The guards moved in, herding the children toward the doors. Scarlett glanced around, waiting for her own turn to be pushed along—but it never came. One by one, the others were swept out, until the chamber stood almost empty.

Only the figures on the dais remained, along with Toas, Averardus, and two guards at each door.

No more familiar faces. Not Artur. Not Captain Bennan. Even the Chancellor’s presence offered little comfort—barely.

“Incredible.” Averardus’s voice was suddenly much too close. Scarlett startled—he was right in front of her, eyes bright. “Not that I doubted my magic, but on the first try? How incredible.”

Behind him, the Chancellor scoffed. “First try? Don’t play coy. This wasn’t even the first group chosen. What do you call the others we just sent away? That group from Moshtain was discovered months ago.”

“True.” Averardus looked far too pleased with himself. “I half-expected one or two to slip past, but to have gathered them all in the first round? Remarkable. This was your group, wasn’t it, Gervasius?”

The Chancellor’s scowl deepened, hands knotting behind his back. “Funny. I recall you having me fetch this batch mere weeks before this whole ordeal was set to take place. Sounds to me like you scrambled.”

Scarlett’s gaze darted between them, her chest tight with confusion. Was she supposed to stand and listen? Walk away? It took every shred of self-control not to shout and demand what in Heaven’s name was happening.

Averardus’s smile thinned. “Scrambling? No. That’s what I’d call you shoving these children in here minutes before we began. I call mine thoroughness.”

Scarlett was so intent on the clash between them she didn’t notice the king until movement caught her eye. His Majesty was descending the steps, heavy robes whispering against the stone. Only when Averardus and Toas hastily stepped aside did she realize how close he’d come.

He seemed taller than he had on the shore—whether it was the robe, the heavy jacket, or simply the adrenaline blurring her senses, she couldn’t tell. Instinct drove her a step back, arm sweeping protectively to tuck the children behind her.

She didn’t know what he wanted, or why she was still here. Questions crowded in on her, sharp and relentless, until her head felt wrapped in fog, as if she were trapped in a dream where nothing was solid, nothing made sense.

He halted in front of her, motionless. Then his hand reached out, closing over the one she still held tight against her chest. The cut no longer throbbed, the bleeding nearly stopped, but she flinched all the same at his touch.

He hesitated, then drew her hand forward. His grip was rough—calloused, scarred, nothing like the soft, idle hands she’d always imagined nobles would have. Even Mr. Dominique’s hadn’t been marked like his.

His hair had fallen loose over his brow, shadowing his face. She couldn’t read his expression, only the steady way his thumb brushed across the thin cut in her palm.

It took her a moment to notice his hands were shaking. The tremor ran up his arms, into his shoulders, until his whole frame quivered.

Then he raised his head.

They were the same weary eyes from the beach—sunken, aged—but no longer hollow. No longer dulled as if fixed on something beyond sight. They gleamed, wet and raw, brimming with more than tears.

Her fear faltered, eyebrows lifting in startled recognition. He was crying. Crying because of... her?

His teeth dug into his lip, hard enough she thought he might break the skin. He looked like a man choking back something that had clawed at him for years.

A movement tugged at her attention. The children peered out from behind her skirts, wide-eyed. She opened her mouth, but she wasn't sure what to tell them. To stay back? She still wasn't sure if they were in danger. Before she could speak, something closed around her, a weight pressing on her.

His majesty pulled her into a hug. It wasn’t crushing, but there was weight in it—a heaviness that pressed against her chest and ribs. Scarlett froze, startled, her arms hovering uncertainly in the air.

Then, slowly, they lowered. She was embracing him back. Something inside her stirred awake, like a memory long buried in fog suddenly catching light. A familiar scent filled her nose—sweet smoke and spice—and with it came fragments of faces, blurred but insistent, tugging at the edges of recognition.

Over his shoulder, she caught sight of the others. The younger man—the not-son from the beach—blinked as if he were watching her embrace a fire-breathing dragon. Averardus managed to look both shocked and smug, and the Chancellor’s expression was sharp with disapproval, as though she had crossed some unspoken line.

