The room settled into a long silence, one that hovered on the edge of discomfort. Scarlett wanted to speak, but the longer it stretched, the harder it became to find the right words. What could she even say? Her thoughts felt scattered, her body still humming with disorientation.

Her mind was still struggling to process. Everything still felt so surreal.

The king continued to stare at them like he was seeing the world for the first time. His eyes remained glassy as his gaze swept over them again and again, as though he needed to reassure himself they were real.

Toas finally broke the silence, stepping forward. “Uhm… Your Majesty… I’m sure the children had a long journey here. They’re probably tired. And hungry.”

The king straightened, as if the thought had only just reached him. “Right. Right… yes, of course.” He cleared his throat. “Tobias, if you would…”

Tobias snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.” He descended the dais and walked toward them.

The king shared a look with him—one Scarlett didn’t understand, but he clearly did, as he gave a small nod in reply.

“Right,” Tobias said, turning back to the children. “Come on. We’ll get something sorted.”

He opened his arms, gently herding the children toward the door.

Via moved forward without hesitation, a bright smile on her face. Olive lingered for only a heartbeat before following after his sister, eyes quickly darting at Scarlett. Evelyn shot the man an icy glare as he gently herded them along, then glanced back at Scarlett too, her eyes stormy with questions Scarlett had no answers for.

Scarlett stepped forward to follow, but Tobias lifted an arm, stopping her.

“Miss, if you could remain here for a moment, please.” His tone was courteous, but there was an authority beneath it that told her arguing would be pointless.

She watched as the grand doors swung open, Tobias continuing to guide the others through. Beyond the doorway, the hall stretched wide, and clustered within it stood a group of guards. Every one of the ones who had left earlier now stood together, their voices reduced to a hushed murmur.

They shifted aside as the door creaked wider. In the cluster, Scarlett spotted Artur. Her eyes locked onto the familiar face. She couldn’t tell if he saw her, but some small part of her hoped he had.

The Chancellor followed behind the group. As he passed, his sharp, golden eyes flicked briefly to her. The look lingered—accusatory and unsettling.

What is his problem?

Averardus fell into step behind them, still looking far too pleased with himself.

“Your Majesty.” He dipped into a quick bow as he passed. When he straightened, his gaze slid to Scarlett, that same mischievous glint bright in his eye, his cheeky smile only widening.

As the doors began to close, a chill prickled across Scarlett’s skin. She glanced back over her shoulder.

Just her. Toas. And the king.

The weight of it pressed in on her. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say—if she was supposed to say anything at all. The last several minutes replayed in her mind at breakneck speed, new revelations slowly settling into the empty spaces of her memory.

“Lady Scarlett,” Toas finally broke the silence. “Forgive me—we’ve yet to be properly introduced.” He stepped forward, offering his hand. “My name is Toas, as you know. I’m a priest of the temple. It’s an honor to meet you.”

She took his hand, still dazed. His words echoed dully in her head as she shook it.

An honor? Her? What was he talking about?

“I—” she started, but every question, every thought, tried to rush out at once, tangling on her tongue.

Toas gave a soft chuckle as he released her hand. He glanced back at the king, who was still staring at her as if afraid she might vanish. “Your Majesty? Shall I?”

The king nodded, eyes still glassy. “If you would, Toas.”

Toas turned back to her and gestured down the hall. “Come. This way, Lady Scarlett.”

She followed as he led her toward the other door. It opened with a low groan onto a long hallway, dim with the last light of sunset. Candles flickered lazily along the walls, their flames wavering in the draft.

A strip of velvet carpet ran the length of the floor; she felt the plush fabric shift beneath her shoes. The ceiling arched so high above her that, for a moment, she thought it might be taller than her entire home.

As she was led down the hall, Scarlett’s attention drifted to the paintings lining the walls. Some were landscapes, others too abstract or distant for her to make sense of—until Toas stopped in front of one.

