The door to the nursery opened with a quiet creak, and Ilyra’s hands lingered on the handle before retreating. I looked up to see them—my brothers. Lucien first, moving like someone who measured every inch of space before stepping into it. Cassian followed, smaller, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes bright with mischief that had yet to be tempered by cruelty’s polish. They did not see children. They saw pieces of the world to examine, to test, to bend.

“Princess Selene,” Lucien said formally, voice smooth, the echo of some tutor’s instruction. “Have you been behaving while we were away?”

I tilted my head, small hands clasped neatly in my lap. “Yes,” I said. Not a lie. Not the whole truth either.

Cassian’s grin stretched too wide. “Or are you… a witch?” he asked, twirling a small knife between his fingers. “Possessed to kill Father? To take the throne?”

I blinked. His voice was childish, playful, but my mind—my old mind—skipped through years of instinct and history. Memories of a thousand corpses, of fear and precision, of the stories I had written, all whispered warnings. Even as children, these were monsters in miniature. Lucien, poised and calculating. Cassian, untamed fire. I had met them before, yes, but this—this was different. The mask of youth could not hide the predator beneath.

I did not flinch. I did not answer immediately. I only watched, the corners of my lips tilting faintly, a ghost of a smile that did not belong to a child.

Cassian stepped closer, knife now brushing against my arm, just enough to draw a line. A cut. “Witches when they possess a body… they bleed black,” he said, voice dancing with glee.

I flexed my fingers slowly, letting my gaze settle on the crimson forming on my skin. Red. Vivid, normal, human. “I bleed red,” I said quietly. “Just like everyone else.”

Lucien frowned, curious more than angered, stepping around his brother to inspect the mark. “Interesting,” he murmured. “You are… unlike anyone I’ve seen.”

Cassian laughed, more delighted than satisfied. “Do you want to come to the garden, then? We can play. We can test your magic there if you like.”

I blinked at them, the knife forgotten for a moment. The sun would warm the grass, the flowers would smell sweet, the air would carry nothing but childish games. They were children. Not monsters. Not yet. Even if they would grow into the same tyrants I had written in my story, even if one day they would flay enemies and whisper of blood-soaked thrones, here, they were still just boys.

“I don't have magic but, yes,” I said softly, the words small on my tongue. And for a moment, I let myself remember that they were just children. That laughter and sunlight could still exist in this world of mine, however briefly.

Lucien held the door open with that silent, precise authority he had always carried, and Cassian bounced ahead, spinning his knife in the air with reckless delight. I followed, careful with each step, but aware, always aware.

Even children could be monsters.

But for now… they were just my brothers.