“Um… excuse me, Your Majesty?” she whispered at last.

The king stiffened, as if her words had struck a nerve. Slowly, he released her, drawing back. Tears still tracked his cheeks, carving pale lines down his weathered face.

“Oh my.” Scarlett fumbled through her pockets until her fingers closed around her handkerchief again. She didn’t know what else to do—she only knew she wanted him to stop crying. His tears unsettled her, made her feel guilty. Why? She wasn't sure.

“Here,” she said, holding it out with an uncertain hand.

He blinked at it, then at her, before a small smile broke across his face. “So it was you. The girl from the beach.” He took the handkerchief gently, running a thumb over the embroidery.

“And you’re the king,” she said, forcing a nervous smile. Her eyes flicked toward the dais. “And he would be your… son?” Maybe she was missing something. She thought the crown prince was supposed to be younger. She’d never met him, but surely not that man.

The younger man flushed, dragging a hand through his hair. “No, I’m not. I’m so sorry, miss—that was a dreadful situation to put you in.”

His majesty laughed suddenly, loud and warm, dabbing his eyes with the cloth. “I’ve never seen you so rattled, Tobias.”

“Please don’t laugh, sir,” Tobias muttered miserably. “That was nerve-racking. Never do that again.”

Scarlett glanced down as a tug at her sleeve drew her attention. The children were still bunched close, peeking up at her from behind the folds of her dress.

“Miss Scarlett, what’s happening?” Olive asked, leaning half-out from behind Via, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I—” Scarlett turned back toward the king, but his gaze was no longer on her. His eyes had fixed on the children, and the tears he had just brushed away returned, cutting fresh tracks down his face.

He sank to one knee, and Scarlett instinctively stepped aside. Evelyn stiffened, her eyes narrowing as if she might dart back into hiding. But Olive was quicker, tugging Via with him and pressing both of them deeper into the safety of Scarlett’s skirt.

Evelyn made a faint sound, her eyes narrowing as she shot the king a guarded look.

“Evelyn, isn’t it?” Toas broke the silence after it stretched too long.

Scarlett waited for her to answer, but Evelyn only pressed closer to her side.

“Sorry,” Scarlett said quickly, sliding an arm protectively around the girl. “We’re all just… confused. About what’s happening. About why we’re here.”

Toas’s brow creased. His smile looked more nervous than reassuring. “I thought Averardus had explained it well enough.”

“I understand that we have divine blood, and that’s how he found us,” Scarlett replied, glancing toward Averardus, “but I still don’t understand why.”

From the corner of her eye, she caught the Chancellor rolling his eyes, his head giving a sharp shake.

“The ever-attentive audience,” he drawled in that grating, sarcastic tone. “Miss Dominique—you are, at least according to the test—of royal blood.”

Scarlett blinked, the words hitting harder than she expected.

Toas glanced back at the Chancellor, irritation flickering across his features. “Yes. And we believe that you—and these children—could be the missing heirs.”

Missing? Scarlett’s stomach twisted. She had only a vague knowledge of the tragedy that had claimed the queen. Four of her children had been on board… all supposedly drowned.

Her eyes flicked to the king as he straightened, lips pressed into a thin line. She swallowed hard before asking, voice barely above a whisper. “Pardon… but when the ship was attacked… weren’t all the children… lost?”

A dark shadow passed over his features. His face twitched as though struck.

“Bodies were never found,” Toas said quickly, eyes darting briefly to the king. “Except that of the… the children were never recovered.”

The king’s gaze was fixed on them, unreadable. Like he wasn’t sure if he was looking at a room full of ghosts or miracles. He reached out, taking Scarlett’s hand again, gently, as if the slightest wrong move would shatter her.

She felt like she was staring at a ghost herself. He looked frail. Not like what she had imagined a king—the king—should look. His eyes clung to her as if she might vanish, yet it was he who seemed on the verge of falling apart.