She followed his gaze, looking up at the large portrait.

One of the faces she recognized. The king.

The other—

The woman was beautiful. Her hair was darker—much darker than Scarlett’s—but her face… and her eyes. They were the same. The same shape, the same striking green, but a different spark behind them. A different life. A different soul.

Something flickered in Scarlett’s mind.

Fire.

Flames roaring, devouring everything in their path.

The woman’s face again—closer now. Her hair whipped wildly in the wind, her mouth moving, shouting something Scarlett couldn’t hear.

But she looked afraid. Terrified.

Scarlett blinked hard, shaking her head as if she could dislodge the image.

“Do you know who that is?” Toas asked softly, but his voice seemed loud, cutting through her thoughts.

“I…” She looked up at the painting again.

She assumed the queen. She’d never seen a portrait of her before—barely even knew her name. Not much was spoken about her. After her death, the woman had become more myth than monarch.

Her thoughts moved sluggishly, struggling to piece everything together.

“The queen… I suppose…” she said, glancing back at Toas.

Beyond him, the king still stood staring up at the painting. His face twitched at the word queen.

“Well, yes, Lady Scarlett,” Toas said gently. “She is the queen—but she is also your mother.”

Right…

The realization came slowly, like something sinking beneath water.

If the king was her father—something she still hadn’t fully grasped—then this woman…

Her gaze drifted back to the portrait.

My mother.

The words felt foreign.

It was strange, staring at the image of a complete stranger. Her mother. A woman made of oil paint on canvas. Of half-remembered stories and careful silences. A figure stitched together from fragments. A face framed in whipping hair and flickering frames. A name in a history book, a ghost of a queen.

Her mother.

A stranger.

The Dominiques had always been clear with her about her adoption. But she’d never thought much about her biological family. There had been a few questions—the occasional dream. But she’d always been content with the life she had.

A sharp breath beside her pulled her from her thoughts.

The king—her father—stood at her side. Close enough that she was startled she hadn’t noticed him before. His eyes were misty again. Although she supposed they’d been misty practically the entire night.

“It really is remarkable how alike they look,” Toas murmured. “Though she favors you, Your Majesty. Mostly. Except for her nose, it looks remarkably like my mother's.”

Scarlett blinked, caught off guard by the odd remark and the way he leaned in, studying her face.

“Excuse me?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

“Oh—!” He straightened quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, that does sound strange without context. My mother was the queen’s sister. So—your aunt, I suppose. Which makes me your cousin.” He hesitated, giving a small, awkward smile. “I should have led with that. I think I’m still… catching up to all this as well.”

Scarlett looked between him and the king, the weight of it all still settling.

“Right…” she said slowly.

The king didn’t look away from the painting. He stared up at it as if it might come to life at any moment. Watching the painted skin for a breath, a pulse, anything.

It was unsettling.

“Your Majesty… I believe we were leading Lady Scarlett to your study,” Toas said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder.

The king blinked, as though surfacing from somewhere far away. He looked at Toas, then at Scarlett. “Hm? Oh… right. My study. Yes… this way…”

They turned and continued down the hall, the velvet carpet soft beneath her steps. Outside, the sun had nearly set; only a faint wash of blue clung to the horizon, and the first stars were beginning to prick through the twilight sky.

Guards lined the corridor in steady intervals. Some kept their gaze fixed forward, rigid and unmoving, while others let their eyes flick briefly toward her. Scarlett kept her own gaze either ahead or out the windows, pretending not to notice.

At last, they stopped before a pair of large oak doors. Two guards stood on either side, pulling them open with a low groan.

The king stepped inside. Scarlett followed.

She glanced back, expecting Toas to join them—but he remained where he was, on the other side of the threshold.

The doors began to close.

A flicker of panic rose in her chest as his face disappeared behind the heavy wood.

Then they shut.

It was just her and the king now.

Just her—

and her father.