The Lycan palace takes my breath away. This is where I was born. Where I was supposed to grow up. It feels nothing like home.

I catch whispers as we dismount—the lost princess, the hidden twin, the one who’s supposed to die.

Damon swings off his horse with practiced ease, already barking orders at servants. His presence commands immediate attention—this is his territory, his palace, his kingdom.

I’m just the unwanted variable.

“Ly— Kira” He doesn’t look at me, just starts walking. “Follow me.”

I glance at Malik, who’s still beside his horse. His expression is carefully neutral, but something flickers in his eyes. Concern, maybe. Or warning.

Then Damon’s striding away, and I have to hurry to catch up.

“Your chambers are in the east wing,” Damon says, his tone formal and distant.

Like he’s giving a tour to a visiting dignitary rather than showing his twin sister to her room.

“Breakfast is served at dawn in the main hall. Council meetings begin at eight. You’re expected to attend.”

“Expected by who?”

“Father. The court. Everyone who wants to get a good look at you before you die.” He takes a corner sharply, and I have to scramble to keep up with his longer strides. “Don’t get comfortable. These are temporary quarters for a temporary problem.”

The words sting more than they should. “How thoughtful.”

He stops abruptly, and I almost crash into his back. He turns, looking down at me with those silver-flecked eyes.

“You’re here only because prophecy demands it.” His voice is flat. “Because we need to finish what should have been done years ago. Making you comfortable would be—”

“What? Kind?” The word tastes bitter.

His jaw clenches. “Pointless.”

He turns and continues walking. I follow in silence, through hallways that seem to stretch forever, past guards who bow to him and stare at me. Finally, we reach a set of carved wooden doors. Damon pushes them open, gesturing me inside.

The room steals whatever response I might have had.

It’s enormous. A four-poster bed draped in silver silk dominates one wall. Windows stretch floor to ceiling, offering a view of mountains that make my chest ache. There’s a sitting area with plush chairs, a writing desk, and a vanity.

Everything is elegant and expensive and completely overwhelming. But what catches my attention are the details.

The blankets on the bed—thick and soft, exactly the kind I used to dream about. The books on the shelf—adventure novels, the kind Nessa used to read to me. And on the side table, a tray of food.

Honey cakes. Fresh berries. That specific herbal tea that smells like summer.

My favorite things. All of them.

“How did you—” I turned to face him.

Damon’s expression is carefully blank.

“The twin bond.” He says it dismissively, like it’s nothing. “I know what you like. What you need.” He moves toward the door. “Doesn’t mean I care.”

But he made sure they were here. Made sure my room had everything I’d find comforting. “Damon—”

“Settle in. Father will want to see you at dinner.” He’s already halfway out the door. “Try not to embarrass us.”

Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. I stand alone in my gilded cage, surrounded by comfort I never asked for, provided by a brother who’s supposed to kill me in three weeks.

Night falls, and I can’t sleep. The bed is too soft. The room is too quiet. Too big.

I keep expecting someone to burst in and tell me there’s been a mistake. That I need to go back to my servant’s quarters where I belong.

The knock, when it comes, makes me jump.

“Come in,” I call, pulling a robe over my nightgown.

Damon enters, still dressed in his formal clothes from dinner. His hair is slightly disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it. He looks tired. And something else I can’t name.

But his voice wavers on the word dead. Just slightly. Just enough.

“Does it bother you?” I ask quietly. “The thought of killing me?”

He doesn’t turn around. “No.”

“Liar.”

His shoulders tense. “Don’t mistake the bond’s interference for actual feeling. I’ve spent my entire life preparing to end you. One weak moment of—” He stops. “It changes nothing.”

“Then why are you here? Why ask about my life if you don’t care?”

“Because I need to know.” He turns, and for a moment, his control slips. I see something raw in his eyes. “I need to know what I’m ending.”

The honesty in those words hurts more than his cruelty. I stand, moving closer.

“You already told me you felt it.” My voice is soft but cutting. “Every moment of pain, every humiliation. But you didn’t tell me the rest.” I’m right in front of him now. “You didn’t tell me what it did to you. How it made you feel.”

“It made me want to end it.” His voice is flat. “End you, end the connection, end the weakness.”

“Liar.” I repeat. “That’s why you’re here. That’s why your hands clench when I talk about Theron. Why you provided everything I’d need to feel comfortable even though you claim not to care.” My voice drops. “Feeling my pain didn’t just make you want to kill me. It made you want to—”

“Stop.” The word cracks.

“Made you want to protect me.”

“No.” But his hands are shaking now. “No, that’s not—”

“Then why does it bother you so much?” I press. “Why does hearing about what he did make you this angry? If you’re just going to kill me anyway, why does it matter how I suffered?”

“Because it drove me insane,” he continues, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “Knowing some pathetic Alpha was breaking you while I stood in this palace, preparing to kill you myself.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “The irony wasn’t lost on me.”

“Damon—”

“Don’t mistake this for caring.” He steps back, putting distance between us. “The bond creates… interference. But it doesn’t change anything. Three weeks, Kira. That’s all you have left.”