The Chancellor cleared his throat. “But we still can’t be too sure if they really are the—”

“They are!” The king’s voice cut through the room, louder than Scarlett expected. Then, softer, almost trembling, he added, “I know… a father always knows.”

Something in his gaze froze her in place. Heartbreakingly familiar.

“Besides…” His voice dipped to a whisper, almost intimate. His hand lifted, hovering just above her hair. “Just look at them. She… looks just like her.”

Averardus’s cheerful voice broke the tension from behind. “You must admit, Gervasius, the resemblance is striking. You can’t tell me those little golden orbs of yours didn’t see it too.”

The Chancellor grumbled, skeptical. “Well, yes… but all the children look similar.”

Toas leaned down toward the children, inspecting them as if they were rare specimens rather than a group of kids. Scarlett clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay silent instead of telling him to give them some space.

“They do look remarkably alike. Just as I imagined Evee at this age.” He waved toward Evelyn, who scowled at him as though he’d personally offended her. “And what did you say your names were?” He turned to the smaller children.

“Via!” Via exclaimed, already nudging past Olive again.

“Via, Via, Via,” Olive hissed, trying to tug his sister back.

“It’s fine, Olive,” Via replied, smiling at him. “They’re nice people.”

“We don’t know that…” Olive muttered under his breath.

“They’re nice,” Via insisted, as if it were irrefutable proof. “See—Miss Scarlett’s not scared.” She glanced up at Scarlett expectantly.

Scarlett blinked down at her, still in mild shock. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel. Pieces that should have fallen into place long ago were sliding together slowly, and old memories scratched at the edges of her mind, tugging on doors she hadn’t realized she’d locked.

“Hm…” Toas studied the two. “Olive and Via. What were the names you and Pyria had picked out?” He glanced up at the king.

“Naive and Odhran. Pyria wanted us to wait, though… until after the ceremony.” His eyes were misty, distant, as if he were somewhere else entirely.

“It’s still surprising that any of them kept their names,” Toas continued. “We assumed that if they’d been taken from the wreckage, their identities would have been changed.”

Scarlett bristled at the way he spoke, as if they weren’t really there—like the children weren’t themselves at all.

“And where were these ones from again?” Toas stepped back, gesturing to the rest.

“Well, my spell found them in—” Averardus began, but the Chancellor cut him off sharply.

“The youngest two were from Duplen, the middle one from Moshtain, and Mrs. Domonique hails from Evenshire. Octavia and Olivander were staying at a cotton mill. Miss Evelyn worked as a hired hand at a grain farm. And Miss Scarlett was living with her adoptive parents in Evenshire.”

The king’s gaze flicked from the Chancellor back to them. He wasn’t just dumbfounded—he looked gutted.

“They were here? All this time?” His voice cracked with a desperation that made Scarlett’s chest tighten. He turned to her as though the truth had just struck him like lightning. “Adopted?” He whirled on Toas. “Adopted?! How—how did the temple miss this? How did the temple miss my children?”

“I—I don’t know!” Toas stumbled back, hands raised in panic. “Maybe they never went through the temple. Maybe no clergy ever checked. We were thorough—so thorough—just in case—”

“Obviously not enough!” the king thundered.

The children shrank behind Scarlett. Evelyn clutched her hand, and Scarlett squeezed it back without thinking. Via tucked herself behind her brother, both of them pressed close like chicks under a wing.

“Sir—” Toas tried to cut in.

“What?” the king snapped, still bristling.

Toas only pointed behind him.

The king turned, his anger crumbling the instant he saw the children pressed tight against Scarlett’s skirts. His mouth opened, closed, then he moved forward slowly, sinking to one knee.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. In this hall… everything sounds louder than it should.”

Scarlett watched warily, her fingers still locked with Evelyn’s. Via—predictably—peeked out first. Scarlett let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her grip on Evelyn easing.

“Are you alright?” The king’s voice was transformed—no longer harsh or weary, but startlingly gentle.

Via nodded, smiling.

“Good.” He exhaled like the word itself was a relief. His gaze lifted, locking with Scarlett’s. “Good.”