards. Standing tall, scanning the crowd like hawks. Great. Just what I needed.

"I need to hide," I muttered.